 
THE DIARY OF MYRIAM STAR

By

Joshua S. Friedman

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Joshua S. Friedman on Smashwords

The Chronicles of Dog and Troll: The Diary of Myriam Star

Copyright © 2013 by Joshua S. Friedman

Thank you for downloading this book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. If you enjoyed this book, then please encourage your friends to download their own copy.

Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are a production of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

TROLL'S GLOSSARY

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For Rachel

****

FOREWORD, AFTERWORD, AND EVERYWHERE IN BETWEEN

Oh, hello again. Took me by surprise so ye did. I see ye've brought some friends with you. What's that ya say? Back for more, aye? So soon? Our previous installment was quite lengthy. So many characters. So much turmoil. So many conflicting waves of hope, faith, and doubt.

Still, so many unresolved riddles.

Why, even that nasty ol' Wraith needed hisself a wee rest after the ordeals in Silverdale, and yet, everything is going splendidly as planned.

Very well, let us pick up where we left off.

But first, a quick word of caution: It's about to get dark -- real dark.

But such is the way of things. The breaking of dawn cannot come before the pitch black of night. The light cannot penetrate that which is not already shadow. And truly, there is much darkness about, even in these most enlightened of times. Such is the frost before the fall.

I only hope (as I presume do ye), that the end of this installment shall be the fragile torch blazing brazenly against the dark. I have faith that our heroes, Troll, Myriam Star, and the Dog shall prove the victors. After all, they are prophets, are they not? I hope that by the end, our champions shall witness the dissipation of storm clouds and the return of sunny, unblemished skies.

But I seriously doubt it.

J.S.F

October, 2013

****

" _And on and on it goes, we shall sing this song some more,_

" _Until our hearts stop beating we shall never cease in song..."_

****

PROLOGUE

D.C. al CODA

Anne tossed and turned against the darkness that held her head below the surface of slumber. From somewhere deep inside her, she could hear his voice; pleasantly vacant, cold, and empty. He cackled and called her name from some distant plane: _I'll be dreaming of you -- Scrippity-Clackity-Scrappity-Crackity \-- Won't you dream of me_? _Scrippity-clackity-scrappity-crackity_?

Anne shivered. Muscles clenched, body trembling.

_Dream of me_ , the voice persisted. _Dream of me now_! _Scrippity-crickity_!

But she didn't want to dream of him. She feared him, and yet, somehow felt drawn to him, which only frightened her more.

_Oh, please won't you dream of me_?

Many cold and invisible hands caressed her. Anne quavered in revolt. No use. She couldn't move. Those hands worked up and down her body; feeling every crevice and pore as talon-like fingertips tickled the curve of her spine with a sensation that both excited and revolted her.

_Oh, Anne, Annabelle,_ the voice cooed. Its cold hands drifted up Anne's shoulders and slithered around her thin neck like long, fat earthworms.

Another voice called from deeper in the darkness. Farther away. "Oh, Anne, wake up."

_No, dream of me_.

"Wake up. Anne, wake up."

Dream.

"Wake up!"

Anne awoke, bolting up into a sit. She opened her mouth; meaning to shriek at the top of her lungs against the encompassing blackness.

A slender hand clasped over Anne's lips, muting her screams.

"Shh," Sarah said, "T'is all right now, ye'r awake and safe, here with me." Sarah kissed Anne on the forehead and combed her fingers through Anne's jet-black hair.

Usually, such an assuagement was just the cure for Anne's night-time maladies -- usually. Anne peered around the darkened domicile. She didn't recognize her surroundings or the bed in which she slept. Finding herself in the gloom and in such a foreign place sent a wave of panic coursing through her. Breathing heavily, Anne shuddered and shook.

Sarah softly stroked Anne's hair, and whispered, "T'is all right, Anne, calm down."

After a moment (to Anne it seemed like an eternity), she realized where she was: Sarah Danvers' bed. The only place left for the sole-remaining child of Silverdale _to_ sleep. Miraculously, Sarah's shanty remained unscathed from the torrential flames that devoured the town shelter.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Anne asked, "What's going on?"

"We're going on a trip," Sarah replied. "We're going to see our friends."

"You mean, Mr. Troll?" Anne's fear melted down and boiled into a new sensation -- excitement.

"Aye."

"And Ms. Star?"

"That's right," Sarah said. She smiled, and her blue-eyes glistened briefly in the dark.

Anne giggled, "And my puppy?"

Only a mere fourteen-hours had passed since she'd last seen her puppy (along with his friends), when they all left town together; skipping along in the morning sunshine and singing. Already she missed her dear, puppy more than she would care to admit.

"That's right." Sarah smiled again, ran a hand through her wavy red-hair, and said, "Now get dressed quickly and be quiet about it."

****

A slight rustling roused Roger Wilcox. He snapped awake when remembering he was _supposed_ to be on watch detail. He, along with Jeffrey Rush, had drawn first night's watch at Silverdale's southern gate. Others were posted at the other two entrances (eastern and western end), and more would be drafted into service over the days to come. But on the first night since the newly-appointed-mayor, John Steward, ordered the town's entrances to be guarded on a regular basis, Roger Wilcox had pulled the short straw.

Roger glanced over at Rush. Out cold and snoring. The problem was they were given chairs when they should have been standing at attention. The warmth of the lit torches festooning the open archway also aided in the heavying of eye-lids.

Roger could have sworn to the Almighty, hisself that someone or something just grazed past him, exiting town and entering the tree-line. He was certain he heard the laconic clomping of hooves, a horse snorting, Anne and Sarah's whispering voices. But that could have been a dream.

With a trembling hand, he wiped the sweat from his wrinkled brow and peered out into the darkness. The tree-line stood no more than fifty-paces away (give or take), yet the torches' light only illuminated the small area around Roger and Rush.

There it was again, a low rustling like a small animal foraging through a pile of dead leaves.

Roger shifted nervously in his chair.

Stirring, Rush yawned, and asked, "What is it?" The wrinkles and stubble rippled across his pale, leathery chin.

Roger replied, "Don't rightly know." He grabbed his trusted cane (resting alongside his chair), and stood. His archaic joints popped and creaked as he crept toward the ruffling tree-line. He stared deeper into the abyss, willing his night-vision to focus on something -- anything.

Deep shadows darker than the blackness surmounting them emerged from the trees.

Heavy with dread, Roger's stomach sank into the depths of his bowels.

_Twang_. _Twang_.

Roger felt two dull sensations strike him, like being punched in the chest. His fingers frantically searched his body. His hands were slick with blood. Roger glanced down. Two blackened, steel arrows protruded from out of his pectorals. The arrows' tips so sharp, he hadn't even felt them.

"Well, what was it, a coon?" Rush asked. He shifted comfortably in his chair, and readjusted his hat.

Roger fell to the ground in a slump. He opened his mouth impossibly wide, unhinging his jaw like a serpent prepared to strike. A low, mournful gurgle broke the night's otherwise ubiquitous silence (Roger's attempt at crying out in pain, or help, possibly both).

Rush lifted the brim of his hat, and starred at Roger crumbled on the grass. Rush's heart filled with a dull terror that almost seemed to mock him. I told you so, it said. He saw the first one emerge, then another, then more; slipping out of the trees as but shadows. Black-armored archers with reddish scratch-marks etched into their chest-plates. Others had large, round buttons over their chest armor; red with a black, distorted horse-shoe-like-symbol. Rush had seen that symbol before, just the previous night, in fact. It was the mark of the King. An arrow to the temple blotted out his vision; ceasing his life. He would be one of the lucky ones.

****

Byron awoke to skirls keening, like raging thunderstorms. The trampling of hooves and the barks of unfamiliar voices echoed, as well. Byron knew what was happening, the very same thing Sarah tried to warn him of earlier that eve -- invasion. She had begged for him to sneak out of town with her and Anne later that night (of course Anne didn't know about any of this). Sarah even cried and pleaded.

"I'm sorry," Byron said. "But I can't just up and leave everything behind. Everything I've ever known and loved. As brother Troll would say, if it be God's will that we should fall, then so be it."

Sarah grimaced and diverted her gaze toward the ground.

A shrill shriek returned Byron's thoughts to the here-and-now.

Where was he? He blinked, rubbing his eyes as he peered around in the darkness. He didn't recognize where he was, or why his bed seemed so uncomfortable. Then it hit him. He wasn't in his bed. His bed had burnt to cinder and ash, along with the rest of the late, Reverend Lowell's house.

So much death and destruction occurred over the last two days, the survivors were reduced to finding alternative living arrangements. Byron, himself, now slept in an abandoned home in the residential part of town. The prior occupants, an elderly couple by the name of Dantry, had been trampled to death the previous night during the height of the hamlet's riots. Unable to bring himself to sleep in a dead man's bed, Byron helped himself to a blanket and pillow, and curled up on the foyer's hard-wood floor.

_Crash_.

Terror ceased his muscles as the front door burst open. Pain stabbed his eyes as the foyer lit up with light.

Could it be day already? No, the light was the wrong hue -- too orange, like just before twilight. Had he slept the day away?

Shadowy figures filed into the domicile.

"Check the house!" the first form barked to the others.

Byron's eyes still hadn't adjusted to the sudden in-pour of illumination.

The shadow trounced toward Byron, and grabbed him by the hair.

Byron pulled back. "No!" he cried, warding off the figure with wild thrusts of his arms. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was an iron fist smashing into his face.

****

They came from every gate, even from the secret one behind the still smoldering rubble of the once proud mayor's mansion. They came quickly and without mercy. They pulled people from their homes, burned houses, raped, pillaged, and plundered.

Inside the old town meeting hall, the residents of Silverdale were lined up in rows and forced to kneel (the pews had been torn out and now burned in a giant bonfire in the middle of town). No one dared oppose. No one dared fight or flee, for they had all given up hope. They were already dead.

"Silence!" a tall soldier boomed, and all was silent. Hands folded behind his back, he strut down the middle aisle of the kneeling residents of Silverdale. His heavy, black armor clinked and clanked as he walked. His thick helmet had the growling maw of a bear carved into the face-mask. "Where is the Constable Withers?"

Silence still.

The soldier pivoted, pointed directly at Byron, and said, "You. Where is Constable Silas Withers?"

Byron stammered, "He...he's..."

"Out with it," the soldier commanded.

"He's dead, sai."

The soldier asked, " _Really_?" He removed his helmet, revealing the face not of a demon, or some unspeakable phantom, but of a man. He appeared young, with a full head of wild, fiery, red-hair. A proud, square jawline chiseled his chin. Three knuckle-bones had been fashioned through the bridge of his nose. Hooped jewelry pierced through his eyebrows and bottom lip. A black, horse-shoe-like brand darkened the left side of his face. He rested his helmet in the crook of his arm. His green-gaze scanned his master's newly acquired property, and asked "Who is in charge here?"

From a back row, John Steward raised his hand.

Goodie Sawyer, kneeling next to John, whispered, "No, don't."

"Quiet woman," he whispered before calling out to the soldier, "I reckon I am, sai."

The man with red-hair glared intently at John. He handed his helmet to a nearby soldier. Arms swinging, red hair dancing around like flames licking the top of his skull, he marched toward Jonathon. "Who are you?" he growled.

Head tilted, Jonathon recoiled. Squinting, he stuttered, "My name is Jonathon Steward."

"A Steward," the red-headed soldier scoffed. The corner of his lip curled up in a malicious (albeit, dashing), grin. "And, just how is it that a steward is in charge here?"

John gulped. Hands shaking, he said, "The mayor, constable, sheriff, and reverend are dead. The rest of the town's hierarchy has fled in fear."

The soldier's bushy brow shot up into a fiery half-moon. He stroked his princely chin, and said, "Really? How interesting."

"Please, sai, don't kill us," Jonathon groveled. "Ye don't have to kill us. We'll join ye willingly."

The soldier asked, "In what capacity?"

John quavered, "We'll join ye'r army."

He smiled, exposed yellowed filed-teeth, and said, "Why, you are nothing but farmers and whores." He turned to address the rest of the crowd, and in a booming voice, declared, "We took your entire town in less than a quarter-of-an-hour, with only but a fraction of his majesty's great army."

"Long live the king!" the soldiers hailed in unison; pounding chest-plates and buttons.

The red-head pivoted. Towering over the cowering steward-turned-mayor, the king's man said, "You are not soldiers. You are slaves. Now kneel, slave!"

Before Jonathon could utter a single objection, another soldier swept up behind Jonathon, and kicked out the back of his knees. Wailing, Jonathon collapsed to the fissured flooring.

The red-headed soldier pivoted again, turning to address the newly acquired lot once more. In a thunderous voice, he decreed, "Listen up whelps! My name is General Shroud. Perhaps you have heard of me. I am the wealthiest, most powerful, and feared man in all the known-world. And I have come here not to take your town, but to take you, in the name of the king."

"Long live the king!" the soldiers cried out again.

Shroud folded his hands behind his back and smiled.

Silence.

Shroud paced back and forth as he continued his proclamation of doom. "You are now the sole property of his majesty's second born, the Hellion of war. It is my great honor and privilege to present to you, your new lord and master: Furion the Black!"

The meeting hall's doors flew open, though not a single soldier or slave dared to glance back. A slow methodic thumping noise arose, as if something large awkwardly trundled toward the alter where Reverend Lowell once stood. _Ka-shink_. _Ka-shink_. _Ka-thump_. _Ka-shink_.

Byron bowed his head, shut his eyes, and steepled his hands. He tried to pray but couldn't. He couldn't clear his thoughts from that terrible slumping noise. _Ka-shink_. _Ka-thump_. _Ka-shink_. Like chainmail, bouncing off some exoskeleton-like shell.

Most of the soldiers knelt entreatingly before their master. Others slightly bowed their heads while'st keeping sentry over the slaves.

Randal Stevens pulled a fork from out of his boot.

Trembling, Byron whispered, "No, don't."

A masked soldier hit Randal in the back of the head with an axe-handle. Randle dropped. Blood oozed out of the crack in the back of his cranium.

General Shroud bowed before his lord as the Hellion approached the alter.

Still, Byron couldn't bear to glimpse at the demon incarnate. Yet, he sensed the Hellion's presence, like some unseen weight bearing down upon his chest, making it heavy and hard to breath.

Shroud nodded at two soldiers.

The king's men knocked over the alter. Wax candles rolled across the plank-fissured flooring. Then they brought the chair Reverend Lowell (and ironically enough, Reverend Warwick) had sat in, up to the front of the stage.

As if beckoned by the Hellion himself, Byron peered up at his new lord and master.

The figure known as Furion appeared slumped. Hunched over and wearing a long, black cape and hood. Furion assessed his newly begotten property through big, round, black goggled orbs. He stood less than a regular man's stature (possibly even shorter than the Dog), fat and bow-legged. The Hellion was clothed in black garbs and silver chainmail that looked more like spider's webbing. The symbol of the spider had been etched upon the silver chest-plate wrapped around his bulbous form. His face covered in a mask; mouth and nose-guard comprised of that webbed-armor. He wore odd, black boots on stubby and bloated legs. His gloved hands consisted of a thumb and two, long, crooked fingers a-piece. He sat in the reverend's chair and to Byron, it seemed as though it pained the Hellion to do so.

Furion chirped, "Scrippity-crick-crack-slurpity."

"I'm afraid constable Withers is dead, my lord," General Shroud said. He bowed, hands folded behind his back, as if a man without a care in the world.

"Scrip-scrap-crackity?"

"Him, my lord," Shroud proclaimed, pointing toward John Steward. He jogged toward Jonathon, grabbed the steward by the arm, and forced him to his feet. General Shroud brought Jonathon before Furion, and said, "Kneel before lord Furion, you cur." Shroud snarled and kicked out the back of John's knees again.

"Scrickity-scrap-scrip," Furion chirped.

Shroud said, "His blackness wishes to know where the interlopers are."

"I...I...d...don't know," Jonathon quavered.

"Then, you are of no use to us," Shroud said. He snatched a crescent shaped dagger from his belt. He grabbed Jonathon by the ponytail and brought the blade up to his throat.

"Wait!" Jonathon screamed.

Chuckling, Shroud asked, "What's that, something to say? Suddenly know the where-abouts of the ones we seek, do you?"

"No," Jonathon replied, quivering. "But he does! He was the giant's best friend and closest confidant."

Byron glanced up. A swell of doubt overtook him. Jonathon was pointing right at him.

"Excellent," Shroud said, and then slit Jonathon's throat from ear-to-ear.

Jonathon clutched at the wound. Blood spurted through his fingers. He tried to scream but only gargled deep pools of crimson.

General Shroud's lip curled in a crooked, handsome smile.

Laughing in a warbled cackle, Furion lurched back in his chair.

Eyes bulged, mouth working open and close like a fish out of water; Jonathon writhed until his muscles grew slack. His hands fell away from his neck. Blood squirted across the floor in diminishing bursts.

Smirking, Shroud nodded toward Byron, and said, "Bring him forth."

Before Byron knew what had happened, he knelt before Furion, the Lord of Black. A shock of Byron's red-hair cinched in Shroud's firm grip. The crescent blade curled tightly against his neck.

"Scrickity-scrap-scrip," Furion chirped.

But in his head, Byron heard the Hellion speaking clearly.

_Where is Mayor Godfrey_?

Byron didn't answer, he couldn't. Too scared. A sudden force grasped hold of his skull; seeping into his mind, applying pressure.

"Scrathity-click-clackity?"

_Where is the daughter of Reverend Hansel Warwick_?

Byron's brain felt like it had suddenly caught fire. Burning, melting, and turning into a thick gelatinous goop.

"Crack-a-lackity-screeeech?"

_Where is Anne Warwick_?

Blood seeped from Byron's nose and ears. Just a trickle at first, but soon poured steadily faster as Furion rearranged his brains; scavenging for answers.

"Screeeeeeeeeeeeech-scratch-clickity?"

_Where is the slave_?

Blood gushed from Byron's mouth and eye sockets. He tried to scream, but couldn't. He couldn't even move.

"Scratch-a-lack-a-triiiiiiiiiickiiiiity?"

_Where is Myriam Star_?

Quivering in in-describable torment, Byron hitched and heaved.

"Screeeeeech-scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaatch?"

_Where_?

Byron's brains tore apart in neat, little, globular chunks.

"Screeeeeech-scraaaaaaaaaaw?"

_Where_? _Where_? _Where is Star_? _Where_!?

Invisible, forceful fingers pushed further into the doughy remains of Byron's mind. Furion laxed his grip just enough to allow Byron to scream. Then, right before the brother's brains exploded within his own skull, Furion the Black, taker of souls and slave driver of the west -- found what he was looking for.

****

1

"What a glorious day," Troll said, before sinking his teeth into a skewered hare. And a glorious day it had been, indeed. For, the three were back on the road. It hadn't taken them long to get to the edge of the Western woods. There, they set up camp early. Troll spent most of the day huddled under a tall oak-tree, recording the events of the last two days in his journal.

Star and the Dog went frolicking in the woods; just two free spirits running wild after what seemed like months in captivity. And when the two jovially returned toward dusk, they brought dinner. The Dog carried three plump hares, while Star totted an arm-load of fresh sprouts, wild cabbage, and onions.

Troll prepared a fire while the Dog skillfully skinned and cleaned the hares with his hunting knife. The stumps of the arrows he'd received on their final night in Silverdale still protruded from the Dog's chest and back.

Odd. For a while, Troll forgot them there, as if the wooden appendages simply assimilated to the Dog's anatomy.

The Dog didn't seem to notice them either.

Star and the Dog already finished their meals some time ago. But not Troll. No, he savored every salty bite as he set there next to the campfire. The lambent flames warming his bones felt like an old and welcome friend. He performed his characteristic run of a hand down the left side of his face, past his scar and down his bushy beard, where he vehemently scratched.

Troll iterated, "Ah yes, a glorious day indeed." He couldn't be happier.

Star didn't reply. Her focus fixed studiously upon the task at hand. Leaning slightly toward him, she knelt before the Dog. Her hat sat on the ground beside her. Long, golden curls cascaded loosely about her lithe shoulders.

Star was removing the arrows still embedded within the Dog's flesh, or at least, attempting to. Wielding the Dog's hunting knife, she already extracted the one in his back. Now, she toiled with the two in his chest. Star meticulously sliced through the Dog's hairy flesh, and he just sat there, is if impervious to the blade's serrated touch.

Dog fascinated himself with one of Star's shooters. He turned it this way and that; inspecting every angle, opening the chamber, and spinning it. It wasn't loaded of course. Dog cocked the gun and aimed it at nothing in particular.

Mouthful of greasy meat, Troll asked, "You know how to use that?"

The Dog aimed at Troll's forehead, and squeezed the trigger. The Dog smiled, exposing sharp, bestial fangs. The fire's amber glow danced within his golden gape. His toothy grin and arched eyebrow seemed to ask, "Don't you know who I am?"

Troll said, "Yes, yes." He conceded a palm and shoveled another spit-full of game into his mouth.

Star worked the blade under the arrow's head. The Dog didn't even flinch. Star snorted in vexation, and brushed away golden curls from the side of her brown, oval face. She set the knife aside, grasped hold of the arrow, and tugged. Star groaned through clenched teeth as she pulled.

The Dog leaned away and the arrow ripped from his flesh in a _ploosh_. A small yelp escaped the Dog's thin lips. Dog's wound healed right before his companions' wide gapes.

Star picked up the knife and cut around the final arrow; buried so deep in his pectoral it was a miracle it hadn't pierced some vital organ.

Watching Star wield Dog's knife, and the Dog toying with Star's shooter, sent a wrinkle of pride through Troll.

Truly, they were now a trinity. Back together and back on the road. Oh, what a glorious day, indeed.

"Which reminds me," Troll amended aloud. Without putting down the spitted meat in his other hand, he retrieved the Dog's gauntlets from the confines of his infinitely cavernous cloak. "I fixed them," he said, casually tossing the weapons to the Dog, who caught them easily enough.

"Hold still," said Star. His sudden movement caused her hand to falter.

The Dog didn't seem to notice the slipping of her hand, or the jagged gash that resulted.

Star groaned as another wound healed before she could even excavate the obstruction embedded within. Out of sheer exasperation, Star stuck the blade into the dirt, popped up in a squat, and wrapped both hands around the arrow. Grip slick with blood, she managed to hold gird, and tug with all her might. The weapon ripped out of the Dog's chest with another sickening _ploosh_. She wiped the sweat beaded upon her wrinkle-less brow, and gasped, "Got it!"

The Dog strapped on one of his gauntlets and inspected it just as he had with Star's shooter.

Troll nodded toward the gauntlet, and said, "Before, ye had to pull back the pin. That pin, forged to the back of the blade-plate, would then cause the gauntlet blades to spring forward." Troll took another bite from his skewer, and said, "In battle, one does not always have a free hand to load such a weapon. What I did was weld the pin directly to the hook, which holds the blade-springs, and then I welded a trigger where the pin used to be." Troll ran a hand through his long greasy hair. The beads rattled in his mangy locks. He continued, "So now, instead of pulling back on the pin, ye simply pull the pin back ahead of time, like loading a gun. Then, when ye want to use it, ye simply clench ye'r hand into a fist, pressing down upon the bar. Go ahead try it."

Squinting, lips pursed, Star asked, "How did you we...ld it?"

"A bit of magic, deep pockets and such," Troll replied, passing his hand through the air, as if waving off such obvious answers.

The Dog clenched his fist, and three razor-sharp-serrated blades sprang forward. The Dog gazed at Troll with a savvy smile as bright as his eyes.

Troll added, "As I said, it's like a gun, you'll have to cock and reload the pin every time."

The Dog pulled the pin back. Before, this action would cause the blades to unsheathe; now it served to retract them.

Troll continued, "You'll have to cock the hook, and pull the pin back again to load it."

The Dog did. He clenched his hand into a fist, and the blades sprang violently forward once more. Amusement dancing within his golden gape, the Dog glanced at Troll. A small, crooked smile, that of the Cheshire cat, spread across his face; dotted by a seam of sharp, yellowish teeth. The Dog nodded.

Troll continued, "Just don't leave it cocked for too long a period of time or hit it against anything when it is loaded. It may damage the spring."

Dog nodded. His braided beard danced in the wind.

Star wiped her bloody hands off in the grass, before doing the same to clean the Dog's knife. She glanced at the Dog.

His wounds had already healed; leaving no trace of the arrows that were buried deep within his flesh.

Star handed back the Dog's knife, and asked Troll, "How the hell does he do that?"

"Blood," Troll replied. "He drinks blood. It heals him. Probably what keeps him young, too."

"How do _you_ know?" She asked. Catching herself, she repeated in a milder tone. "I mean, how do you know?"

"I reckon the signs have always been there since I first met the Dog. Sometimes he'd heal quickly, other times not. But, it was in the shed outside the mayor's house did it finally dawn upon me."

"I saw that shack," Star said.

"They had the Dog chained to a wall, torturing him." Troll glanced at the Dog.

The Dog gleefully strapped on his other gauntlet, as if uninterested in the conversation at hand.

Troll continued, "By the time I had gotten there, Dog already freed himself, just as I said he would."

Star playfully rolled her eyes, and said, "Yeah, yeah."

Troll chomped into the meat, and continued, "He was drinking their blood. It healed him. I reckon his healing rate is controlled by how much blood he drinks and how much time in between blood-meals." Troll ran a greasy hand down the side of his face and beard, and said, "I'm fairly certain drinking blood also turns him feral. But I believe he has somewhat control of that, none-the-less."

Star asked, "Feral?" Brow furrowed, nose wrinkled, Star brushed back golden curls, once again. The shackle on her thin wrist jingled slightly. She sighed, and directed her emerald-gaze upon Troll.

That's right. He forgot that Star had never seen the Dog in his feral form. It all made sense now. Dog had never been jealous of him and Star. Well, at first he had, sure. But she never saw him in his feral state because whenever he was in that state (which was quite often back in those days), the Dog hid from her. Perhaps it the very same reason why the Dog hid from anyone else when he was like that -- 'cause people were scared of him.

Troll laughed.

Star asked, "What, what's so funny?" Arms crossed, though curling the compass's chain around her sinuous fingers.

"Nothing." Troll waved off the question and consumed another healthy bite of roasted hare.

"Come on, Troll, no more secrets between us." She gazed up at him. Her stare seemed friendly yet stern. "Not between any of us."

Troll sighed, and said, "Very well, ask of me what ye will." He tossed the remains of his dinner toward the Dog and wiped his greasy hands on his kilt.

The Dog pounced upon the carcass, grabbed it up in his maw, and rolled around on the ground with it.

Troll tippled from his canteen, belched loudly, and said, "I presume ye have many a quandary for me."

"Yeah, but only a few I _need_ answers too. Stuff I can't wrap my mind around."

Troll gestured for her to continue.

"All right." She smiled, settled back, and wrapped her arms around her thin frame.

Troll offered her his canteen.

She waved it off. Her gaze penitently glued to the ground. She picked up her hat, plopped it on her head, pulled the brim down low over her face, and drew the cincture tight around her slender chin.

Really? After all this time, all they'd been through, she still hid her face from him.

Star must have seen it, or at least sensed it. Her head jerked erect. Peering directly into Troll's eyes, she said, "What else have you learned about the Dog that you haven't told me?"

Troll replied, "He drinks blood. It heals him. He doesn't appear to age, which leads me to believe he's possibly older than the mayor of Silverdale had been. He's not human, although I suspect he once tried to pretend to be. His eyes change color, 'though I don't know why. And he can shift into some sort of bestial-like state. He hasn't shown ye because he was afraid ye'd convince me to leave him. That is all I have gathered so far, but when I learn more, ye shall be the very first to know."

Star glanced at the Dog, who gnawed on the hare's carcass. Star nodded toward the Dog, and asked, "So, you're telling me that no matter what, he can't be hurt?"

Troll snorted, and said, "Oh, come now, ye of all people should know he can most certainly be hurt, I should think his re-purification would have taught ye that much."

"Okay, so he can't be killed?"

"I didn't say that."

Brow furrowed, bottom lip slightly curled, Star said, "Yeah, you did. Yesterday, before we split up and met up at the mayor's mansion, you said you didn't think anyone could kill him."

"Rightly so," Troll replied. "I said I didn't think anyone could kill him, not _anything_. I never meant to infer or imply that he couldn't be killed."

" _Okay_." Compass chain twirling, she rolled her eyes, and asked, "So, what does that mean?"

Troll performed his characteristic running of a hand, and said, "While I don't remember much of anything before meeting the Dog, as ye know, I have these memories of strange tales of lore. Of mythical monsters and heroes. But as to why, I knoweth not. Perchance it another false memory."

"Like when you woke up with the Wachati, right?"

"Correct," Troll replied. "My point, is that in all these tales of Grimm that I can somehow recall, all the monsters, creatures, and heroes that seem so invincible, always have some sort of weakness. Something that can hurt and possibly kill them when nothing else seems to faze them. Something elemental."

They gazed at the Dog.

Shirtless, he had gone partially feral. A short, thin coat of brown-fur sprouted from exposed flesh. The tips of his ears, fingers, and nose slightly elongated. He rolled on the grass, scratched his back into the dirt, and moaned in ecstasy.

Star peered at Troll 'neath the brim of her hat, and asked, "But you think something can kill him, right?"

Troll sighed, ran a hand down his scar, and said, "Aye, I suspect as much. 'Though, if and when such information should come to us remains the real mystery."

"You said that you knew the town would come after Dog. That you asked him to let it happen. That you planned it."

"Indeed I did."

"Did you know a Jessip was imprisoned in town the whole time? Were you counting on their intervention during the Dog's re-purification?"

"No, on both accounts. But as I told ye before, God was guiding me. And I have nothing but the utmost of faith in the Lord, Almighty."

Biting her bottom lip, Star asked, "What about all the lapses in memory, jumps in time, shifting scenery? Were you able to sort that out yet?"

"Regrettably, no. But I feel this, as ye call it, slippage in time, to be the key that will inevitably unlock such mysteries."

Star replied, "That wasn't very helpful." She twirled the chain of her compass within her thumb and fore-fingers.

"No, I suppose not. But there it is, staring us in the face, saying, howdy-do."

Spinning the compass' chain, Star sat quietly in the grass. Her gaze lost in the fire's crackling embers, as if someplace else all-together.

Did she know she was rocking back-and-forth?

The Dog peered up at Star. He studied her with a sour (and for the first time, to Troll), un-readable look on his face.

Troll asked, "Anything else?" For the utmost of brevity, he feared what she might ask. But why?

Star gazed into his eyes, and said, "Yeah, who was that figure back at the mansion?"

_Scrippity-scrap-clickity-clack_.

Troll's mind drifted away, as if the specter were speaking directly to him. As if the Wraith in his immediate company.

_I'll be dreaming of you_ , _won't you dream of me_?

Visions of leathery bats with beady-red eyes and long, taloned wings filled Troll's head. A hollow chill ran up his spine, causing his chest, shoulder, and back muscles to clench up, cease; freeze in terror at the shadowy possibilities of his own imagination.

He thought he was done with all that. He thought he had overcome his fear.

Troll blurted, "A Hellion."

Eyes wild and golden, the Dog glared at Troll.

He had this odd, solemn look on his face that troubled Troll's soul; troubled like the way the Dog's Cheshire grin used to bedevil him.

Star ran a hand under her hat and through her hair. Shackle rattling, she said, "So, There's two of 'em now. Plus the King's army."

Troll sighed, "So it would appear."

"I just hope Sarah and Anne get here soon, they should've met us by now."

"Everything will unfold as is God's intention, have faith Myriam."

"Do you think Sarah was able to convince Byron to leave with her?"

Head slouched, Troll sighed heavily, and said, "Sadly, no."

Nestling by the fire, she reiterated, "I sure hope they get here soon."

Troll knew she didn't want to sleep until everyone together, but she needed the rest.

"Me too," Troll said. He leaned back, and folded his hands upon his stomach.

Star began to snore. Soon, the dreams would come. And then, the night terrors.

Squatting on his haunches, the Dog turned his back to the fire, and peered out in the darkness; keeping watch.

One question remained. One that Troll was glad Star hadn't asked. Not exactly a question, more like a doubt. Despite the fact that Troll's victory over the Wraith left him physically and emotionally drained, something seemed off-putting. Like it had all been too easy. Like the Wraith wanted them to proceed, to advance. Somehow, it reminded him of storm clouds.

****

Apparently, the soldiers weren't ready for someone to just come charging through the trees on horseback, and Sarah (along with Anne and Maddy, the rag doll), were able to take the foraying king's men by surprise.

Sarah kicked Dasher and he raced deeper into the darkened forest (Anne sat in front of Sarah. Maddy, the rag doll, saddled respectively in the younger girl's lap). And even though it seemed they'd made it out of town free and clear, just in the nick of time, Sarah knew it only moments before the soldiers regrouped and came after them.

Terror slithered into the hollows of Sarah's bones. Going this fast through this forest (and at night), was suicide. But if the king's men caught them...well, Sarah preferred suicide. She kicked for Dasher to accelerate.

Despite all the action currently ensuing, Sarah's thoughts turned to Byron. Had she really done all she could to convince him to flee with her and Anne? What happened to him now? Had he told anyone of her intentions of desertion? These questions faded into frivolity as arrows whizzed past her.

Against her better judgment, Sarah glanced over her shoulder, and felt her heart sink into her bowels.

Four (that she could see), soldiers pursued them on horseback. All bore bows and arrows. And evidently, all had been well trained to use such weapons while'st riding.

Arrows flew all around Sarah as Dasher feverishly steered through the gloomy, coniferous maze.

Dasher was old, not quite the quickest even in her youth. But thankfully, Dasher's previous owner had accustomed the mare to night travel. And 'though their pursuers rode faster steeds, they couldn't keep up with Dasher's experience at navigating through dense forestry after dark.

Anne cried, "Sarah!"

"Don't worry Anne, t'will be all right," Sarah replied. "Everything's going to be right as rain."

A blackened steel-arrow zoomed past Sarah's left ear, and plunged into a nearby tree.

Sarah cried, "Duck!" just moments before an extended tree -limb would've knocked the two right off of Dasher. She protectively smothered Anne. When they cleared the branch, Sarah glanced back.

The lead horseman slammed right into the limb. He screamed before being trampled by his comrades.

The three remaining pursuers ducked the obstacle.

"Shit!" Sarah hissed through her teeth.

Anne chimed, "Maddy says we should jump."

"What?'

"We should jump, and let them chase the horse while'st we hide in the bushes."

"Good idea," Sarah replied. An arrow sailed danger-close to her pretty, little head. "Now?"

"No, not yet,"

Sarah said, "Well, ye just be sure and let me know when Maddy thinks we should go."

Arrows flew all around them.

Their pursuers closed the gap between them and the elderly Dasher.

Sarah asked, "Now?"

"No, Maddy says we need to go faster."

Sarah kicked the mare as hard as she could, and said, "Come on Dasher!"

Dasher sprinted forward with all the fortitude she could muster. Once again, they began to make headway.

Their pursuers swore and hollered in vexation.

_Twang_. _Twang_. _Twang_. Even their arrows landed short of their target.

Sarah asked, "Now?"

Anne replied, "Almost."

Dasher leapt over a fallen tree.

One of their pursuers collided into the barricade. Another horse crashed into the road block; sending its rider flying through the air, and smashing into a tall-standing pine.

The remaining rider leapt over the entire debacle.

Anne cried, "Now!"

Sarah wrapped her arms firmly around Anne (and Maddy). The three dropped off the left side of Dasher and into the brush. The impact was so hard it almost brought Anne to tears.

"Shh... shh, it's all right," Sarah said, dragging Anne away from the trail and deeper into the thicket. She sprawled over Anne, and covered the younger girl's mouth with a shaky hand.

Trembling, hearts beating like wild drums, they lay in wait. Crickets chirped softly in the still night air. Then Sarah heard it.

_Clomp-cla -- clomp-cla -- clomp_.

Anne sobbed and Sarah pressed her palm tighter against Anne's lips.

The horseman trotted within feet of where Sarah and Anne (and Maddy), jumped off Dasher. The rider in thick, black armor tugged on the reigns and his steed reared back, neighed, snorted, and circled about.

Had the soldier not been fooled by their rouse?

Sarah hated herself for not waking Anne earlier. But she couldn't help it, the girl looked so peaceful sleeping there in her bed, and now they would both die for it -- or worse. Instead of dismounting and dragging the two girls out of the brush by their short hairs, the rider continued after Dasher.

The two girls lay there a moment. Wide eyed, their hearts galloped as quickly as Dasher navigated the night. Sarah still covered Anne's mouth as she waited; straining her ears for the sound of approaching hooves.

Crickets chirped away in blissful ignorance.

Sarah whispered, "Perhaps, we should wait here for a little while in case anymore come." She removed her hand from Anne's quivering lips.

Anne nodded toward the direction their pursuer had gone, and quavered, "Or in case he comes back."

Sarah combed her shaky fingers through Anne's hair, and said, "Aye, just in case he comes back."

****

Star stood alone in the deepest canyon of the fields. The sun's merciless heat beat down on her as flecks of sand and stone pecked at her skin. Where was everyone? The wind picked up; driving more stingy pelts of grit into exposed flesh. A cold shiver coursed down her spine. All the slaves and soldiers were gone, but she wasn't alone. Furion was close, closer than he'd ever been. She could feel it. But instead of anger and hatred filling her heart, dread radiated out from her heaving chest. She peered around the cavernous walls. Shovels, hoes, and pickaxes lie abandoned next to empty carts used for transporting sand and stone.

Star glanced upward, shielding her eyes from the sun's brilliance with the back of her hand. No jingling of the shackle. Those were still secured around her thin ankles. A length of rusty chain tethered her to the rocky interior.

_Plop_. _Plip_. _Plop_.

Something dark-crimson (almost black), trickled down from above.

Star gazed upward again, but she couldn't see anything. Then, from out of the light, something dark materialized; fuzzy, like an incipient shadow. The object landed with a dull thud before Star's feet. A swirl of dust circled up in the air. When it cleared, Star peered down at the bloated and bloody corpse. It was her brother, Mikhail.

Star trembled. Her fists clenched into absent-minded balls of rage.

_Thump_. _Thump_. _Thump_.

The air littered with more dust and sand as body after body fell from the ledges above.

Some copses she recognized. The others were name-less slaves.

_Thump_. _Thump_. _Thump-thump-thump_.

The sky above darkened.

The soldiers gone. They had excavated any and everything useful to them. And when they were done, they filled in the chasm with the workers; also no longer useful.

From somewhere deep inside the recesses of her mind, Star heard Furion cackling. And just before Star could scream, she was buried alive beneath a mountain of death.

****

Sarah awoke to the chirping of birds. She shivered. Her clothes felt damp with sweat or the morning's dew -- possibly both. She opened her eyes. Creases of sunlight penetrated through the thick foliage; warming her face. Sarah cursorily scanned the scenery. Where was she? How had she gotten--

Then it hit her like a sack of potatoes; total recall of the previous night's adventures. Then she noticed Anne was gone.

She sat up, and peered around. Anne was nowhere in sight. Sarah strained her ears for the faintest traces of the way-ward girl; a giggle, a cry, something -- anything. Nothing but the chittering of birds and the rustling of leaves swaying in the early morning breeze.

Sarah's first instinct was to call out for Anne, though she quelled that thought. Soldiers were probably still looking for them.

Perhaps, that's what happened. Perhaps, the soldier came back, found them sleeping, and snatched the girl away in the dead of the night. Was it her fault? Had it been Sarah's snoring that gave them away? If that the case, then why was she still there? Why hadn't they taken her, as well? Because it was Anne they wanted. Wasn't that what Troll said? Wasn't that the reason Anne was still alive in the first place? Sarah felt frantic now, nearly on the verge of all-out panic. She stood; wet clothes clung desperately to her skin as she scanned the area.

In barely a whisper, Sarah called, "Anne. Anne, where are ye Anne?" Anne wouldn't be able to hear her, but she dared not speak any louder. Besides, a sort of pseudo-solace existed in being able to cry-out for the child as Sarah worked her way through the dense forestry. Then she saw it; Maddy, Anne's rag doll, abandoned in the weeds. Just the sight of it sent an indescribable emotion all through her body and she didn't know whether to mourn or rejoice. She picked up the doll and clutched it tightly to her breast. A small whimper escaped her thin lips. She peered around, franticly whipping her head this way and that. Surely, Anne would not stray too far from her dolly. She pushed through the brush, and whispered, "Anne, are ye out here, Anne?"

If the sight of Maddy called for rejoice than surely the vision before her was cause for despair; just after the tree-line stood an outcrop that ledged a several hundred-foot drop, straight down. "My God, no," Sarah muttered, "please tell me she didn't..." She couldn't even finish that thought, for what lay beyond those rocky cliffs was nothing but desert for as far as the eye could see.

****

Troll stood alone in the forest; a solitary giant surveying his surroundings. Birds chirped and chattered. Bees buzzed. The aromatic fragrance of flowers burgeoning in the warm, spring sun tickled his sinuses. Eyes closed, he saw nothing, yet sensed everything. He sniffed at the morning air; huge nostrils examining every molecule of scent. Oh yes, _he_ was close now.

Troll twisted his massive hands around the knotted wood of his staff, and prepared himself for battle.

The ruffling of limbs and leaves sounded above.

Troll prayed, "Lord, be with me."

Silence.

Troll thrust his staff upward; instantly feeling pressure. He caught something. More to the point, he caught _someone_. He slid his hands down the end of the staff. With a hearty grunt, he shifted his weight, and slammed his opponent into the ground, like driving a hoe into the soil.

The Dog rolled backward along the leafy earth, landed on his feet, and settled into a crouched position. The Dog bounded. Claws out, teeth barred. His golden-eyes burned with intensity.

For the utmost of brevity, Troll lost himself in that golden gape.

The Dog pounced on Troll, and wrapped his arms around his giant master. With as much fury and force as the Dog could muster, he wriggled and thrashed at Troll's legs, attempting to wrestle the behemoth to the ground.

Both feet firmly planted, Troll dropped his weight. Hands together, he slammed an elbow into the Dog's ribcage; narrowly missing the cur's kidney.

The Dog yelped. He crumbled to the deciduous forest-flooring, and skittered away.

Gasp. Troll winced and clutched at the stitches (he had forgotten about, until now), he'd received after Booth Wilkins attacked him on the night of the festival of the fall.

The Dog darted forward, latched onto Troll's calves, and gnawed edaciously at the leather sandal-straps around Troll's legs. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to hurt.

Howling, Troll swatted at the Dog.

Like a cat, the Dog rolled on his back, reared up his legs, and dug long, jagged toenails into the leather protecting Troll's hairy, lower appendages.

Troll bellowed, "Aargh!" He pitched his staff into the brush. With both hands, he grabbed the Dog by his thin ankle. Slowly, Troll spun around in circles; twirling faster and faster. The momentum lifted the Dog off the ground. Stitches stretching in agony, Troll tossed the Dog.

Rotating haplessly, the cur flew. Sideways and in mid-air, the Dog reached out, and dug his claws into the trunk of a nearby oak tree. Velocity on his side, and hands anchored into the tall oak, he spun round; sending splinters flying. Still in mid-air, the Dog circumnavigated the knarred bark, drove his feet into the trunk, and sprang toward Troll.

Troll slammed a fist into the Dog's face. His knuckles popped and tingled.

The Dog flounced to the ground in a heap. He scampered to his haunches, and growled. Slowly, he backed away, and prepared to pounce, yet again.

Troll said, "Impressive." He swept away stringy hair and locks of beads from his face, and shook the numbness from his other hand.

Growling louder, the Dog arose. Foam flowed from his fanged maw. His golden gaze pulsated hungrily.

Troll stood without the aid of his staff. His stiches ached ever more.

The two squared off.

Fangs barred, claws outstretched, the Dog leapt forward.

Troll stepped to the side.

The Dog landed hard and slid across the earthen ground as a plume of dust swirled. Dog pivoted. Growling, he pounced.

Troll waited until the penultimate moment, then stepped aside, and swatted the Dog in the face.

The Dog floundered to the ground. An exasperated huff slipped through his fangs. The Dog popped to his feet, and delivered a series of rabbit-punches into Troll's torso.

Troll allowed this.

The Dog hit him again -- harder.

Un-fazed by the blow, Troll leaned back, rested his hands on his waist, and howled in laughter.

This time, the Dog swung at Troll's side; the one with the stitches.

Troll stepped backward.

The Dog lost his balance, and waffled to the grass.

Troll laughed heartier.

The Dog scrambled to his haunches. Fangs exposed, he growled.

Troll smiled, made a come-hither-motion, and said, "Again!"

The Dog leapt.

Once again, Troll stepped out of the way.

The Dog crashed into a small bush. The Dog found his footing and whirled around. Growling all the louder, golden-gaze narrowed, his upper lip twitched in anticipation. His fury face bloomed a sanguine hue.

"That's good," Troll said, "hold onto that anger, ye'll be needing it, yet."

The Dog strode toward Troll.

Troll waved him on.

Growling, the Dog crouched lower, prepared to strike.

Troll hobbled toward him.

The Dog lunged.

Troll waited until the cur nearly upon him, then shuffled away. He drove his foot into the Dog's side, and sent the cur flying again.

Dog whirled through the air, landed hard on all fours, and charged.

Troll faked right.

The Dog dipped to the right, and then pounced.

Troll flanked left. He swung. His fist found purchase alongside the Dog's frontal lobe. A sharp wave of pain gamboled from Troll's knuckles to his shoulder.

The force of the blow sent the Dog reeling. Once again, the Dog landed upon all fours, and glowered at Troll.

Troll said, "Ye'r watching my feet. Don't watch my feet, they lie."

The Dog lunged.

Troll stepped away, and said, "Watch my waist, watch my eyes. That's how ye'll be able to tell which way I'm going to go." Troll swung at the Dog, but his feet were faking.

Dog watched Troll's waist, his eyes. He rolled under Troll's arm, leapt up into Troll's torso, and pounded tiny, furry fists into his master's midsection.

Troll swung wide.

The Dog ducked and kicked out the side of Troll's knee.

Troll tottered.

Dog rammed an elbow into Troll's shoulders.

The blow had little effect. Troll slammed the rear of his cranium into the Dog's face.

The Dog staggered backward.

Troll prayed, Dear, Lord, I pray I do not permanently damage my friend. Then, he delivered a punishing upper-cut to the Dog's chin.

The Dog rocketed backward. Blood poured profusely from the his mouth and noise, yet he appeared un-fazed by the blow. He scurried to a crouch, and glared at Troll with eyes so dark they were almost black. The Dog bounded upward and kangaroo-kicked Troll in the face.

Both rolled backward on the ground before setting on their haunches; facing each other.

Troll smiled, and said, "Good." He ran a hand down the left side of his face and over the scars the Dog bestowed him with once-upon-a-time-ago. "Very good," he amended.

The Dog smiled back.

The two combatants rushed head-long at each other.

Either out of strategy, or sheer clumsiness, (which was usually the Dog's custom), the Dog tripped, and rolled into Troll's legs.

Troll's arms waivered for balance. He briefly danced on un-coordinated toes before waffling to the ground.

Dog rolled to his haunches. He leapt a-good-fifteen-feet straight upward; teeth barred, claws extended.

Troll waited until the penultimate moment, and then lunged to the side.

Troll scrambled to his feet, but the Dog found his footing first, and pounced.

Troll rolled away, and said, "Do ye not now see how simple aversion tactics could save a man's life?"

As soon as he touched ground, the Dog popped up, like a cat jumping in the air when frightened. He skittered away just as Troll kicked at his face. The Dog rolled to his haunches. He clenched a fist; unsheathing a trio of razor-sharp blades. He glared at Troll and smiled.

One hand pressed against his aching stitches, Troll gasped, "I thought we agreed no weapons?"

The Dog stood there a moment. His smile faded into a look of stoicism. He shrugged, as if to say, "sorry", and then sheathed the gauntlet blades.

"Good form." Troll waved him on. "Shall we?"

The Dog charged.

Troll stood at the ready.

Mere feet in front of Troll, the Dog fell to a squat, and bounded over Troll's head.

Pivoting, Troll swung at the Dog. He missed.

The Dog grappled Troll by the back of his head. With his free arm, the Dog repeatedly elbowed Troll in his shoulder blade; frenetically ramming his knees into Troll's obliques.

Troll reached behind him, grabbed the Dog by the back of his shirt, and flung him to the ground. Troll wrapped the Dog in a head-lock as the cur thrashed about in vain. Constricting his arms like a python, Troll's muscles tightened around the Dog's neck, cutting of his air supply.

Cough. Hack. Cough. The Dog struggled.

"Am I interrupting anything, boys?" Star asked, hands on holstered hips, hat slung low over her brow, and looking fine as can be.

"Not at all." Troll released the Dog, and said, "That's enough for today."

Growling and hacking, the Dog scampered away.

Troll dusted off his cloak and kilt, and retrieved his trusted staff; a tell-tale sign their wrestling truly over.

On all fours, the Dog returned to his master's side and set upon his haunches.

Troll strode toward Star. He had half-a-mind rush into Star's arms, embrace her, and kiss her. But, both were far too steady of soldiers for that, especially with so much work to do.

Troll bade, "Dog, stay!" He lightly grabbed Star's arm, and led her away. "What news, have ye?"

Brow furrowed, gaze narrowed, Star reared her head back, and asked, "Don't ya want to discuss this with the Dog?"

"No, not of this business," Troll replied.

Anger incipiently flushed Star's face.

Arms crossed, foot tapping, she asked, "I thought we agreed there'd be no more secrets between us?"

"I know, I know, but this matter involves Anne." He glanced back at the Dog, who still lingered where Troll left him. Ushering Star onward, he said, "And I know how the Dog feels about Anne. And, considering ye've returned without our friends, I presume something nefarious has befallen them."

Star drooped her head; face concealed 'neath the brim of her hat. A shackle rattled as she brushed away a stray lock. She sighed heavily, and said, "Yeah, the king's army attacked Silverdale during the night."

"Exactly as I feared," Troll replied. "Time is imperative and I don't want the Dog rushing off after Anne in vain."

Star gazed up at Troll, and said, "Because Anne is fine."

"Exactly."

"Because she's the one they want."

"Precisely, so for now, I'd just as soon leave the Dog in the dark about these matters. I fear his feelings may complicate things."

Her foot tapped lightly as she considered Troll's words.

Troll continued, "I know what ye'r thinking, but for right now, I feel this the best course of action. Ye might say I've had another of my twinklin's."

Star lowered her head, hiding her face once more. Her foot ceased its impatient cadence. She sighed deeply, and said, "All right. I don't like it, but all right."

****

Wails, moans, and the scent of burning flesh polluted the crisp, autumn air. Byron stood shackled by the wrists and ankles; chained in line along with the other survivors. His head throbbed with an ache he'd never before experienced. Streaks of dark-crimson had congealed around his ears and under his nose.

Flesh crackled; another scream.

What happened? He thought he died in the town meeting hall? He shouldn't be alive. He shouldn't be... _here_. Petrified, he watched as his kinsfolk stood in line to receive their mark. One-by-one, a young commander pulled a glimmering-hot iron out of the pyre in the center of town, and plunged it into the bicep of each and every slave.

Unlike Star's, at least his mark wouldn't taint his face.

Other armed soldiers stood sentry to make sure no one tried to run.

As Byron inched his way closer to the head of the line, the acerbic stench of scorched flesh violated his olfactory senses. The fear sweltering within him percolated to proportional levels, but still he stood his ground. He prayed to God that the pain would not be too severe. And that any agony would soon subside; not just for him, but for everybody forced to undergo "the mark".

"Next!" called a soldier, clad head-to-toe in that heavy, black armor with its red claw-mark on the chest-plate. The scowling beak of some ancient bird or lizard carved into the face-mask.

Byron moved up another notch in line to receive his due and proper. Byron's thoughts turned toward Troll, Sarah, Anne -- all of them. Had they made it safely out of town before the invasion? Or were they now dead, or worse?

"Next!"

Byron held the penultimate place in line. He trembled. A cold sweat saturated his hairy skin. He watched as the executioner buried the glowing iron into Otis McClure's supple, freckled skin.

Otis skirled as his flesh sizzled and crackled.

The putrid aroma overpowered Byron. A dizzying swirl of nausea radiated out of his stomach and into every fiber of his being.

"Next!"

Byron's turn.

Quavering, heart palpitating within the hollows of his chest, Byron stepped up without hesitation.

The executioner pulled the brand from pyre.

Byron prayed, please, Lord, spare me from this somehow. If it be ye'r will that I serve the remainder of my days as a slave, then so be it. But, Please, Lord, save me from this mark.

Without word or warning, the executioner plunged the hot iron into Byron's bicep and for the utmost of brevity; Byron felt no pain -- nothing at all. Sizzling. Crackling. The salty fragrance of cooked meat. Eyes squeezed shut, Byron's nausea stirred into an all-out maelstrom. A searing slowly seeped down his arm, radiating outward, as if not receiving a brand at all, but a curse; one that now coursed through him with the slow malignancy of cancer. Byron wailed out in agony, feeling all the more fainter. The last thing he remembered hearing before all faded to black was the soldiers' laughter.

****

Irritation stirred within the Dog like a deep, guttural growl. He and Sarah had been searching for Anne for what felt like an agonizing eternity, though it hadn't even been two hours.

After Troll and Star left to converse on their own, the Dog detected a familiar voice calling in the distance. Despite the fact the Dog immediately recognized the voice; a small growl rumbled in his gullet. Dog glanced toward Troll and Star, who strolled deeper into the forest. They couldn't perceive Sarah's vociferating. Troll wanted them to stay as far away from town as possible, but something was wrong.

From miles off, Sarah called out (in barely a whisper), for Anne again and again.

The Dog closed his eyes and let his senses zero-in on Sarah's location. That's when he noticed Anne wasn't with her. Dog concentrated harder, furthering his sight-beyond-sight. But he didn't sense Anne anywhere, as if she simply vanished.

He found Sarah wandering around the cliff edge. The Dog silently emerged from the tree-line; startling Sarah.

She froze, muscles tensed, gape wide, mouth clamped shut, as if expecting some marauding monster in black armor. Sarah exhaled deeply and brushed back her wavy red-hair. She held Maddy in the crook of her other arm. She trotted toward the Dog, and sobbed, "Oh, thank God!" Her faded, yellow sun-dress fluttered in the wind in tandem with wavy locks.

Salty rivulets streamed down her puffy face.

From ten paces away, they both halted; peering at each other in uncertainty.

Sarah cast her gaze downward. She clutched Maddy tightly to her breast, as if it some sort of physical life-line to Anne that was endangered of being severed lest she not hold the doll close to her heart at all times. She collapsed to her knees. Sarah blubbered, "I'm sorry! I...I...I lost Anne!"

A swell of disgust swirled within the Dog.

It hadn't even been an entire day, how could she lose her?

The Dog strode toward her.

She lurched up and hugged the Dog.

The Dog leaned away. Physical contact made him uncomfortable.

Sarah squeezed tighter, crying all the harder. Tears and snot stained the shoulder of the jacket she made for him.

When all cried out, Sarah stood, wiped her nose, wrung her hands in her hem (with Maddy tucked in the crook of her arm), and cast her shameful gaze ground-ward.

The Dog hunkered low, head canted as he sniffed curiously at Maddy.

Sarah held the doll out for the Dog to get a better lock on the scent.

But he didn't need a better lock. He recognized Anne's particular aroma anywhere. The Dog sniffed Maddy because the doll smelled different -- off. The Dog shut his eyes and tried to sense Anne's presence. Nothing.

"I fear Anne may have ventured out there," Sarah said, pointing toward the vast barren desert below.

What reason could she have for thinking that? The Dog didn't know, nor did he ask.

After a bit of scouring, the Dog found a path (traversable for Sarah), down the jagged cliffs.

The plateau below seemed about what one would expect; an infinite, barren wasteland, for as far as the eye could see.

The Dog managed to descend the rock-wall within minutes.

It took Sarah about an hour to climb down to him.

While he waited for Sarah to catch-up, The Dog sniffed at random stones and patches of sand for any trace of Anne. Nothing.

When Sarah finally made it down to the desert below, she appeared sweaty and out of breath. Strands of greasy, red-hair plastered to the sides of her pale, puffy face.

She needed water, but had no canteen.

Nor did the Dog, he didn't require water as humans did. Sure, hydration was germane to his survival, but he could go a long time before slaking his thirst.

Sarah could probably benefit from a rest, as well.

But standing still wouldn't satiate her, nor would it find Anne. They needed to press on.

The Dog raced out into the desert.

Sarah tried to keep up.

Every once in a while the Dog leapt over a dune; temporarily losing sight (but not sense), of Sarah. He squatted low in the ever-shifting sand, impatiently waiting for Sarah to catch up before bounding away again, and venturing further into the unknown. Sarah's inability to keep pace irritated the Dog. And with each passing moment, the Dog felt a frantic nervousness overtake him. His senses still un-able to locate Anne, he feared if he didn't zero-in on her location soon, he never would.

****

Smoke clouds billowed in the morning sky, along with the stench of festering bodies. What remained of the town of Silverdale after the invasion was reduced to a dying shit-hole of its once-former-self. But who cared? Not General Shroud. The king's myrmidon would soon be gone, 'though not without his majesty's prize. After all, that's why Shroud was here.

Any able-bodied slaves had been rounded up by the soldiers and escorted to the "pits", a large sand quarry beyond the gates of Silverdale. The slaves probably didn't have a clue as to the power or the evil they were forced to un-earth.

From his tent (an eighth-of-a-click away), Shroud focused the lens of his monocle upon the slaves digging deep into the pit until they unearthed a small, solid, and window-less, box-shaped building. The structure was made from a rock-like substance that neither Shroud nor any of Furion's madgi could identify. But Shroud's concern wasn't with the material or even the structure itself.

According to Shroud's master, somewhere on the façade of the building would be a door; a strong standing one, but a door none-the-less. And within that door, somewhere within the bowels of that ancient temple lay a weapon. A weapon of unimaginable power. This was why the king set his malevolent sights on Silverdale. This was also why Furion ordered his men not to invade until after the interlopers left.

His Blackness seemed most pleased when first giving Shroud those orders. Now, The Lord of Black, hid away in his mew. The king had his prize, but what of Furion's? According to the Black Lord, when the interlopers left, Furion's reward would remain in Silverdale. But the Krinian was not in Silverdale. And this greatly disturbed Shroud's master.

Two soldiers donning officer buttons, and the face-masks of rabid stags approached Shroud. They flanked a prisoner, whom they escorted toward the general. Their captive was not in chains, but wore a sack over her head to conceal her ghoulish features.

"General, sir," a soldier barked through his helmet.

Shroud collapsed his monocle, returned it to a compartment on his belt, and said, "So you've managed to find her, captain?"

"Negative, sir. She came to us, sir."

"Just as well, show her in."

Shroud's canvas tent appeared simple. A small cot on one side and a table littered with maps and documents on the other. Once inside, Shroud turned to his prisoner and said, "Annola, Mistress of the Trees, I presume."

Silence.

Shroud turned to his captain, and said, "And the orb?"

The captain nodded at the other soldier, who totted a satchel around his arm.

The second soldier pushed Annola's arm away; forcing the hag to the ground before producing the glowing, blue ball from out of the sack.

"Excellent," Shroud said. He nearly drooled as the soldier handed the precious artifact over. Shroud brought the orb to his face and peered into its gleaming glass.

"What should we do with her?" asked the first soldier.

Gazing deeper into the ball, Shroud stroked the orb. A strange, thrumming energy penetrated through his gloves and into his hands.

"My liege?" the soldier asked again.

Rousing from the relic's ethereal hold, Shroud asked, "Hmm, what?" He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and said, "Oh, dispose of her."

" _Ar - ar_ , sir," the two soldiers barked in unison.

"No wait!" said Annola. "He told me to come to ye! He told me to join ye'r army -- Furion's army!" She lurched forward, her gnarled hands groped for Shroud's cloak.

Repulsed by her cowardice, Shroud stepped back, and snarled, "Who told you?"

Annola cried, "My master! The Darkling! The Wraith!"

Shroud replied, "Oh, I see."

Shroud had never met the Darkling, nor did he know its plan. But the Wraith was the first; a higher rank than Furion.

Shroud turned to his men, and said, "Leave us."

" _Ar - ar_!" They pounded the scratch-mark on their chest-plates, and said, "Hail to Furion! Hail to the King!" Then they took their leave.

Shroud ran an adoring hand over the orb, placed it gently on the table, and said, "You may remove your hood, if you like."

Annola did.

Without so much as a glance in the hag's general direction, Shroud continued, "So, my master's brother told you to join our great army, did he?"

"Aye." Annola knelt on the ground, her hands folded, as if begging him to take mercy on her.

Yet, still he did not gaze upon her face. "In what capacity?"

"My lord?"

"Let me rephrase my inquiry," Shroud folded his arms behind his back. Pacing around the tent, he asked, "Are you a soldier of any kind?"

"Well, I...uh--"

Shroud continued, "I thought not. So then, how could you possibly help his highness' army in any way?"

"I...uh--"

"You can't! So why should I not just dispose of you now? Can you not give me one reason?"

"Because I am faithful to my lord. I am faithful to the King," she replied without hesitation. "And I have many talents."

Shroud ceased pacing and turned toward her. Annola's hideousness was beyond reputation, yet Shroud gazed upon her purplish-reptilian face without sympathy or revulsion. For, Shroud had seen many a-thing during his arduous rise to the rank of general. More horrid things than this hag before him. And for the first time in a long time, disappointment curdled in his stomach like heart-burn waiting in the wings. But if the Darkling had sent her to Furion, then surely there must be a reason for it. Shroud smiled, and said, "Very well, I suppose we might be able to find some use for you after all."

****

The sun beat down relentlessly in this part of the world. Sandy had joked to her husband how it was a miracle that their quant campsite of two tents hadn't suddenly burst into flames. A couple of the guys protested that they shouldn't even bother with the toil of setting up camp, but the ol' man's deterioration in the heat made Ally insist they hold up for a while. The tents, although sweltering hot inside, still remained the only shelter from the ubiquitous sun. Out here in the wastelands beyond the ledges of Silverdale, water grew scarce, virtually non-existent. Jethro drained most of the groups' last canteen after being rescued from the gallows. As far as Ally saw it, there were just too many in his group to accommodate all. If they planned to survive out here they'd definitely need to load up on supplies before venturing any further. But as to where they would acquire such sundries remained another question entirely.

All this, Ally pondered as he glanced at his cards: a one-eyed jack and suicide king. The cards' irony wasn't lost upon him. They'd all be one-eyed jacks and suicide kings if things continued on this way.

Ally asked, "What you got?"

Roy grumbled, "Ace and deuce." His black handle-bar mustache danced as he spoke.

The boys sat around a boulder which they used as a card table; playing a game of slapjacks (all except for 'Ro, Sandy, and Grey, who, exhausted, napped in one of the tents).

The boys employed large rocks as chairs, but constantly had to rotate them from the sun's lingering eye lest their asses be cooked. All except for Zeke, the big galoot in overalls with a shuck of greying hair perched atop his egg-like head.

"Nope, nope," Zeke had said, with a wide, gummy smile. "S'okay, I'll stand."

Ally stood and rotated his seat. He scorched his hands on the stony surface. Suddenly, big Zeke didn't seem so dimwitted after all.

Paulie snorted, "Shit." He combed pudgy, dexterous fingers through his shoulder-length, straw-like, blond-hair. "I'm out," he said, tossing his cards face down upon the mock table.

Zeke folded as well; thrusting his hand away in the same fashion as Paulie, as if the cards disgusted them.

Mayhap, they did.

Grinning, Ally said, "No splashing the pot fellas, let's keep this nice n' clean." Wearing his best poker-face, he stared at Hickey, and asked, "What about you, fold?"

"Hell no," Hickey replied. He chewed on a plug of tobacco; his large, wrinkled face unreadable.

Did he have top Jack? Unless he was saving the card to pull trump, Hickey would have called Slap-Jack right after the deal. Perhaps he had a high straight. But Ally didn't think Hickey's cards were better than his.

Ally said, "All right then, let's see what ya got."

Hickey spat. A bit of brownish saliva drizzled down his square, stubbly chin. He laid his cards face-up, and said, "I nutted the straight off the flop."

The gang griped and grumbled, even Ally.

Paulie slide his spectacles up the bridge of his nose with his index-finger, glowered at Hickey, and groaned, "No wonder I don't play cards with you."

Ally stood, stretched, and asked, "Whose deal is it?"

"Mine," Zeke said, collecting the deck.

Hickey shot Alley a queer glance, and asked, "Where you going?"

Ally replied, "Take a piss."

"Sit down when you do that," Roy said.

Ally's slack, square jaw drew up in a scowl of disgust, as he thought Roy's comment had been directed at him. He opened his mouth to retort.

Roy said to Zeke, "I don't trust ya dealing like that. Sit down."

Paulie leaned toward Roy. He pushed his spectacles up his nose, and said, "Good thing we don't play for money."

Ally chuckled, and then strolled off to find a secluded area in which to relieve himself. Damn it was hot out here. Ally felt sweaty, dirty. Flecks of sand and stone pelted away at his skin every time the wind picked up. His eyes dry, gritty with sand.

In his youth, Ally heard horror stories of the slave driver named Furion, and how the Hellion and his legions mainly resided out here in the Mo'tave desert. But damn, how could anyone survive out here? He didn't know. But he had a really bad feeling he'd find out. Soon. And then he'd be sorry for ever pondering such in the first place.

Ally stopped and peered around. Nothing. Literally, nothing around. He unzipped his pantaloons. Ally leaned back his head, closed his eyes, and pretended he was someplace -- anyplace else on the face of God's green earth. Flecks of sand and stone pelted his privates. He snarled, "Ah! Goddamn! Fuck this shit! I ain't never pissing again." He re-zipped his pants. With the back of a hand he wiped away the grit and tears from the corners of his stinging oculars. Then he saw it. At first, he doubted his eyes. He rubbed them, instantly regretting the action as he winced again. Just how in the green-Hell did anyone survive out here? The wind arose -- hard. Hands shielding his face, Ally groaned in vexation.

A small silhouette emerged from out of the undulating heat-waves pulsating off the desert sand.

Ally was about to rub his eyes again, then thought better of it. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the gunk from his vision. He cupped a hand over his brow, and strained to focus on the shadowy figure trouncing toward him.

Ally blinked, shook his head in disbelief, and then looked again.

The apparition remained.

A little girl with long, black-hair skipped playfully along the sweltering sand, humming loudly and as care-free as could be.

****

Star asked, "So what do ya think?" She removed her hat and ran her fingers through sweaty, golden locks; airing them out. Her other hand rested on a cocked hip. A foot tapped methodically in the endless sand.

Her posture told Troll she was irritated, but the calm tone in her voice suggested otherwise.

"Well," she pestered, "I asked you, what you thought?"

But that right there was the problem. Troll didn't know what to think. He had no contingency planned; metaphorically kicking himself for coming out here into the desert unprepared when such things were considered heresy against his better judgment.

Things weren't supposed to be like this. In fact, it was all supposed to be so simple. But if that were true then why were they in this present predicament? And then again, there it was -- Troll simply didn't have a clue.

They hadn't come to any concrete conclusions from the morning's conclave. In the end they'd decided to wait and see. Would Anne and Sarah show? No, they hadn't. And by around noon they decided they'd lingered as long as they dared while being so close to the king's army. Nix that; Furion's army -- 'cause it was his army really.

Worse yet, the Dog simply vanished after the morning's exercise regimen.

Troll desperately hoped he hadn't done something stupid, like return to Silverdale in search of the girl. Would Dog really go back in broad day-light, though? Once again, Troll didn't know. He hoped the Dog more savvied than that, but if Anne were in trouble...

"Well?" Star asked. She plopped on her hat, re-secured the cincture, and crossed her arms. Her fingers subconsciously slithered toward the golden chain dangling from her neck. Her foot tapped faster.

Troll said, "I'm thinking." But he wasn't thinking; more like reminiscing. Remembering how Star mentioned (several times), how Troll's decision to exclude the Dog from things was most probably the reason for his disappearance. And if that weren't bad enough, Star kept nagging Troll about how his keeping secrets had nearly been the end of them all back in Silverdale. And if they were to continue on together, entrusting their lives with each other, then Troll needed to be honest of his thoughts.

They spent the last two hours precariously clambering down the steep, narrow path carved through the jagged precipice line, and into the desert below.

Star nearly fell on several occasions, and yet every time her footing faltered, Troll was always right there to catch her (with the every-ready aid of his staff, of course).

Once they reached the bottom, they rested before venturing out into the unknown.

Sweating copiously, Star panted, "How can we take a break? It hasn't even been an entire day, and already our group is split?"

Troll said, "I know. And I share your earnest to reunite with our friends. But this minor setback changes little, if anything."

"How so?"

"Even if we were still all together, we'd be going in the same direction. So, as long as we keep moving in the predetermined direction, our objective remains the same."

Thin eyebrow cocked, Star asked, "The path, right?"

"Precisely. Deserts are deceiving," Troll lectured knowledgably (though he was hard pressed to recall just when the last time he'd ever even been in such a desolate environment). "The days are as hot and as stagnantly dismal as Hell, while the nights are colder than the nothingness beyond the stars, and equally as infinite."

Star's face scrunched, as if sensing some acerbic aroma. She snorted, "I know. I came from the deserts, _remember_?"

"Then ye know I'm right."

So they rested.

Not long after trekking out into the desert, Star began asking Troll question after question, as if vocalizing every single thought that passed through her head.

Lolling behind, she pattered, "Do you think the Dog will show up? 'Cause we've been walkin' out here for a while, and there ain't nothing. I mean, if he were out here you'd think we'd of seen him."

Troll muttered, "Yes, one would be inclined to think as such."

"He probably went back for Anne, don't you think?"

Troll strolled along with his staff, cloak draped over his shoulder.

Star continued, "And that's your fault you know? He probably wouldn't have snuck off if we'd included him; explained things to him, don't you think?"

"Star?"

"Yeah."

Troll whirled toward her, and said, "Is this making ye happy?"

Hiding her face beneath brim of her hat, she asked, "What?"

"This. This thing ye'r doing to try and make me feel bad."

"And just why would I want to make you feel bad?"

Sighing heavily, he replied, "I don't know, Star. I thought we were coming off sweepingly as of late. Why would ye not want that to continue?"

Scowling, squinting, Star peered up at Troll, and said, "Because of you." Admonishing a slender t finger, she added, "Because of the way you treat the people around you."

Troll shrugged, and asked "Why, Star, whatever do ye mean?"

Star chuckled, drew in a long, low breath, and said, "I'm talking about your constant doubt and the dismissive way you treat the Dog. How you just send him away to safe face for yourself. Also--"

"First of all..."

Star continued to rant. Obviously she still had a lot of unsettled resentment toward him.

Troll bellowed over Star, "First of all, I trust the Dog deeply, possibly more so than I do ye."

Star snorted, "Oh, really?" Her gaze grew wide, eyes bulged. Her foot thumped faster upon the sand.

Troll continued, "In fact, and I believe I have already told ye this, but while in Silverdale, the Dog and I engaged in many a-private discourse without ye, simply because sometimes a person is not ready to be told something. Perhaps, said person didn't have the spiritual maturity at that point and wasn't ready to come to terms with certain truths."

Her jaw grew slack, bottom lip protruded. Squinting, brow wrinkled, she glared at Troll, and asked, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Troll lumbered toward her, and said, "Oh, ye know what I'm talking about, Myriam. And just so ye know, _ye'r_ the one who needs to entrust more in the Dog. How dismissive ye are of ye'r own prophecy. Remember, the Dog only looks like a man. But he is not, he is a beast. He doesn't live as humans do, and ye have to trust that he, and only he, knows how to do that."

"Then why do you teach him all that bullshit, shit that only people would need to know? It's not like he goes out of his way to make things easier on us, so...Oh my God!" Her gaze widened. The shackle rattled as she cupped a hand over her mouth, as if to cover a cough or catch an obscenity. "I sounded just like you!"

Troll shrugged, and said, "T'is of no consequence. People like to hit me."

Star brushed back her hair, and said "I wouldn't think anyone would hit you."

Troll chuckled, "Not physically, I mean. It's just that people like to vent their anger upon me. They verbally or emotionally abuse me, as I said, people like to hit me."

"That's not true. No one wants to hurt you." Shoulders hunched, Star lowered her gaze.

Troll gave her a side-ways glance, and asked, "Don't they, Myriam? Don't they?"

Forever twirling her compass chain, bottom lip protruded, Star peered at the ground.

He could tell she was recalling each and every time that she had lashed out at him in anger.

Troll continued, "And ye know what? I think thee know I'm right, and that ye'r just playing mind games with me. Ye say I need to be more honest. Well, ye need to get over the petty way ye treat me because ye can't stand it when I'm right."

Star lowered her head. Face concealed. She sighed, and her foot ceased its impatient cadence. She gazed up at Troll, and said, "Well...I can't stand it when you're right. You're always right." The she wore a smile so awkward, it were as if the act foreign to her.

They stood there a moment; peering into each other's eyes before erupting in a refreshing laughter. The sudden change in mood felt like an assuaging breeze that briefly broke the sun's tenacious anger.

"But seriously," Troll said, strolling onward, "ye really need to get over it."

****

Jethro Allen Jessip, a.k.a., 'Ro, had been dozing in and out when he heard something unusual -- the voice of a little girl.

He opened his eyes, but didn't recognize his murky, sweltering surroundings. He sat up and brushed his greasy hair away from his brow. His clothes were drenched with sweat. His eyes focused in the darkness. He lay in a tent, between Sandy and the man he so affectionately referred to as "the ol' man".

Sinuses rattling, Sandy snored loudly.

Grey, the ol' man, stirred restlessly, and muttered something in his sleep.

'Ro groaned, his head pounded, skin clammy, throat as dry as the desert surrounding them.

Sandy's ovoid blue-eyes shot open. She sat bolt-right, and quickly snatched a crooked and corroded blade.

Shit, didn't she ever clean that thing?

Stabbing wildly at the gloom, she growled, "Who's there?"

'Ro just sat there, smirking, daring the rusted dagger to do-its-worst. "Relax, Sandy," he _eventually_ said. 'Ro gently grabbed her wrist, staying the knife.

Sandy focused her gaze and finally saw him. Exhaling a gale of relief, she whispered, "Shit, 'Ro, I could've killed ya."

"Worse have tried than you, kitten."

Grey, the ol' man, shifted. He mumbled something that sounded like, "That ain't my dumpling." He turned over on his side, curled in a fetal position, and chortled loudly.

'Ro and Sandy glanced at each other.

'Ro snorted in laughter.

Sandy pressed a hand firmly over her thin lips in a futile attempt at stifling a serious case of the giggles. When composed, she removed her hand from her tan, oval face, and mouthed, "What's up?"

'Ro pressed a dirt and sweat-smeared index-finger to his chapped lips; shushing her.

She did.

A child's laughter echoed.

Sandy mouthed, "What the hell?"

When they emerged from the tent, 'Ro and Sandy were blinded by the still brilliant sun.

God, would the relief of night never come?

Squinting through spread fingers, 'Ro asked, "What's goin' on boys?"

"Just playin' cards, bro," Ally called back.

'Ro's vision cleared.

The boys played cards around a large boulder. Except for big Zeke, the gang used rocks for chairs.

How could sit on rocks? That must be hotter'n Hell.

As if on cue, Roy arose in a half-squat, as if taking a shit, and then rotated his make-shift seat.

A little girl with long jet-black hair sat on Ally's lap. Humming, she held the cards up to Ally's trim face.

"Who's the kid?" Sandy asked.

Examining his hand, Ally replied, "What kid?"

Sandy said, "The one settin' on your lap, hon."

"Huh?" Ally peered around in animated blindness.

The little girl giggled in delight.

Gape wide, mouth ajar, Ally gazed at the girl, as if it the first time he'd noticed her. Smirking, he said to Sandy, "Oh, that one."

Sandy crossed her sinuous arms around her thin waist, and said, "Yeah, that one."

Ally rested his hands on the girl's lithe shoulders, and said, "This here's Anne."

Sandy nodded, rolled her eyes, and said, "Mhmm. So where'd ya get her?"

"Found her when I was taking a piss," Ally replied.

The boys guffawed in laughter.

Roy stood, rotated his seat, and peeked at Paulie's hand while everyone else's attention on Anne.

'Ro sat down in the sand to roll himself a smoke. His head throbbed, throat dry, he felt faint being exposed to the sun after only a few minutes. It took even less time for him to realize his ass was roasting in the desert sand. He jumped up as a small hiss escaped clenched teeth, like steam whistling out of a tea-kettle.

Scowling, Sandy said, "That ain't funny."

The boys roared all the heartier.

"No, seriously," Sandy said. "Where'd ya get her?"

Ally tickled Anne.

She giggled; holding the cards so tightly they incipiently warped.

Ally gazed up at Sandy. He swept shabby brown-hair away from his hazel-green eyes, smiled gallantly, and said, "Congratulations darling, you're a mom."

****

The survivors of the invasion of Silverdale were already dead. They didn't know it yet, but Byron did. How he knew this remained another mystery altogether. But that didn't change the fact that Byron _knew_ beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were all doomed -- even him.

Attempting to readjust his eyesight to the blinding desert light, Byron blinked.

How had he gotten here?

The last thing he remembered was being marked, and now, here he stood.

His brand itched, but he didn't scratch.

A masked soldier shoved Byron from behind, and barked, "Move along, slave!"

Byron's feet moved forward without the frivolity of thought. The rattling of shackles sounded with every step he took, every motion he made.

So much was happening, so much new stimuli.

Byron was being forced toward a black box-car. He'd never seen a train-car before, but his pappy told him all about the great, steel snakes of old. He peered around.

Blinding light. Jagged rocks. Heat like he'd never felt before.

_Crack_.

Something like a blast of wind whipped Byron's back. Then a sharp, stinging sensation.

Byron was pushed closer toward the car. He didn't know why, but a cold shiver run up and down his spine. Forced to the ground, his hands instantly blistered upon the coarse sand. Byron had never seen sand before; never knew it so -- hot.

"Chain him up," the first soldier said.

"Can't," a second replied. "Ain't no more shackle-links."

High upon his steed, a king's man trotted toward them. Even his horse wore heavy, black armor. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked.

"Can't chain him to the tanker," the second guard barked beneath his heavy face-mask. "No more room."

The rider asked, "Is that so?"

" _Ar - ar_ ," barked the soldiers.

"No matter," the rider replied. "Chain him to my steed and I'll drag the whelp all the way through the desert, and to his majesty, myself."

Head down, Byron was pulled to his feet.

Chains rattled.

A clap of thunder boomed in the distance.

Byron glanced back.

Up above the cliff line, Silverdale appeared entrenched with torrential rain. Dark, heavy clouds loomed over the hamlet's burning gates. The rainy season had come.

Down in the desert, the sky looked cloudless and blue, as if Byron stood in another realm, another world.

Before Byron knew what happened, his feet gave out beneath him, and he was dragged out into the unknown.

****

All was silent except for gusts of wind and shifting sand. The sun shone bright in the clear, blue sky. Still. All gazes and guns trained on Sarah.

Well, at least she found Anne (albeit, in the arms of a total stranger).

They traveled for hours, yet the sun hung motionless in the sky.

Perhaps, out here in the desert, time did not exist.

Exhaustion racked at Sarah's frail body. Her bones ached. Sticky and sweaty. Grit and sand plastered to her exposed skin. Thirsty, mouth dry. Every time she swallowed, her tongue felt like a lathe working against a piece of chord-wood. Imaginary, yet somehow very real, leafy whittled peels clotted her throat; choking her.

The Dog wore the jacket and boots she made for him. His odd looking cap with its archaic 'D' rightfully resided upon the Dog's head. He appeared unfettered by the scorching heat, and effortlessly bounded from dune to dune.

Every time he did, Sarah momentarily lost sight of him. The wind picked up, and drove stinging pelts of grit and grain into her supple skin; creating dark crimson freckles of dried blood. She felt she would collapse at any moment, yet she trudged on, struggling to keep pace with the Dog.

Every now and again, the Dog stopped and sniffed at a rock or some random spot in the sand.

The wind blew, peppering the two with sand and stone.

Sweating profusely, Sarah shuddered. Her clothes drenched with perspiration. A small wall of sand hit her, yet all she experienced was the cold shiver radiating out from her spine.

Another gust. Another wall of sand.

Ears twitching, the Dog hunkered low to the ground.

Her throat a dry, cavernous well, Sarah croaked, "What is it?"

The Dog shushed her, pointed to his ear, closed his eyes, and leaned back his head, as if sensing something soothing.

Sarah listened, and she heard it too.

Anne giggled.

A ripple of rejuvenation coursed through her. Sarah waded through the sand, calling, "Anne! Anne!"

The Dog grabbed for Sarah's shoulder.

She pulled away and raced over a dune. Her thighs burned, calve muscles ripped as she tore through the shifting desert floor. She crested the mound, and stopped dead in her tracks.

Two, tattered tents stood straight ahead. A little further, a huge boulder rested in the sand. Six men dressed in ranger's clothes sat around the stone, playing cards.

At the far end of the mock-table, some tall, skinny, sandy-haired woman sat with Anne cradled in her arms.

A sick amalgamation of confusion and disgust settled in the pit of Sarah's stomach.

Beaming, Anne squealed, "Sarah!" She leapt out of the sandy-haired woman's arms, and sprinted toward Sarah.

The six men sitting (and one in overalls, standing), around the rock-table, sprang to their feet. They drew pistols and shotguns. All were aimed at Sarah.

Palm outstretched, Sarah cried, "No, Anne! Don't come over here!"

Anne halted. Her brown-eyes wide, mouth agape.

A cold breeze arose. All seemed still.

The outlaws stared at Sarah, weapons trained on her.

Sarah's gaze affixed on Anne.

What should she do?

The sandy-haired woman also peered at Anne.

Anne glared at Maddy, the rag doll, clutched snuggly in the crook of Sarah's arm.

The wind blew. Silence.

All gazes on Anne.

"Uh, boys," said a handsome outlaw with shoulder-length brown-hair and high cheek bones.

The boys, plus the sandy-haired woman, turned. The woman said, "Ally! No!"

The Dog held Ally by the back of his mangy hair. The tip of a long, serrated knife pressed into Ally's Adam's apple.

Sarah inched toward Anne.

"Wait, hold it," an outlaw said. This one appeared short, pear-shaped, with balding straw-like hair, and spectacles. "Hold it right there!" he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his ring-finger.

Ally said to the Dog, "I'm tellin' you friend, ya don't want to do this."

The Dog tugged forcibly at Ally's greasy brown-hair. He dug the blade deeper into Ally's neck, drawing blood. The Dog growled, and said, "The girl!"

Ally asked, "What?"

Aiming a pistol at the Dog, the sandy-haired woman said, "The girl, he wants the girl!"

Eyes rheumy, heart racing, Sarah said, "Please, just let us leave." She had a bad feeling this would be the end of the line for all of them. Her mind filled with visions of everything she had never done, and now, never would. Marriage. The feel of a man. Child-bearing. Growing old and happy around those she loved.

"Just give her the girl, Ally!" said a tall, muscular, older man with short, graying hair.

The sandy-haired woman said, "No, don't!"

The Dog glanced around the group of men and one woman. All guns pointed at him, and thusly, Ally.

The cocking of a hammer sounded, and a barrel pressed into the back of the Dog's head. Dog growled lowly.

Sarah never saw the other outlaw (this one with dirty-blonde hair, probably the brother of the man the Dog held; based on their handsome complexions), until he buried his gun into the Dog's head. She recognized him -- sort of. The prisoner from Silverdale. And the others must've been the rest of the gang that tried to rob the small hamlet before scattering; before Withers imprisoned one and later tried to execute him.

The former prisoner said, "Let 'em go."

Sarah knew his name, or at least heard it before. But she couldn't remember it.

The Dog lowered his weapon from Ally's throat.

"Let 'em all go," the former prisoner called.

The boys holstered their weapons.

Anne leapt into Sarah's arms.

The Dog released his hold on Ally's hair.

Ally spat on the ground, turned to his brother (the former prisoner), and asked, "You know this scrum?"

The brother lowered his gun, but didn't holster it. "Yeah," he said, "I do."

The Dog whirled around and glared at the brother.

His face un-readable, the brother met the Dog's gaze. He stared at the Dog for a long moment.

For the utmost of brevity, Sarah thought the outlaw would shoot.

But he didn't.

Brow furrowed, he nodded, and said to the Dog, "Thought you were dead."

****

Fedic Porter gazed out the porthole and into the desert landscape zooming past. Many circular portholes (about two-feet in diameter, and fenced with wire-mesh), lined the interior of the bird cage, where the crew kept quarters; to keep the king's men from being cooked alive while'st riding in the belly of this iron beast. The open portals roared with the rushing of wind, making any chance of conversation virtually impossible. No matter. The king's men weren't allowed to chit-chat while on duty, anyway.

His majesty possessed many trains, with terrifying names; long, black cabooses and cabins, dark as night. But this train ran name-less.

This particular train consisted of the bird cage, two boxcars of supplies, and a 500 gallon container of water (bolted to a flat-bed-car). The caboose was a lumpback, meaning the control cab had been assembled over the middle of the boiler. From outside, the train's engine appeared to have a big hump on it, like a boil protuberating out of the dorsal of a snake's neck.

Strange, that such supplies had been ordered out into the middle of nowhere with only a handful of men. But orders were orders.

Fedic didn't know the objective of this top-secret mission. He didn't need to. He received a different set of orders from someone ranking higher than Commander Valcor.

Not even the captain (not only the ranking officer onboard, but also the conductor), knew of Fedic's true mission.

Fedic sighed. He gazed at the other marked-men lounging about the crew's quarters. Most of them were younger than him.

Fedic peered out the porthole again, dune after dune blurred past him. Nauseated, his stomach churned; woozy, buzzing, head spinning. Could he really go through with his mission? He closed his eyes. The wind rushing upon his face from the open portal soothed his nerves, if only briefly. He still had a job to do.

The caboose's steam boiler blew.

The bird cage shuddered as the air brakes were applied.

Fedic opened his eyes. Outside, the dunes and waves of endless sand began to slow to a jog.

Almost time.

****

Anne said, "It was all Maddy's fault." She sat in Sarah's lap; Maddy nestled respectively in hers. "He's the one who told me to chase the bunny."

Sarah asked, "Chase the bunny? Anne, what are ye talking about?"

Anne knew they wouldn't understand.

Dusk had finally arrived. The breeze calmed. Cooler. Although, waves of heat still rose from the sand, and up toward a purplish-orange sky.

After things settled down, Sarah and the Dog had been offered what remained of the Jessip's water rations. Only Sarah accepted. But she didn't drink it all.

Hickey in particular seemed most disgruntled by such succor. He just kept glaring at the two 'neath the brim of his hat.

The Dog and 'Ro rested against another large boulder farther away from the rest of the group. They exhaled plumes of blue smoke. Evidently the Dog had a cache of rolled cigarettes in one of the many compartments upon his mysterious belt.

The boys went back to their cards. Every now and then, one glanced over at Sarah, Sandy, and Anne.

Hickey in particular, leered at Anne in a way that reminded her way too much of Withers.

No, she didn't like this man and the way he looked at her one bit. She was all right with Roy and Paulie, although they seemed somewhat dismissive of her very presence. Except for Ally, she liked Zeke the best. She just adored the way the galoot stood there laughing in a wide, gummy smile. It made him look like a big kid, hisself.

Roy snickered, "I wonder if having two more women around means we'll be gettin' better cooking." His black handle-bar mustache danced across his jar-shaped head.

The boys laughed.

Ally went to wake his father.

Now, they all sat around the mock-table (except for Sandy and Ally, who stood).

The Dog sat on his haunches several yards away from the rest of the group.

Anne said, "I was going potty and I saw a bunny. I wanted to pet the bunny. I really did, I knew I shouldn't, but Maddy told me to go ahead, he said that it would be all right and that I could pet the bunny if I wanted to. I only wanted to pet the bunny." Bottom lip protruding, she gazed up at Sarah, and said, "I'm sorry."

Sarah's brow furrowed, she frowned, and said, "What do you mean _he_? I thought Maddy was a girl." Sarah glanced at the others.

All stared at Anne. Their brows cocked; mouths slightly agape (except for Hickey, who chewed a plug of tobacco).

Sarah asked, "Maddy is a girl's name, t'is it not?"

Toying with her straight, dirty-blonde hair, Sandy replied, "Not necessarily, it can be a boy's name, too."

In a rush, Anne continued, "It's short for Madgellaine. He's a prince, honest to God, a real prince, got his own castle 'n everything. See, this is his royal robe," she said, pointing to the doll's dress. She simply loved talking about Maddy.

Scratching the back of his egg-like head, Zeke said, "But it's got long hair."

Anne replied, "That's 'cause he can't cut it, it's a tradition. His hair is only down cause we're out here having fun, but when we go to balls he does his hair up in long braids and wears his royal suit."

Sarah asked, "Balls?"

The boys (including Sandy, but not the Dog), snickered and giggled.

"What?" Sarah asked. "I don't get it."

Anne continued, "Aye, sometimes we dance in his tall castle for hours and hours. Someday he's gonna take me away from here, forever."

Sarah groaned. She combed her fingers through Anne's, and asked, "Oh, Anne, why would ye say such a thing?"

Anne prattled on, "And he's gonna marry me, and take me away to his castle and I'll finally live some place where _he_ can't get me."

Sandy asked, "Where who can't get you, baby-girl?"

Anne opened her mouth to reply. But what to say? She didn't want to talk about this. She couldn't.

"Why were y'all out here in the first place?" Grey asked. He appeared haggardly old and skinny. His flesh folded into wrinkles. His long silvery-hair tied back in a pony-tail beneath his ranger's hat. His eyebrows were long, bushy, and white, as was his handle-bar mustache. He wore a constant scowl, yet a kindness lingered behind his faded blue-eyes.

Sarah explained about how Silverdale fell twice within twenty-four-hours, and of their harrowing escape. She told the gang how they were supposed to meet up with their friends in the Southwestern woods before heading out into the desert.

Grey leaned toward Anne. He smiled, tapped her gently on the knee, and said, "Well, the next time Maddy there tells ya to chase after a bunny, you just think otherwise, got it?"

Anne replied, "Got it." Anne gave the ol' man a thumb's-up.

Roy sneered, "Tell him the best part."

Gape wide, Grey glanced at Ally.

Hickey spat out his plug, wiped the brown spittle from the corner of his mouth, and said, "Our fearless leader here, made our guests honorary members of the gang."

Grey asked, "That so?" Pillowy eyebrow arched, he shot Ally a cross-glance, and asked, "Why'd y'all do that?"

Ally replied, "We couldn't just let 'em go wandering off on their own." He nodded toward Sandy (standing beside him), and said, "We didn't have the heart."

Anne said, "My puppy said that if we got separated, we were supposed to keep heading west, and try to make it out of the desert."

Squinting, Grey asked Ally, "But we're going as far north as north goes, aren't we?"

"Sure we are, pop," Ally replied. "We were just maybe considering heading west a little ways 'fore hand." He nodded toward Anne and Sarah, and said, "Give 'em a chance to find their friends."

Grey cleared his phlegmy throat. He stroked his wrinkled chin. Bushy, white-eyebrows furrowed, he said, "That's your call son. But let me just remind you, that we're dangerously low on provisions. Unless you got a plan for stocking up, adding others to our party is only gonna stretch rations thinner."

Ally met his father's gaze, and said, "I thought about that."

Mustache dancing, Roy asked, "How do ya know these tender-foots can even keep up?" He cracked his knuckles with audible pops and clicks.

Anne said, "Hey! I ain't no tender-foot!"

"Yeah," Hickey said, drawing out the word, "let me just be the first to throw in a vote against this little union."

"Me too," Paulie said, raising his hand.

Grey asked, "That right?" Twisting fingertips into the tip of his mustache, he glanced about the group, and asked, "Anybody else against this merge? If'n ya do, speak now our forever hold ye'r tongue."

From just outside the circle, the Dog stood, and raised his hand.

Anne said, "Puppy! I'm surprised at ye." She pouted, arms crossed. Maddy dangled from her hand.

Sarah stroked Anne's jet-black hair, and said, "Perhaps they're right."

Anne popped to her feet, and said, "Ye don't get it. None of ye do. We need to stick together. We need to get out of the desert." She whirled toward Sarah, and said, "And we need to find Mr. Troll and Ms. Star."

Sandy said, "She's right. We all know the army comes in and out of the desert, and we all know Furion's got slave-fields out here. If we split up and got caught, it won't be long before we're all dead."

"Or worse," Paulie said, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

Bottom lip protruding, Anne fluttered her eye lashes, and said, "Please, can we stay with ye? At least 'till we find our friends? It won't take long, honest. My puppy's real good at finding people."

Grey chuckled, "Now, how can I say no to that face?"

Clapping, bobbing his head, Zeke cheered, "Hurray!"

Ally asked, "Roy? Paulie?"

After a moment's hesitation, Paulie replied, "Yeah, okay."

Roy cracked his knuckles and stared at the sand.

Ally nodded toward Hickey, and asked, "What about you, Hick?"

Hickey shrugged, and grumbled, "Sounds like y'already made up your minds."

'Ro pointed at the Dog, and said, "Okay, but if we're gonna be traveling together, someone's gotta please explain to me how it is, that he's still alive. I mean, I was there, I saw what they did to him. Even if he hadn't still been hanging from his neck when I was rescued, which he _was_ , ain't no man could've survived a thrashing like that."

"He's not a man," Anne chimed. "He's a puppy!"

The boys snickered.

Anne's temper flared. She was used to people laughing at her. But how dare they mock her puppy. They had no idea what he went through for her.

Eyes glistening gold, the Dog growled.

Sarah brushed away a stray, wavy lock, and said, "T'is true. He's not a man. And he cannot incur injury."

Hickey glared at the Dog, and asked, "So what is he then?" Mouth open, he chewed on his plug like a cow masticated its cud.

Grey said, "Ain't it obvious? He's the beast in the form of a man. He's part of the prophecy."

Silence befell them. The campfire crackled. A slight breeze arose.

Ally ran a hand through his greasy, shoulder-length, brown-hair, and said, "Y'all try and get some rest. We'll work the rest out in the morning, gonna need our strength."

Grey patted Ally on the shoulder, smiled, and said, "Didn't know we was recruiting." Then, hand resting on the small of his back for support, he shambled back toward the tent.

Zeke, 'Ro, and Hickey continued playing cards.

Hickey leered at Anne again.

Anne squeezed Maddy close to her chest. Surely, Prince Madgellaine would protect her if any of those dirty outlaws tried to hurt her. Wouldn't he?

****

Troll and Star sat around a small campfire. They had no kindling, yet Troll's peppery-smelling flash-powder generated enough heat to survive by. With no tents with which to escape the evening's frigid chill, Troll anticipated spending a night with Star under the comforting confines of his infinitely cavernous cloak.

But so far, Star made neither move nor mention that she was thinking the same. She hadn't said a word since their earlier altercation.

All they had to eat were a few left-over sprouts of wild onion and cabbage that Troll had stashed away.

After dinner, Star amused herself by kicking the heel of her boot around in the fire.

Troll tinkered with one of his gauntlet cuffs. "Wishing ye had a piece of wood to whittle?" he asked.

Star shrugged, "Mhmm."

But he knew that's exactly what she was thinking (among many other things, of course). No matter. Troll rooted around in his cloak until he found what he searched for. He produced a small, metal canister and held it out for Star to see. "Oil," he said, and unlatched a mechanized spring-cuff weapon from his wrist.

"What?"

He replied, "A lubricant used for treating small, metallic parts." Troll demonstrated by squeezing a few drops of oil onto his finger, and rubbed it on the device; coating all the springs and diminutive parts in a fine layer of the viscous liquid.

"Didn't know you had to...do that...to those. Hell, I've never even seen you use 'em save for that night in the mayor's mansion."

Of course, referring to their final night in Silverdale, where Troll took the life of the traitorous Mortimer Steward; advocating his spring-hooked gauntlets to snap the detestable Mort's neck from across the late-mayor's enormous dining hall. At the very mention of such, they both smiled.

He held her gaze for the utmost of brevity before she glanced down at the fire. He wiped away the excess oil with the end of a pudgy thumb, and said, "They don't really work all that well, anyhow."

"So why do you keep them?"

"Nostalgia I reckon, I've had 'em for so long. Hell, they barely even worked when they were new." He chuckled.

Star smiled. The campfire's light accentuated every curve and groove of her brown, oval face (what was visible under her low-brimmed hat and long, tangled hair, anyway).

Troll said, "Sort of the reason I have so many possessions is because I never really get rid of anything." He removed the other gauntlet and lubricated it just as he had the previous one.

"Troll?" She leaned over and gazed into his eyes.

He ceased his tinkering and peered up into her emerald gape; giving her his full attention.

"I'm sorry about earlier, about how I acted." She bit the corner of her bottom lip and stared into the fire.

Waving off such frivolous indiscretions with a quick hand gesture, Troll smiled, and said, "T'is of no consequence. Forgiven and already forgotten."

They sat there in silence.

Star resumed pushing the embers of the fire about with her boot. "Tomorrow's gonna be a long, hard day."

Troll replied, "Aye, but all will yet be well, have faith Myriam."

She smiled weakly.

"Get some sleep, Myriam."

"Aye," she said, smiling back.

Troll hoped Star would rise from her place there in the sand and sashay seductively toward him, wherein he would open his cloak invitingly to her.

Disappointment settled into Troll's heart like a sliver of glass as Star curled up by the fire, and pulled her poncho tightly around her.

In a voice already thickened by lassitude, she said, "Good night, Troll."

Troll smiled, and said, "Good night, Myriam."

****

Byron awoke to a swift boot to his ribs. Unlike before, he immediately remembered what happened to him, but didn't recognize his surroundings.

He blinked and gazed up at the soldier looming over him.

Night had finally come. Stars that Byron had never seen before blanketed the frigid sky.

Lying in the freezing sand, Byron clutched himself, and shivered. Byron had no idea sand could be so cold.

"I said, up slave!" the soldier barked from beneath his heavy, black face-mask. The wily face of a fox carved upon it. The soldier grasped Byron by his hair.

Byron's shackles rattled as he was pulled forcibly to his wobbly feet.

A few yards away, a handful of soldiers sat around a campfire in the middle of nowhere.

The soldier standing next to Byron shoved something in his shackled arms. The object felt cold and made a sloshing noise whenever Byron moved. He peered down. The object appeared a big deer-skin sack filled with water.

The soldier said, "Time to go see your friends."

Byron's first thought was that the marked man was taking him to see his _actual_ friends. But why would he do that? Then it dawned on him. The soldiers were going to kill him. But if that were the case, then why did they give him a satchel full of water?

Another guard leading a horse, approached. Even the steed wore the heavy, black armor of the king.

The first guard chained Byron to the horse.

The rider hoisted himself into the saddle, and then rode out into the desert at a slow and steady gait.

Byron walked behind.

They traveled away from the campsite and out into the unknown. The full moon and stars lit up the sand, yielding plenty of light.

This was king country. Barren wastelands of nothingness for hundreds of miles, occupied only by fractured rail-roadway that moved the soldiers so quickly about the work fields they deported Furion's "property" to.

That was something Byron couldn't shake: the thought of being someone's property. It clung to him as dirt and grime; a stain that saturated him so severely that as long as he lived he could never be rid of -- he could never wash off.

Byron couldn't help but remember the horrible stories he'd heard from Reverend Lowell. Stories of torture and despair, things he couldn't possibly imagine experiencing firsthand despite how many times he'd hear those tales.

Byron didn't know how long the soldier made him walk for; it seemed impossibly long and short at the same time.

They crested a small dune. Below, lay the box-car the other slaves were forced to push through the desert. The car moved slower than syrup in winter, but it was proceeding through the endless sands. It just didn't appear that way from first glance.

Other soldiers on horseback guarded the slaves and the box-car's precious cargo. Not a single one gave notice of Byron's presence.

"Go ahead," the rider said, nodding toward the other slaves. "Give them water." He un-latched Byron from the horse's reigns. He pulled a pistol, cocked it, aimed the weapon at Byron's head, and said, "And no funny business."

A frigid wind arose.

Byron's hands and feet so cold they almost lost all feeling. Warily, he plodded toward the car.

The first slave he visited was Otis McClure. At least it looked like Otis.

Most of McClure's bushy red-hair and mustache had fallen out. His skin sagged into folds, as if wearing clothes that were three times his size. Red splotches, boils, and open, oozing sores festered upon his flesh. Streaks of congealed crimson pooled around Otis's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. He stank of rotting meat. Coughing up blood, Otis croaked, "Please, help me." He reached for Byron. The skin of his hand jiggled and sagged like an over-sized glove. The tips of his finger-bones were clearly visible under his decaying flesh.

Byron staggered backward; terrified of this man he'd known his entire life. The large skinned-canteen fell from his trembling hands, spilling its contents into the ravenous sands.

Others were melting. Some not as far along as Otis. Others worse. Others gone entirely. Their shackles lay abandoned, dragging in the sand as if their owners had simply vanished.

Gargling, Otis lurched forward. His fingers strained for Byron. He leaned over too far, and the shackle around his neck tore through runny flesh and fragile bone. Otis's head tumbled off his shoulders and fell to the sand in a dull thud.

Then Byron screamed.

****

Troll, like every other time he awoke from fraught-filled a dream, did so with a start. The same two visions he always had; a dark, seductive stranger whose very presence warmed his soul. Then, inexplicably, the dream changed into a desert in which hundreds-of-thousands toiled relentlessly under a dark, omnipotent eye. Things were beginning to make sense. The picture was presciently materializing, and the pieces to the puzzle of his very existence were finally falling into place. Troll now had answers. Not all of them, but enough by which to at least, start solidifying some sort of purpose -- his destiny.

The lord of black was Furion. Obviously. The toilers were the slaves in the desert. But what slaves? All of them. What desert? This one. No doubt the chronicles of Star began somewhere in this very infinite wasteland. And as for the dark, but warming presence -- that was Star. Troll knew it with every vessel of his being.

Epiphany. Another piece of the puzzle, equally as important, equally as beguiling as the pieces before. Only, this one Troll could only speculate as to why he'd never even considered such a factor until just this waking moment. That precious brevity of knowledge and inspiration. That sweet, short time where consciousness met sub-consciousness; where dreams conspired with the regality of reality. So simple. So elusive. Dangling before Troll's stubbornly ignorant face this whole while.

What _were_ the slaves mining? Why did they dig so tenaciously throughout the barren world? Punishment, simply for the sake of providing said slaves with a task? Something to occupy their time? Something that had no end? Something that would break down their spirits with bone-crushing force? It was possible. Definitely plausible. Certainly feasible. Yet, Troll didn't think this the case. No, it had to be something far more simplistic. Yet, still something as meaningful. Something elemental. Simply, Troll thought they were looking for something.

Yet the answers, much like the initial quandary, dissolved into the sacred realm of oblivion as Troll noticed Star. She sat holding herself in a ball, close to the fire, her poncho tugged so taught around her that Troll thought it not long before the threads tore helplessly apart.

She rocked forth-and-sway. Her gaze lost in the pit of the fire's dying embers. She muttered something over and over again, as if enchanted by her own words.

Troll sat up, and groaned at the pain festering in his side. Without the aid of his staff, he clambered to his feet, and lumbered toward her.

Before, he would've immediately cradled his beloved in his arms, and whispered assurances that all would yet be well. But not this time, not tonight. Instead, he sat beside her on the ground, careful not to interrupt her state of transience. He sat there for a while, just listening.

At first, she seemed to utter nothing but random murmurings of un-importance. But after a while, Troll deciphered a pattern of words.

Her voice sounded low, ominous. Repeating something like a prayer or a poem over and over and over again.

_Sweetie-man, Sweetie-man_ ,

_Gonna get_ ,

_Little Anne_ ,

_Shuddering, shivering_ ,

_In the darkness we all sing_ ,

_Sweetie-man, Sweetie-man_...

The hollowness in her words made Troll's skin crawl; reminding him of the other dark figure, the one that wasn't a man at all, but a wraith.

The Wraith's words echoed throughout his head, "Dream of me, won't you. I'll be dreaming of you."

The Wraith had been peering intently at Anne when it spoke those words, yet suddenly it felt universal, like he was referring to all of them.

A cold shiver ran down Troll's spine. He couldn't help it. He hated it. He loathed the Wraith's ability to get under their skins, all of their skins. Half wanting to console himself, he wrapped his arms around Star, and rested his head on her shoulder.

Her rocking ceased.

Troll felt her muscles tighten slightly, as if suddenly aware of his presence.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"Shh, it's okay. Ye'r with me. Ye'r safe."

"I was dreaming."

"Aye, I know. Want to talk about it?"

She replied, "No, I...don't remember it."

Really?

Still in his arms, she shifted her body, and peered up at him. She said "I want to show you something. Something only a handful of people have ever seen. All of which are now dead."

Troll whispered, "Show me." He constricted his arms softly about her waist, and drew as close to her as he dared. He basked in the warmth of her body, her emerald-eyes, her luscious lips.

"Would you really risk death to gaze upon it?"

"Aye, I would," he said, drawing closer. Their eyes closed, lips hovered but millimeters apart, each other's hot breath on the other, filling each other, making each other whole. Troll continued, "For thee, I would."

She said, "Very well." Star smiled. She leaned away from Troll, and he opened his eyes as Star slowly brought a slender hand up to the left side of her face. "Are you sure?"

Troll whispered, "Aye."

Gazing into each other's eyes, she hesitated.

Would she continue?

She swept her curly hair away from her face, exposing a black, distorted-horse-shoe-shaped marking. "It's..." her face wrinkled, eyes filled with tears. She turned away from him.

Troll gently cupped a hand under her lithe chin, and made her look at him. He said, "A slave mark. I know. I don't know how I know, only that I know."

Star's eyes welled with rheum. She asked, "Do you still dare to look upon me?"

Troll managed to hold his face from contorting into abhorrence at such a frivolous question, and softly replied, "Of course."

She laughed a little, cried a little, and then Troll leaned over and kissed her.

He kissed her softly, sweetly, long, and good.

And she kissed back.

****

Admiring Annola's toy, Furion sat in his tent made of the finest of silks. Furion saw far, but with this, he would see farther still. Sure, he had his father's prize, but what of his?

He hungered to taste Star's hateful thoughts once more. He yearned for it. He would not be satiated until she stood in his presence. He would not devour her. Oh, no. He could. But Furion, the Lord of Black, preferred to suckle away at her energy, her life-force. Siphoning from her as a spider does a fly, until Star withered away to ash and dust. Oh, yes, that would be the most satisfying meal of all; the feast after eons of anticipation. And Furion's (unmasked), mutated maw masticated eagerly at the very thought of it.

Furion placed the orb in a freshly woven, webbed cauldron. The vat was spongy, but strong enough for what needed to be done next. Oh, yes, the Lord of Black could fashion a fine thing or two despite his large, cumbersome digits. But what needed to be done next required not finesse, but will. He removed his gloves, pricked a finger, and dribbled his black blood all over the ball. Tiny tendrils of smoke rose as Furion's blood melted the relic with a hissing, bubbling sound.

Furion had already woven a base out of the blackest of woods and finest silks, now all he needed to complete his new toy was the glass.

***

2

Within the first hour after dawn it had become so hot that Troll draped his magic cloak over his shoulder, like a man strolling leisurely through a field. Oh, how he wished that true.

Star trudged behind. Her boots drew long, slug-like tracks in the sand. She moved slowly, arms hung limply at her sides. For someone who had spent a good chunk of her young life working and wandering in the desert, she did not seem to be handling the sweltering heat very well.

Troll had half a mind to throw her over his other shoulder and carry her as he did his cloak.

Both were beyond sunburned, they were sun-scorched. Their skin peeled in squamous molted layers.

Every once in a while, Star checked her compass to make sure they were on course. And every time she did so, she wore the same lost and disheartened look on her face. Squinting, brows wrinkled, bottom lip protruding, as if she knew them utterly and hopelessly lost. Yet, that didn't stop her from looking at the broken instrument.

They slogged on.

Star wiped the grit clinging to her brow, and asked, "Are we there yet?" It was the first thing she'd said in hours.

They'd been walking since dawn, now about mid-day, though it felt it like it should've been much later.

Voice husky and dry, Troll replied, "Certainly."

They depleted their water supply no less than an hour ago, (less than a swallow each), yet it seemed like days since he'd drank anything at all.

Troll felt weary, light-headed. He glanced back at Star.

She stood several paces back, peering up into an empty sky.

Hallucinating? Perhaps.

Shadowy figures swarmed about Star's feet.

Troll shielded his eyes with a burly hand and gazed Heaven-ward.

Big, black, ugly birds circled ceaselessly above; dark angels ready to swoop down and whisk them both off to the land of ghosts and winds. But not until the carnivorous condors dined from Troll and Star's moldered flesh. Troll pictured beady red-eyes, and rodent-like teeth smiling in the darkness. Leathery wings fluttered within the hollows of Troll's mind, and he shivered.

_Won't you dream of me_?

Star roared, "I can't take it anymore!"

Troll pivoted, and almost his balance if not for his ever-vigilant staff.

"Those bastards!" Star drew both of her shooters. The weight of them drove her to her knees. She aimed at the phantoms above, and snarled, "They ain't getting' me! I'll kill them fuckers for they get me!"

"What--?"

Troll's voice startled Star, causing her guns to sway carelessly in the air.

He dropped to the ground -- just in case.

"I'll kill 'em!" As if about to faint, Star's head bobbed under the heaviness of her hat.

Lying in the blistering sand, Troll asked, "Who?"

"Them," she said, nodding upward.

"They're only buzzards."

Star asked, "Wha?" Still on her knees, Star squinted. Mouth ajar, she waved her pistols about.

"Vultures," Troll replied, "Big, damn birds."

"Oh, yeah," she said, forcing a chuckle. "I knew that." She sighed, and holstered her side-arms. She knelt there, eyes closed. Her chest slowly undulated like shimmering heat-waves.

Probably meditating. He hoped.

She opened her eyes and said, "I thought they was somebody else, I thought they was..." she trailed off, gaze glazed over, as if someplace else.

Strange, her grammar only worsened when mad or troubled. But then again, they were in a fairly troublous predicament.

Troll remembered first meeting Star. Her story. He remembered thinking (and writing), that she hadn't been totally honest. Not that she lied. Only that he felt like she left out a rather hefty portion of her past. Namely, the part where she was out here. Scared and alone.

Troll hobbled toward Star and helped her to her feet.

A gust of wind pelted them with grit and sand.

Troll said, "Listen, my dear, we need to talk."

The brim of her sweat-saturated hat drooped low over her face. Puffing and panting, she said, "I know. But I don't wanna...I can't."

"Please, I feel it an important piece to the puzzle."

Star huffed, "Fuck the puzzle, let's just keep going." She trudged on, and said, "I'm sure it won't be long 'for we find the others."

Troll called, "And what if we never find them?"

Shoulders rising and falling in heavy breaths, Star halted. She pivoted, and glared at him 'neath the brim of her hat.

A small gust sent sand twirling in tiny dust-devils.

Troll said, "We _are_ out of water. Perchance, we die before reuniting with our friends.

Arms swinging, she marched straight up to him, peered into his eyes, raised a finger, and said, "Knock that shit out. We ain't dyin' out here. We can't." Her Nostrils flared. Her eyes burned with an emerald fire.

"Everyone dies, Myriam."

"Not yet," Star replied. "Not today."

Shrugging, Troll asked, "Then how are we to keep ourselves alive? Tell me, I pray of thee, how did ye survive such perilous country?"

"I told ya, I sucked moisture out of rocks."

Troll opened his arms, and said, "Look around ye, Myriam. No rocks to be found. Sure, the terrain plenty rocky when we first ventured into the desert, but they grew scarce. Now, I can't see but a one. Can ye?"

"No," she said without looking.

Troll continued, "And yet, surely ye must have journeyed through similar rock-less areas of desert. How did ye survive?"

Star sighed and brushed a stray lock from her face. Shackle jingling, she said, "I see what you're trying to do."

Troll scoffed, "My dear, Myriam, I'm not trying to cajole thee into anything. I am merely trying to keep us alive."

Star's head drooped. She opened her compass, glanced at it, sighed, and said, "Well how would you've tried to survive if it was you?"

Troll restrained a groan. The heat had taken its toll on his patience. He did not like this game or understand why she was playing it. She told him to be honest of his thoughts and feelings, yet Star concealed hers like the way she continued to hide her face. And for the first time in a long time, Troll actually felt anger rising within him, and struggled to stifle it. Aye, this game and the heat were taking quite a hefty toll indeed. No matter. He would play along. For now.

Troll performed his characteristic running of the hand, and said, "I would do what I have been doing this entire time. I would pray."

She asked, "Oh, yeah, how's that goin' for ya?" Arms crossed, her foot tapped an agitated cadence.

Troll held back another snub retort. He raised his palms to the sky, scanned the heavens, and said, "I believe the answer ye seek is all around ye."

"And you've been praying for water?"

Smiling, he replied, "Well, rain, anyway." His sun-scorched face burned with every minute muscular movement, like his cheeks were made of crumbling stone. He added, "Perhaps, God might hear our plea if ye pray with me."

Star's head reared back. A slight snarl curled her chapped lips. She said, "I don't know how to pray. And even if I did, I don't think I'm that desperate."

Troll shrugged, hobbled onward, and said, "Well, be sure and let me know the very instant ye changer ye'r mind."

****

The Dog was at a loss. He closed his eyes, funneled his senses. Where the hell was Troll and Star?

Before they'd ridden out that morning, the entire Jessip gang (honorary members included), agreed water the main agenda. But as exactly how to procure it seemed another matter altogether. And at the very mention of it, everyone glanced at Ally; their collective brows furrowed, jaws slack.

The Dog sniffed at a spot on the sand and bounded off into the desert.

Anne squealed, "My puppy knows! Come one let's go! He'll take us to water! Come on hurry, hurry, hurry!"

Fortunately, the group was already packed and ready to go.

"Can it really be as easy as that?" Paulie asked, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

"Reckon we'll find out," Ally said as Sandy (saddled behind him), tightly hugged his waist. He kicked his horse, and cried, "Yah!"

They rode out, following the Dog as he continued to search for water. But there in-lied the problem, Dog wasn't looking for water. Hell, he didn't have a single, solitary clue how to find it in this environment. However, Dog knew someone that could. Or at least, have some sort of inkling as of how to accomplish this. Dog knew because Star was always telling the Dog about how Troll thought he knew everything.

Dog struggled to locate Troll and Star's scent over the shifting sand. Everything basically smelled like everything else. Unfortunately, that "everything" was more like a whole lot of nothingness.

The Dog tried on several occasions to focus his senses and zero-in on their location. No luck.

He remembered overhearing Troll say that no matter what, they were to continue west. That's exactly what the Dog intended on doing; just keep going until they caught up to Troll and Star. But they didn't catch up. They should've though, shouldn't they? But supposing they weren't trying to catch up to Star and Troll. Supposing it the other way round? Dog allowed the possibility that the reason he couldn't track down Troll and Star was because the Dog and his crew were ahead of them. But why couldn't he sense them?

Anne needed water.

They all needed water.

The gang wasn't just following him; they were placing their faith, hope, and even their lives in his diminutive, hairy claws. Unfortunately, the Dog had absolutely no idea what the hell to do other than what he was already doing.

So the Dog leapt onward from dune to dune, briefly sniffing the sand before bounding away; leading his companions further into the desolate abyss.

****

At dusk the skies were painted purplish-orange. Wisps of rust colored clouds.

Star couldn't tell if they walked in circles, or in place. But they definitely weren't making head-way.

Weary and thirsty, they camped early.

Star's legs ached. Thighs, calves, and feet burned in agony. Her clothes, skin, and hair plastered with sweat and sand. She licked her blistered lips. Her tongue scraped coarsely enough to chisel flesh away. Throat so dry it felt as though it had splintered. Her stomach groaned and grumbled. Her head swam. Nausea twisted her innards. But the cool, evening breeze seemed to soothe her some.

Troll dug a dimple in the sand and made a small campfire with his flash-powder.

Such things never ceased to amaze Star. Troll never ceased to amaze her. And yet, for all she loved him, still she kept him at an arm's length. Case in point, last night, when she revealed her brand to him and they started kissing. Hiss massive hands gently glided up and down her body. She wanted to go further. Troll did too. She knew it. But with every touch, flashes of a tortured childhood raced through her head. She tried to push those thoughts away. No use. Traveling out here resurrected too many old, horrible memories.

They sat across from each other, in silence. Nothing to eat. Nothing to drink. Nothing to say. But that wasn't true. There was always something to say. It's just that she didn't feel like talking. Judging by the way Troll sat hunched over, head bowed, hands folded, neither did he.

The sun sank behind the horizon. Off in the distance, tall purplish mountains stood. Almost home.

A viper arose from the sand, and Troll quickly squashed the snake's head with the end of his staff. The beads in his greasy, long hair rattled as he bowed his head, and once more folded his hands in silent prayer.

Usually Troll spoke his prayers aloud.

But if Troll's throat felt anything like hers, he was probably conserving his voice.

Troll snapped off the serpent's head with a quick jerking motion. He bit down behind the head, and peeled the squamous skin back with his teeth. When he had a good flap to grasp on to, Troll tore the viper's epidermis all the way back to its tail.

Guts fell into the sand.

Troll scooped them up and tossed the innards into the fire. "Nothing to waste," he croaked. Troll wrapped the snake meat around an end of his staff, and held it over the fire.

Star had eaten snake before, and though the dish might be repugnant to some, she found it to be quite enjoyable. Not much different than chicken, but tougher and with a slightly nutty taste. But after two-whole days without a proper meal, Star's stomach had shrunk. And she consumed only but a nibble before her intestines twisted into knots.

Troll asked, "Not hungry?"

Star shrugged.

"Don't worry, Myriam, things will be better in the morrow." Troll took a hearty bite out of the stringy meat.

"You keep saying that. And I want to believe it. But..." Star combed sinuous fingers through her hair. The shackle jingled.

"But ye have doubts?"

Star chuckled, "I don't know. I honestly don't know."

Troll ran a hand down the left side of his face, and scratched at his beard. "Don't worry," he iterated. "I'm sure we'll find our friends soon enough."

Once again, Star wanted to believe that. But she just didn't know.

****

Tobacco juice dribbling down his chin, Hickey griped, "Well, that was a complete waste of an entire day. We didn't find water. We didn't find their friends. We didn't find squat."

Gazing into the campfire's flames, Ally asked, "You got any better ideas?" His wife, Sandy, sat next to him. Both were getting "up-to-here" with Hickey's constant complaints and ceaseless grumbles.

Cheeks sunken, lips tightly pursed, Sandy stared at Ally.

Ally knew that she knew that he had a lot on his mind. He could tell she worried about him. But Ally was worried about all of them. As it began to get darker, the others slowly joined Ally by the fire. Dusks in the desert were simply gorgeous, yet it wouldn't be long before it got cold, really cold.

Ally had come to one cold truth, a truth as frigid as the night's numbing air. They simply were not prepared for desert travel. And now they were completely out of water.

'Ro leered greedily at Roy chewing on a piece of rawhide.

Some sort of meal plan was going to have to be devised. Sure, they were following the Dog, but as leader of the posse, these were problems Ally had to solve. Questions he had to supply answers to. Sadly, he possessed neither answers nor solutions. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even know what he _could_ do.

Grey, the man 'Ro affectionately referred to as, the ol' man, was usually the one who called the shots. But those days were over now. While 'Ro incarcerated in Silverdale, Grey's health rapidly deteriorated in a matter of weeks.

Ally found himself in the hot-seat, leading the gang. With Grey's support behind his every action, of course. In fact, Grey's council was sought upon every decision Ally made. But unfortunately Grey grew sick, steadily ailing. The ol' man was dying.

Hickey spat, wiped his square jaw, and said, "I say we just keep moving, hoping it'll rain."

Ally croaked, "First of all, we are moving." His throat felt dry and as sharp as broken glass. "And unless this pays off, we _are_ hoping for rain. And unless you've got something better to say, ya can just sit there and count your teeth."

Hickey expectorated. Brown-spittle drizzled down the corner of his mouth. He focused his attention on his hands, and cleaned the dirt from under his fingernails.

"And watch your mouth around the women," Ally amended.

Anne chimed, "Yeah." She sat on the ol' man's lap. The two had become quiet chummy.

When they started off that morning, 'Ro was supposed to ride with Grey.

Ally had been concerned the ol' man would have a problem riding by his self through the desert in his condition, especially without water. He figured 'Ro could keep an eye on the ol' man for a while. After all, Grey was his father too.

In the end, Ally said it would be more cordial of them to allow the two girls to ride together. But the ol' man simply wasn't having none of that, thank you, no siree.

"I ain't gonna saddle up with no other man!" said Grey. "I don't care if he is my own flesh and blood. I'm a man, and I's gonna ride my own horse. Bucky won't let no one else ride him."

Sandy suggested Anne ride with Grey, insisting it would be good for the both of them. Apparently, she had been right. She usually was.

Anne and Grey were coming along sweetly. Anne just kept on jawing the ol' man's ear off and he just kept right on laughing. The two got on so well, in fact, that Anne had begun referring to him as, Grampa Grey.

Ally glanced at Sarah.

She stared suspiciously at Grey and Anne, as if jealous.

Handle-bar mustache dancing, Roy groaned, "I can't believe it." He pitched the piece of raw hide he'd been gnawing on into the sand.

'Ro followed the discarded hide with a hungry, longing gape.

With a wide gummy smile, Zeke said, "Maybe we could drink the sweat from our clothes."

Sandy replied, "That wouldn't work, sug."

Zeke asked, "Why not?"

'Ro reclined onto the cool sand, and said, "'Cause it would just make you more thirsty."

Coaxing his spectacles back to their rightful place upon the bridge of his nose with a grimy finger, Paulie said, "No, but we might be able to suck the moisture out of small stones and pebbles 'round dawn, when everything's still moist."

Anne squinted. Nose wrinkled, she said, "Eww, that's gross! I don't wanna suck on no rocks!"

Grey chuckled, "Ya might have to, little lady."

Hickey sneered, "Well we wouldn't' have to if it weren't for that fucking mutt." Scowling, he nodded toward the Dog, who crouched several yards away from the others.

His back to them, the Dog peered into the desert. His ears twitched this way and that.

What had the Dog so fascinated?

Ally warned Hickey, "Watch your mouth."

Hickey replied, "No, I'm not gonna watch my mouth, it's his fault we're in this mess."

Ally said, "That's enough now, Hickey."

Roy chimed, "Now, I gotta agree with ol' Hick there."

"No, it's not his fault," Ally said, referring to the Dog, "we were already out here when we found them."

Hickey said, "Yeah, but it's their fault we're outta water and it's his fault we're way the fuck out here."

Ally's temper flared. He was supposed to be the leader now. Why were they questioning him? They never battled Grey's charges. Perhaps, the desert's heat had them going bat-shit crazy. Ally felt a bit loopy, himself.

Sandy hopped to her feet, and said to Hickey, "That's not fair, it's not their fault."

Sandy springing to Ally's defense only fueled the angry fire churning within him.

Cracking his knuckles, Roy said, "Yeah, but we could've gone back."

"That wasn't possible," Ally replied, "you know it wasn't!"

What was happening here? Why was the gang turning on him? Sure, they were in a rough spot, but they had survived worse, hadn't they? Ally couldn't remember. Why was he failing as a leader?

Incipiently swayed by Hickey's rhetoric, Paulie said, "Or maybe we could've gone another way, or something."

Ally said, "No!"

Hickey continued, "Yeah, or hide, or something."

Ally leapt to his feet, and roared, "No! I'm the leader of this here gang, and I say what the score is."

Hickey grumbled, "Or maybe we should just change the one who holds the score cards."

Sandy snarled, "Just you try it."

Blood boiling, Ally's anger shot through the proverbial roof. Before he knew what happened, Roy, Hickey, and Paulie were shouting. Ally and Sandy yelled back. The cacophony of arguing voices sweltered to a dizzying degree.

Anne scurried into Sarah's open and waiting arms.

The color drained out of Grey's face as he watched dissention fall upon the gang (and Ally's inability to hold them together).

Hickey screamed something at the top of his lungs, and pointed at Sarah and Anne, who could only hold each other in solace as they slowly became the antagonists here.

Still sitting, 'Ro un-holstered a pistol and pointed it straight up toward the sky. His arm weaved in exhaustion. He squeezed the trigger.

_Blam_.

The report echoed loudly into the still, night air; capturing everyone's complete and undivided attention.

Anne and Sarah squealed.

Grey released a hoarse and raspy laughter. Phlegm rattled audibly within his lungs.

Zeke squinted, hands pressed firmly against his ears. His lips spread thin, as if in pain.

In a calmly assertive voice, 'Ro said, "Y'all shut the hell up. You're given me a headache."

Silence.

'Ro continued, "Now, we need to just calm down and think about this."

Hickey mumbled, "Ain't nothing to think about."

'Ro glowered at Hickey, and asked, "What's that?"

Gape averted, Hickey cleaned his fingernails again. He glanced at Ally, and said, "I said, there ain't nothing to think about. We just need to ditch the chiselers before they get us all fucking killed!"

Anne clung to Sarah, and buried her face in Sarah's dress.

Gaze narrow, and stern, Sarah glared at Hickey. The corner of her lips curled in a snarl.

Sandy said, "For God's sake, Hickey, shut ye'r damn mouth!" Her tan, oval face turned deep red.

Hickey began, "I will not shut my mouth--"

Grinning, 'Ro said, "Good." He cocked his pistol, pointed it squarely at Hickey's face, and said, "Then I'll just have something to aim for."

Ally wasn't sure if 'Ro would really shoot a member of his own gang in cold blood. But he once saw his brother knife a guy to death just for looking at him crossly, and 'Ro actually liked that guy. Later, 'Ro told Ally that it was merely a dominance thing.

Hickey shut his mouth and returned to cleaning his fingernails.

The Dog erupted in a laughter that hiccupped and popped.

'Ro aimed at the Dog.

Anne squealed, and buried her face into Sarah's bosom.

"And you," 'Ro said to the Dog. "You better just watch your step, 'cause I'll shoot ya on principle."

****

Journal entry, second day since the fall of Silverdale. Second day in the desert.

Dear Lord, where are our friends? What could have possibly befallen them to keep them tardy for so long? Alas, dear journal, I knoweth not.

Despite the fact that Myriam and I have fallen madly in love with each other, we have not yet shared a night together since before meeting Byron. God, that feels like so long ago. What terrible fate has the good brother suffered? Part of me wishes not to know.

Myriam and I have spent the majority of our time out here in silence. During that time, I have prayed constantly for guidance. For help. But something is wrong. I cannot hear the Lord's decrees. Once, the Almighty's words were all I heard. And they guided me, and thusly us, through our trials in Silverdale. But now, the only voice prattling about in me brains be my own thoughts. How odd. Have ye abandoned me, oh Lord? Or has some spell muffled our connection, like the hex that bedeviled the hamlet of Silverdale?

Where do I go? What do I do? I have so many questions, yet each one only spawns further a quandary.

Star stirred in her sleep, muttering, "Sweetie-man, Sweetie-man..."

Troll watched her for a long time. When certain she wasn't about to have one of her attacks, Troll returned his attention to his journal. He read the last two lines, then the first, and then re-read the entire entry. Frustrated, he clasped the book shut, and squeezed the leather bindings.

Troll sighed and returned the journal to its rightful place within his cloak. He ran a hand through his hair, beads rattled. His hair felt coarse and gritty. He stared at his hand; dusted with a thick layer of sand.

For the umpteenth time, Troll folded his hands, bowed his head, and prayed for guidance.

Dear Lord, can ye not hear me? I -- we, need thee more than ever. If ye can hear me, God, please tell me what to do. Bestow'th ye'r will upon me.

And once again, God said nothing back.

****

The night was dark and cold when the Dog shook Ally awake by the shoulder.

They never even bothered to set up the tents. With no provisions to sustain or encourage them, after the campfire lit, nothing remained but sleep.

"Hmm, what is it?" Ally asked, wiping the sleep and sand from his stinging eyes. His mouth and throat felt like a jagged cavernous gorge. Unable to decipher if this dream, real, or the afterlife, Ally shook his head.

The fire still crackled and he could see the Dog plainly enough in the limited orangish light.

They had quite a bit of fire-wood stacked away and were burning it all now in one last hurrah. No matter. Should tomorrow prove unsuccessful at acquiring water, they'd all be dead anyway (and that was assuming they made it that long).

Ally's stirring woke Sandy. She startled when she noticed the Dog looming over them.

Over yonder, 'Ro sat up, and asked, "What's going on?" His left hand rested comfortably on a holstered hip.

Ally stood, stretched, and asked the Dog, "What the hell's this about?"

'Ro and Sandy huddled around them.

Dog smiled his Cheshire grin, and tossed a canteen into Ally's hands.

Ally immediately recognized it as his. Full. The container felt cool to the touch. He shook it and liquid sloshed around inside. He gazed at the Dog, and asked, "Is this what I think it is?"

Sandy croaked, "What is it?"

Ally's hands trembled as he unscrewed the cap and brought the canteen up to his nose. He sniffed suspiciously.

Still, the Dog smiled; eyes glowing wildly.

Ally sipped. As if sampling a fine whiskey, he swirled the liquid around in his mouth. The sweetest most refreshing he had ever tasted. Shoot, it was even cold. He swallowed. The sensation stung and cooled his burning throat at the same time. Spittle flew as he coughed.

'Ro dropped a hand to his pistol.

Ally waved him off, and imbibed a bigger swig.

Sandy danced in place like she had to piss really badly, and asked, "Well?"

Water drizzled down Ally's scraggly chin. He peered at the Dog in uncertainty. How was this possible? Had the Dog known how to find water this whole time? How in the green-hell had the Dog snaked Ally's canteen without him knowing? What in the green-hell was the Dog?

Something in that Cheshire grin of the Dog's led Ally to suspect there might be more refreshing water, possibly maybe even something better, as well.

The three (Ally, Sandy and 'Ro), roused the other members of the gang (Zeke, Roy, Paulie, and Hickey).

Hickey and Zeke (sleeping across from one another), didn't get up. They glanced around briefly before Zeke turned docilely to Hickey. Both stared at each other, shrugged, reunited their weary heads with the sand, and closed their eyes.

When 'Ro went to wake Sarah, the Dog quickly hushed the young Jessip.

They left Grey and Anne to sleep, as well.

The gang huddled around Ally.

Roy rubbed the back of his sturdy neck, and asked, "What's going on?"

Ally passed the canteen around, and they all drank their fill.

Then the Dog gestured for them to follow him out into the desert.

Walking in single file, they trudged for nearly an hour. The Dog led the group, followed by Ally, Sandy, 'Ro, Paulie and Roy, respectively.

Roy whispered, "Hey, where's Hickey and Zeke?"

'Ro replied, "I don't think they got up."

"That's too bad," Roy said, cracking his knuckles. "They missed out."

'Ro uttered, "Screw 'em then."

With an index-finger, Paulie pushed his spectacles back toward the bridge of his nose, and asked, "Why are you guys whispering?"

'Ro replied, "I thought we had to whisper."

Paulie said, "No one ever said that."

'Ro murmured, "So does that mean we're not supposed to whisper?"

Paulie shrugged, shoved his glasses up yet again, and said, "I dunno."

'Ro asked Ally, "Hey, bro, we supposed to be whispering?"

"I dunno," Ally uttered back. "Hey," he whispered to the Dog.

The Dog paid no notice as he led them further into the darkened desert.

Ally grasped the Dog's shoulder, and said, "Hey."

The Dog pivoted.

Ally halted (which in turn, caused everyone behind Ally to run into each other abruptly). Ally carefully removed his hand from the Dog's shoulder.

The Dog stood there, peering at Ally.

Ally conceded his palms, and said, "Easy there friend, I meant no malice. We was just wondering if we're supposed to be whispering, or dead-quiet, or what."

The Dog stared at Ally for a moment, shrugged, and resumed his trek.

They walked on for a spell before the Dog turned to them once again. Excitement brimmed on his furry face as he motioned them to come quickly with wide, exaggerated arm gestures.

The gang glanced around at each other. Quickening their pace to a trot, they followed after the Dog.

The Dog bounded over a dune; dropping off the horizon, and out of sight.

An uneasy feeling seeped into Ally's guts.

The gang crested the top of the mound, and once they were up high enough, they saw what had the Dog in such jubilation.

'Ro gasped, "Holy shit!" His hand dropped to the hostler around his hip.

"Wait," Ally said, waving his brother off.

Something seemed wrong.

From the bottom of the dune, the Dog jumped up and down, waving his arms, as if to say, "Come on, it's okay. What're you waitin' for?"

Ally didn't read any malice or threat writ upon the Dog's face, only this manic excitement and relief. Ally scanned the giant, iron snake.

The object had no business being way out there in the middle of nowhere, setting there by itself, deserted, isolated and with no explanation as to what, where, why, when, or how these big, black cars arrived there in the first place. From where they stood, it appeared as though the object sunk listlessly into the sand; deeper and deeper each day.

Mustache dancing, Roy asked, "Boss?"

'Ro opened his mouth, but quickly clamped it shut.

Ally turned to Roy.

Roy's head cocked to one side. He scratched at his temple, and squinted at the object resting below them.

Ally said, "Yeah, Roy."

Roy asked "Just what in blazes is that thing?"

'Ro drew his weapon, cocked it, and said, "Cargo train."

****

Desert. Heat. Bodies. Stench. Blood soaked into the grainy desert floor, turning it into a viscous crimson mud. Silence now filled the miasmic air. The madness had stopped.

Something felt different.

An insane hilarity arose in the air like electricity before a lightning storm.

Star awoke with an explosive start, as was her custom.

Fully dark out tonight, and dreadfully cold.

At first she didn't know where she was. The fire still burned bright, and she shielded her eyes from it as she gazed around; attempting to get her bearings. But when she saw Troll, it all came back to her. She pulled her poncho tightly about her. Her mouth felt impossibly dry. She grabbed her canteen. A swell of despair and yearning overcame her when she remembered it empty.

Eyes closed, face motionless, Troll sat cross-legged in the sand.

She crawled to her feet, her legs seemed unresponsively sore. Star wrapped her poncho ever tighter around her thin frame (though she left her hat there on the ground next to her knapsack). "Troll," she was about to say.

Troll said, "Merely praying, my dear."

She croaked, "Oh." Star sauntered toward him, and settled next to him on the ground. She twirled the compass chain around her fore-fingers, and patiently waited for Troll to finish his prayers. She wanted to ask him how long until the Dog, Sarah, and Anne rejoined their company. She wanted to ask him how much longer he thought they'd be traveling through the desert -- that, and so much more. But she couldn't ask him, because Troll didn't have the answers and that was exactly why he prayed. Still, she longed to hear his comforting voice, assuring her that all would yet be well.

Troll released a long, low sigh of vexation. His posture slouched, as if the weight of the world bore down upon him.

Star asked, "So what's the big guy say?"

"That, my dear, is exactly the problem." He sighed, ran a hand down the left side of his face, and scratched his beard. Troll continued, "He says not. Before, the voice of God was the only one I heard. And I thought that after our successful trials in Silverdale, that the Good Lord would proffer at least some answers. But now, my pleas for guidance are responded to with silence."

"Oh." Fiddling with her compass, she asked, "So what do we do now?"

Troll replied, "I'm open to suggestions."

Star pondered over their options and opted to remain silent. She huddled next to him for warmth and they sat there in despondence until the overture of sleep took them.

****

As Ally (along with 'Ro, Sandy, and the Dog), descended the cabin's steps, Roy and Paulie ransacked the cargo train for food, supplies, and of course, ammo.

Most of the sundries within were weapons of such technical oddity (a myriad of guns and God-only-knew-what-else), the likes of which, neither Roy nor Paulie had ever seen.

Mustache bounding, Roy said, "Holy shit! Check this out, Paulie." He held an oblong, cylindrical object. The device appeared metallic, with an olive green finish. One end was hollow, from which an ovoid canister protruded. The other end had a mechanized trigger. Roy hefted the weapon with both hands to feel the weight of it. Roy asked, "What d'ya think it is?"

Ally strode toward them, and said, "I have no idea, Roy. That's why I think you should put it down." He turned to the others, and declared, "All right boys, load on up. Only take what you can carry. Don't need nothin' weighing us down, now."

Still holding the foreign object, Roy asked, "Where's the sprat?"

Strolling behind her husband, Sandy replied, "Let him go."

Paulie shoved his glasses back in place with a fingertip, and said, "Really, didn't seem him leave."

Head back, thumbs hooked in his belt buckle, 'Ro ambled toward them, and said, "Told him to be real quiet less'n ya guys shot him."

Roy and Paulie snickered.

Arms crossed, Sandy scowled, and said, "It's not funny. He actually told him that!"

Now Roy and Paulie really laughed.

The Dog had led them down the dune, which was actually a rather big hill from the train's side. The Dog pointed out to Ally that the light from their campsite could be seen from atop the mound.

Ally (along with the others), had been hesitant at first. He still couldn't tell if the Dog led them into a trap.

The five-car train appeared abandoned.

Dog guided them around to the far end of the tanker; a huge, metal, cylindrical container caged by steel support-struts and welded to some kind of platform. The deep rolling waves of sand rising surreptitiously up from the desert depths concealed the tanker's actual height. A faucet and spigot jut out from the rear of the train.

The spigot appeared over a foot in diameter, yet the Dog easily opened the valve one-handed.

A loud, bowing sound emanated from within the bowls of the large container, as if some archaic beast had awoken.

The gang glanced around, hands hovering over holstered hips, waiting for men clad in heavy, black armor to suddenly spring out of the shadows.

Nothing.

The Dog smiled.

The outlaws eased up on their weapons, and returned their collective attention upon the Dog.

Another bowing noise, and then a clang came from within the iron behemoth. Cold, clear water streamed out of the faucet, and carved small canyons and oceans into the parched, desert sand.

A round of ooh's and aah's from the group.

The Dog stepped back, and allowed them all to gather around the pooling water like children around a fountain. They drank until slaked, before washing dirty hands and faces.

The water felt so frigid on Ally's stubbly mug that it gave him a mild head-ache. He squinted, hissing in pain, as did the others.

The Dog smiled a toothy, Cheshire grin.

The gang refilled each and every canteen, and then the Dog turned the spigot in the opposite direction, closing the valve, and preserving the rest of the precious liquid.

Not like it mattered though. They wouldn't be coming back this way.

Paulie peered down at the viscous, brown mud pooling at their feet. He pushed his glasses up his nose, and said, "Hope that don't turn to quicksand."

The Dog shook his head, and motioned for them to follow him around to the other side of the water tanker. The Dog squatted on his haunches, and threw handfuls of sand between his legs as he dug at the base of the container. His excavating didn't last long. After a foot-or-two, he revealed to them a metallic platform followed by wheels, and then train tracks.

Approximately half-a-hand beneath the tracks was solid ground. The ground appeared the same color and consistency as the encapsulating sand above it. Hell, it even looked like sand. But as the Dog rapped his knuckles upon it, it showed with final absolution that the terrain hidden beneath was indeed solid.

At least, the ground running underneath the tracks was, anyway. Somehow it didn't seem feasible that the king's men actually reinforced the entire desert with a solid layer. That would just be madness.

" _Oh_ ," they all said in an enlightened sigh. All except Roy, that is. He said it n' all, though his belated response drew suspicious stares from the group.

Mustache dancing, Roy flailed his arms, and said, "All right, what's that mean?"

'Ro explained, "It means that the train ain't really sinking. The sand shifts, rises up around it, and only makes it look like it's sinking. It's an illusion."

Face contorted in confusion, Roy asked, "You mean like at a magic show?"

Coercing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, Paulie sneered, "Yes Roy, like at a magic show."

Sandy brushed away stringy hair from her tan face, and said, "That also explains how it got out here in the first place. Reckon it got caught in a sandstorm and just got stuck out here."

"S'right babe," Ally said, kissing his wife on the lips. "You're so smart," he added, kissing her again.

Stomach rumbling, 'Ro glanced at the Dog, and asked, "Any food aboard?"

Smiling, the Dog nodded.

Paulie said, "So, I don't get it. It got stuck, so they just abandoned it?"

Dog's smile widened to a maniacal magnitude; revealing sharp elongated teeth. The Dog motioned for them to follow him again. He led them past the tanker cars and toward the caboose. A series of grated steps had been fashioned to the side of the cab that led into the engine room. As soon as the Dog opened the door, there arouse a screaming so sudden and blood-curdling that it startled the hell out of all of them (except, of course, for the Dog).

"No! Get it away from me! Shit, God, no, keep it away from me!" the man in black armor screamed as he strained against the rope tide around him. He flopped violently about like a fish out of water. "Please, God, get it away from me!"

The king's man appeared young, not but Sarah's age, but with tan skin and short black-hair. Hoop jewelry adorned his ears and nose. The mark of the king rode his left temple. His grey-eyes were wild and fright-filled.

It tore at Ally's heart to find these evil emissaries of the king, while so renowned, so fabled and feared, was nothing more than a terrified boy. Ally had always pictured the king's legions comprised of giant, fearsome, bestial warriors. Not children. In a way, it seemed kind of disappointing, and Ally felt sick and disillusioned by it. "A' right, easy there boy," Ally said, conceding his palms.

The boy screamed, "Get it away! Get it away!"

Ally turned to the Dog, and said, "Just ease up now. Back-off a peg."

After a moment's hesitation, the Dog complied.

Ally said to the boy, "A'right, s'all right, calm down, son. No one's gonna hurt you. Just relax."

Ally ordered Paulie and Roy to scavenge for supplies. Ally, 'Ro, and Sandy exchanged darting glances.

The Dog eased back into a corner. He sat on his haunches, and glissaded into the shadows.

Why was this boy so terrified of the Dog? The king's man had no bruises. No scrapes. He hadn't been battered. The worst he appeared to have suffered was being restrained.

After a few minutes, the boy settled down.

Ally nodded at Sandy, and she cut the boy loose from his bonds.

The boy scrambled to his feet in a flurry.

'Ro drew and aimed.

At the sound of the hammer cocking back, the boy froze, hands to the sky.

'Ro drawled, "Hold it, boy. You try anything funny and I'll be forced to spin this here smoke wagon."

"Easy now," Ally said. "Everybody just take it nice and easy. What's your name kid?"

The boy quavered, "F...Fedic..."

Sandy asked, "Fedic, what?"

Fedic's brow furrowed. His grey-gaze darted from face to face, as if they'd asked the most idiotic thing in the world. "P...Porter...Fedic Porter."

'Ro asked, "That causin' your pappy was a moonshiner?"

Fedic replied, "N...no sir, its cause I'm a porter."

'Ro said, "Yah, I think we've already established that." Squinting, a slight snarl on his lips, he added, "Tell us something we don't know."

Fedic trembled, exhaled, and said, "My Pa didn't brew spirits, sir. I don't know what he did. He died before I was born. I ain't never had a last name. I was raised in slavery until I accepted the mark, and joined the army. My job here is to sentry cargo trains."

Sandy smiled, and said, "Fedic Porter. Because you're a transporter."

Fedic said, "S'right ma'am." Beads of perspiration glistened off his tan forehead.

Ally asked, "So are you saying that out of all this stuff you're transporting, you're the only sentry on duty?"

Fedic shivered beneath his heavy, black body-armor.

The Dog said, "There were more." He slunk out of the shadows, sat on his haunches, and smiled his Cheshire grin.

Hyperventilating, Fedic pointed at the Dog, and said, "H...he...he killed them! Oh, God, it was horrible! He killed them all right in front of me! Oh, God, he made me watch as he...he...he tore them all to pieces! Oh, God, he made me watch!"

Sashaying toward Fedic, Sandy said, "Oh, you poor thing."

'Ro said, "Don't!"

Sandy halted.

Still aiming at Fedic, 'Ro said, "Stay away from him."

Sandy said, "Jethro Allen Jessip, I'm surprised at you!"

'Ro asked, "Ain't cha curious why he's the only one left alive?"

Sandy's thin blond-eyebrows arched into half-moons. Scowling, she said, "No."

"No, wait." Ally turned to his brother, and said, "Go ahead 'Ro, how come he's the only one still alive?"

Smirking, 'Ro scoffed, "Ain't it obvious? You never kill the guy with all the info, at least not until you've had a chance to beat it out of him first, that is."

Sandy crossed her arms. The corner of her lip curled upward. She peered at her husband, and asked, "Wait, what exactly are you saying?"

Sandy was as sharp as a nail. But she couldn't make sense out of this, the same way Ally was disillusioned by finding this kid. But Ally knew, oh yeah. He could see exactly what his brother was saying. And he was right; it all made perfect sense. Ally turned to his wife, smiled, and said, "He's the ranking officer."

But that was then, and this was now.

Paulie slid his ever-descending spectacles back toward the bridge of his nose, and asked, "Seriously though, why'd ya let him go?"

Ally replied, "He didn't know nothing."

'Ro sneered, "Thought you said he was the officer on deck, the big cheese and all that?"

Ally rolled his eyes, and said, "I did. You did, too."

"That's where you're wrong, bro," 'Ro replied. "I still think he was the one in charge."

Toying with the cylindrical gizmo, Roy asked, "Then why'd ya let him go?"

'Ro said, "I'll tell ya why." He slipped an arm around his brother's neck, and replied, "It's 'cause our fearless leader here, has a hard-on for compassion for his fellow man. Don't ch'a, ya big softy?" 'Ro kissed his brother on the cheek.

Arms crossed, Sandy huffed, "Come on you two, don't start."

'Ro stepped away from his brother. He held up his hands, as if to present him with a gift, and said, "Damnit man, wake up, there's a war goin' on here. That mother fuckers gonna go tell his buddies all about us."

Sandy strode toward 'Ro, and snarled, "That's enough!"

Ignoring her, 'Ro continued, "You really fucked up, man. You know that, right? They're gonna be comin' for us now."

Ally yelled, "They're comin' for us anyway, 'Ro! He's just a fucking kid!"

"And what if the ones comin' for us are kids too? Shit man, what if they're all kids? What ya gonna do then?"

Ally shouted, "He didn't know nothing! He wasn't in charge!"

'Ro cocked his head to the side and hissed through his teeth. "Oh, that's bullshit man, and you know it. You know there was something fucking shady about that whole thing."

Sandy stepped between the brothers, pressed a hand on each brother's chest, and said, "Come on boys, break it up."

Ignoring his wife, Ally continued, "That's what I thought, 'Ro. But I guess I was wrong. We were all wrong."

"Fuck that man, you gotta go with your gut, you know you always gotta go with your gut!"

Somehow that bit of fatherly advice stung Ally worse than any insult ever incurred. His face, chest, and the back of his neck felt on fire. He glared at his younger brother, and said, "Yeah, thanks, ol' man."

Sandy pleaded, "Okay, c'mon Ally, let's not do this here."

'Ro said, "Yeah, well at least I learned my lessons."

Physically pushing 'Ro and Ally away from each other, Sandy iterated, "Come on, let's go you two."

With wide gapes and slack jaws, Paulie and Roy watched the events unfold.

Ally shouted over his wife, pumped his fist in the air, and said, "And yet, _still_ you make the same fucking mistakes over and over and over--"

'Ro asked, "What mistake is that? Silvernuts? 'Cause, if you recall, that was your decision to raid that town. I was against it, so was the ol' man. You talked him into it. Then, you leave me behind and now you're claiming it was my fault?"

Ally shouted, "At least I came back for you. I'm starting to wish I hadn't."

Face flushed red, 'Ro roared, "This ain't even about that, ya dumbass. I'm talking about that little cock-sucker _you_ let go! The one that's gonna get us all killed."

Ally yelled, "He didn't know nothing, you stupid fuck! God! He had no medals or patches or nothing. No documents. No maps. Nothing! He was just a scared kid in body-armor."

A long pause elapsed.

'Ro hung his head. He ran a hand through his greasy dirty-blond hair, peered at Ally, sighed, and said, "I know, bro. But still, you gotta admit, that was just weird. I mean, he said the Dog tore his friends to pieces, but that's not what we saw, was it?"

Ally didn't respond, but knew exactly what his brother was talking about.

'Ro continued, "Them corpses in there, they just looked like..."

"Like they was drained of life," Sandy chimed.
'Ro said, "Yeah, exactly! And I'm pretty sure the Dog didn't do that." He pointed at where the Dog had been.

Nothing.

In fact, the Dog was nowhere in sight.

****

Anne awoke in a start to the sounds of shouting; the violent movements of people grappling. At first, Anne thought she back in the woods. The rider returned and found them slumbering in the bushes. Now, the soldier straddled Sarah, and greedily tore at her clothes.

Kicking, scratching, and screaming, Sarah struggled underneath.

Zeke asked, "What are ya doin', Hick?"

Anne sat up and rubbed her eyes. The nightmare had come true. Except instead of a king's man clad in heavy, black armor, it was Hickey who attacked.

Sarah cried, "No! Stop! Don't!" She smacked and clawed at Hickey's square, wrinkly face.

Anne popped to her feet. She charged head-long at Hickey, and pummeled her tiny fists into his muscular back. She knew what he was doing, or attempting to, anyway.

Hickey pivoted and slapped Anne across the face with the back of his hand.

Squealing, Anne tumbled backward.

Sarah's gaze grew beady and dark. She snarled, growling like the Dog. She screamed, "Bastard!" Sarah lurched up and raked her nails down Hickey's face. She drew blood.

Hickey hissed, reeled back, and protected his mug with frantic hand movements.

Adrenaline pumping, heart galloping, Anne roared, "Kill him! Kill him! Fucking kill him!"

Sarah started. Gape wide, mouth agape, she glared at Anne.

Hickey pounced, and wrestled Sarah to the ground.

Anne's pale and freckled skin prickled with a hot, flush sensation. An excitement coursed through her like none she had ever experienced -- arousal.

"Enough!" Zeke trounced up behind Hickey, and slammed his fist into the back of Hickey's skull.

Hickey's eyes rolled up in his head. He fell to the sand in a slump, and landed next to Sarah.

Breathing heavily, clutching at her torn garments, Sarah scrambled to her feet. Her gaze frenetically darted in search of other enemies.

All silent and still. Over before it began.

In unison, Sarah and Zeke glanced over at Grey, who, snored blissfully away.

A glitter of light caught the corner of Anne's gaze and she turned in that direction.

Just outside the campfire's circle of illumination; Maddy sat up-right, propped in the sand, grinning like the Devil, hisself.

****

Sarah toyed with the odd, olive-green wrappings of the box-like object in her hands. The package felt light, and had a slick sheen to it. The letters M R E were stamped in black ink. Of course, Anne was the one who informed the gang which letters were what.

A brand new day dawned for the Jessip gang and friends. And they had much to discuss: Fedic, the tanker, water, and those mysterious MREs.

Hickey swore he didn't remember attacking Sarah. But Sarah, Anne, Zeke, and the knot on the back of Hickey's head, recalled it just fine.

Sarah's clothes hadn't been torn as bad as first anticipated, and she managed to tie the top of her dress back together via a series of knots.

Hickey had to make an honest apology to both Sarah and Anne, and though, they both accepted his cries for pardon, both would make sure to steer clear of him from there on out.

Aye, Sarah would see to that.

Grey seemed confused and agitated by the whole ordeal (considering he'd slept through both). "Should just put my useless ass in the ground now," he grumbled.

Two of their horses died overnight, now only two remained. They had plenty of those strange MRE meals, but some of the boys elected to eat horse instead of gambling with the king's rations.

Anne appeared saddened by the death of the steeds, but not at all put off on the idea of a real meat.

No one had seen the Dog since the previous night.

An uneasy feeling rooted in the pit of Sarah's stomach. Where did he go? When would he return? Where was he last night when she really needed him? More importantly, would Hickey try to do it again if the Dog did not return soon?

Anne must have sensed Sarah's anxiety. She held Sarah's hand, squeezed tightly, and said, "Don't worry. My puppy will be back soon. He's just out lookin' for Mr. Troll and Ms. Star."

Sarah prayed that true.

The rest of the gang didn't mention the Dog's truancy. And after a quick, yet hearty breakfast, the group continued traveling west.

Grey and Anne rode Bucky while Sarah and Sandy rode Jethro's horse, Shit-kicker. All the while, the men trudged alongside on foot. The boy's rarely talked despite all that happened.

Hickey shamefully hung his head the entire venture.

Anne constantly prattled on as Grey just chuckled here-and-there.

Sandy remained mostly silent, as well. Every now and again, she reared back and asked Sarah if, "she was doing all right".

Despite their pale, freckled complexion, Sarah and Anne adjusted to the heat quite well (now that they had food and water, anyway). But Sarah's raced. Sure, she had a lot to think about regarding her and Anne's present predicament. But all those things weren't what really troubled her. What bedeviled her was Anne's cursed doll, Maddy. Hadn't Maddy been destroyed in the fire at the shelter? Of course, Sarah had absolutely no way of knowing this, yet somehow she did. She felt it. She wanted to talk to someone about this, but whom? Who could she trust to talk to (except for the Dog, who probably wouldn't have said anything, anyway), about her lingering suspicions of Anne's beloved doll. But what suspicions? What did she think Maddy had done, or was continuing to do even now? Sarah didn't know, she just had a prodigious feeling about that doll, and unfortunately, it was a bad one.

They broke for lunch around noon.

Still no sign of the Dog.

Should she be worried?

Roy and Hickey seemed leery (bordering on superstition), of eating the MREs. But, with no way too cut, cure, carry, and keep the horse meat, it was either the mystery meals or nothing at all.

Sarah didn't know why the two were afraid to ingest the packaged delights. After all, they had already stolen the MREs. And isn't that what they did? Steal stuff? Later on, she might ask Roy why. But not Hickey.

Roy snorted, "Mr. E, my ass!" Wrestling with the olive-colored package, he said, "Only mystery is how to open it."

"M R E," Paulie corrected, pushing up his ever-descending glasses. He offered his hand and Roy planted his meal not-quite-ready-to-eat, into his outstretched palm. He pinched the middle of the frill running along the narrow end of the package, pulled it open, and said, "And it opens likes this."

"Whatever," Roy spat as Paulie handed it back to him.

Roy cocked a bushy, black-eyebrow, and asked, "What's 'at mean, anyhow, emery?"

Paulie reiterated, "M. R. E."

Hickey mumbled, "Who gives a fuck, long as its eats."

"Yup," Zeke added, giggling moronically through a mouth-load of food.

Ally glanced up from the wad of tissue-paper he toyed with, and asked, "What's this?"

'Ro replied, "I reckon that's for wiping your ass."

They all laughed.

After lunch, they rested a little while longer.

Anne spent her time twirling and dancing with Prince Madgellaine. Anne said that Prince Maddy had sworn to take her far away forever. Could that really happen?

Zeke stood near Anne; clapping and tapping his feet in amusement, as if he could hear the danceable beat.

Head slung low, Hickey sat away from the rest of the group.

Paulie and Roy played a quiet and uneventful game of slapjacks.

Grey rested outstretched in the sand, arm draped over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

Ally and Sandy huddled closely together, softly conversing to each other, gravely weighing out their dwindling options.

Gazing upon them, Sarah felt a slight pinch of jealousy. She didn't know why, she just did. Something about them there together, despite all they endured, made her long for a companion like that of her own.

'Ro asked, "See somethin' ya like?" He settled next to her in the boiling sand.

Sarah blushed. Gaze downcast, she said, "Oh...no...I'm..." She smiled, completely at a loss for words.

'Ro brushed his dirty-blond hair from his rugged, scraggly face, and said, "S'all right." He smiled at her, even with his hazel-eyes.

For a moment Sarah's heart went all-a-flutter.

What in the name of Heaven?

'Ro nodded toward his brother, and said, "That man ye'r looking at is the most famous outlaw that ever did live."

Ally and Sandy glanced at Sarah and 'Ro. The couples' wide gapes and slack-jawed expressions suggested they'd just been caught conspiring in secret.

"Hey now," Grey said, stirring to life. " _I_ am the greatest outlaw that ever did live." As if insulted, he propped up on an elbow and glared at 'Ro.

'Ro said, "Sure, pop."

A long period of silence elapsed before Ally hopped to his feet, dusted himself off, and said, "Well, I reckon we've rested long enough."

Clapping, Zeke said, "Yup, yup."

Sarah was about to dust off her own britches before realizing what a futile activity it was.

Ally asked, "How's your hand, Zeke?" He helped his wife to her feet, and placed a great-big smooch on her lips.

Once again, an angry-green pinch ate at Sarah's innards.

Wearing a wide dopey smile, Zeke replied, "S'all right."

'Ro said, "Never mind his fist."

He helped Sarah to her feet. Her heart fluttered once more. Just what in the heavens was going on inside her?

'Ro asked Hickey, "How's your head?"

Gaze averted, hat slung low, Hickey mumbled, "S'fine." He rubbed the welt at the base of his skull.

Good. He should be ashamed. And if he tried to do it again, Sarah just might have to gut him with a blunt object.

Paulie strolled up to Hickey, slapped him on the back, and said, "Aw, c'mon buddy, ya gonna sulk all day? We got's miles to tread."

Grey struggled to get to his feet, like a fish out of water.

'Ro strode toward him, and offered his hand.

Scowling, Grey smacked it away, and groaned, "Get away from me ya pansy-ass. I can plant my own two feet, I ain't no Dixie-flower."

'Ro stepped back-a-piece.

The ol' man's face wrinkled into a contortion of pain. He appeared pale, sweaty. He said, "And don't ya be eye-ballin' me neither, boy."

'Ro hooked his thumbs in his buckle and strolled silently away.

Awkwardness spread throughout the group like a miasmic gas as they all stood there, watching Grey strive to get his arthritic joints to comply with his will, all the while, _pretending_ they weren't watching.

Maddy in one hand, Anne skipped toward Grey. Humming, she smiled, and held her wee-little digits out to the ol' man. "C'mon, Grampa Grey, it's time to go."

Grey forced a smile, and said, "All right, sweet-pea."

With a strength Sarah had never before witnessed, Anne helped the ailing patriarch to his feet.

****

The sun beat down hot upon the barren desert sand; hotter than the day before. At least, Troll thought so.

Sweaty, clothes stamped to their grimy, weary bodies. Mouths dry and coarse, possibly even more so than the sandy earth they traversed through. Every so often a gust of wind arose, carrying bits of sand and stone in it. The desert particles cut and poked their skin. Tiny beads of blood congealed under the desert's baking sun, creating crimson freckles.

They hadn't spoken the entire day, but not because Troll didn't want to, quite the contrary, in fact. He desperately wanted to hear Star's no-doubt croaky voice. And he knew that she felt the same toward him. But talking sapped precious energy and their collective strengths dwindled.

They stopped around noon to rest.

Once again, Star checked her compass. Her brow wrinkled, a small snarl curled at the corner of her lip. She peered at the instrument, up at the sun, then back at the compass. Foot tapping, hand running through her sweaty, blond curls, she sighed.

Troll wiped the sweat and dirt from his brow and glanced at Star. How much longer would she continue to check that faulty compass before giving up on it entirely?

With no meal to share, they didn't rest long before continuing their travels.

After walking for (what felt like), a couple more hours, a rather unusual thing happened. An eerie warbling arose. Troll peered around. Nothing. Had Star heard it too, or had it all been a figment of his over-exerted-imagination?

"Troll?"

He felt faint, woozy. Dark splotches spread across his plane of vision, like ripples across purling water.

The warbling continued, growing louder.

"Troll?"

He tottered. No-doubt, that ululating noise originated within his head.

"Troll!"

Troll started at the sound of Star's commanding voice. He pivoted. Vision blurry, he tried to focus on Star's face.

Star's eyes bulged, jaw slack, and mouth open wide. An odd expression painted her face, one Troll had never seen before -- panic.

Then Troll saw something else he'd never before seen, and suddenly his weariness was replaced with a terror he had not felt since his encounter with the Wraith (or bats).

A giant wall of sand (much taller than the fence around Silverdale), spread out across the horizon, rushed head-long at them.

Sprinting, Troll yelled, "Run!"

Star bounded after him. She tripped and fell face-first into the sand. Star fumbled to her feet, only to stumble again.

The wall of sand closed in on Star.

"Lord, be with us!" Troll stashed his staff within his cloak, and raced toward Star.

Star folded to the ground and screamed.

Troll lunged, intentionally missing her (only so he wouldn't crush her). "Down!" he commanded.

Star covered her head with her arms.

Troll fell protectively over her and shielded them both with his cloak. Then, the wall hit. And it hit hard. Striking with such force as to send them tumbling across the coarse country-side. Over and over they went until darkness fell upon them, followed by immense pressure and weight. Troll clutched to Star as tightly as he could without hurting her.

Star screamed.

The rushing sand-riddled air became heavy, hard to breath. Another wave of sand hit, knocking the wind out of them.

Troll lost his grip on Star.

"No!" But barely heard his own voice over the roaring sandstorm.

He peered around.

Darkness.

Pelts of sand stung his eyes.

Then another wave hit, and another.

Over and over Troll went as the desert swallowed him whole.

****

Glancing cursorily around, Sarah asked, "Where's Maddy?" She cupped a hand over her brow, not so much to shield her eyes from the sun, but the sand still flurrying about. She didn't know why she had asked this. The thought just sort of popped in her mind.

Anne shrugged, and said, "I dunno." She appeared covered toe-to-soul in gritty sand and tiny flecks of transparent (yet extremely sharp), glassy stone. She looked like a moving statue. They all did, point of fact.

A few short minutes ago, Anne and Grey chatted away. This time, the subject of conversation was Hickey. Anne went on about how much she disliked Hickey and the way he sometimes looked at her and Sarah.

Grey said, "Yeah, he always was an insufferable prig, even back when I first found him fighting off a whore he refused to pay in some saloon." A reminiscent gleam spangled his faded-blue eyes.

Anne asked, "What's a prig?"

Sarah pressed a hand to her breast, and said, "Mr. Grey, I don't want her hearing such language."

Grey passively replied, "Just as ye like."

Then a mysterious warbling sound arose.

The Jessips tried to flee, but had nowhere to flee too. They tried to duck and cover, but no coverage existed from the battering waves of sand.

Sarah screamed.

They all did.

The swarming barrage of sand and wind knocked them all for a loop (and a few yards to boot). And aside for a few scrapes, scratches, cuts, and sprains; every man, woman, and child was present and accounted for. All, that is, except for Paulie.

Paulie had landed on his head and snapped his spine about ninety-degrees in the wrong direction. His body appeared unscathed. Belly down in the sand. Yet his neck craned impossibly to the side, face tilted slightly upward. His spectacles lay broken, blood smeared, and half buried in the sand, several yards further than where Paulie lay in a mangled heap.

As soon as Sarah knew the outlaw dead, she grabbed Anne up in her arms, and held a hand over the younger girl's eyes. She didn't want Anne to see Paulie (or anyone, for that matter), like that. Yet, Sarah couldn't look away. She just kept staring into his dead eyes.

Those lifeless eyes stared back.

'Ro took Sarah by the arm, and ushered the two girls away. He said, "Come on darling, ain't nothing more to see."

They buried 'ol Paulie (or rather, laid him out proper and shoveled hand-fulls of sand over him). No marker or headstone. No point. But 'Ro played Amazing Grace, on his harmonica.

Sarah offered a small prayer at the gang's behest. After all, she was the only God-fearing adult among them. "Dear Lord, please allow this poor soul into ye'r everlasting kingdom. Amen."

"Amen," most of them said.

They stood there in awkward silence.

Ally said, "Y'all remember the time ol' Paulie fell in that creek, and he thought he got bit on the ass by a water-snake? But nobody wanted to suck out the poison, so he tried to do it himself."

Nodding his egg-like head, Zeke snickered, "Yeah." His sole shuck of hair flickered in the desert breeze. "He was all a-rollin' over, trying to kiss his own ass."

The boys giggled briefly and stifled.

Ally added, "And then it turned out, he just cut himself on a rock."

They laughed.

'Ro said, "Y'all remember when we was robbing that market, and Paulie had himself an awful case of the squirts? He was still squatting in the weeds when guns started blazing. Ol' Paulie, jumped up, guns in air, pants around his ankles, shit running down his backside."

That got the gang going again, even Sandy laughed.

Were the Jessips going mad?

Anne chimed, "I remember how he was always pushin' his glasses up his nose."

The gang settled; shifting nervously in place, as if suddenly aware of their bizarre behavior.

Large hands folded upon his bulbous waist, Zeke said, "He'll hitch his spectacles up, no more."

'Ro snorted, stifled a laugh. But that only set all of them into hysterics. Even Sarah and Anne joined in.

Was _she_ going mad?

They offered another moment of silence (this one out of respect), before setting off on foot again. Even without the aid of horses (they raced off right before the storm hit), Grey managed to keep pace with their slow, ambling march. For now.

****

Darkness and an immense pressure bore down all around Star. She couldn't breathe. Stuck. Suspended. Unable to move. When she tried, the weight around her squeezed tighter, forcing the breath from her lungs, as if in the clutches of some giant. Was she buried alive? Desperate for air, her mouth gaped open. Something solid and gritty spilled into the unobstructed orifice -- sand. She didn't mean to, but she instinctively inhaled. More sand poured into her mouth, as if she some empty container waiting to be filled. Choking. Drowning. She tried to scream. Nothing emerged from her vocal-box but a muffled, " _Eee_!" But in her head, she heard herself shrieking. Heart galloping, she panicked. In her mind's eye she recalled her recurring dreams of being buried alive under dead bodies.

A low and distorted voice called from the depths of the abyss, "AARH! AARH!" The voice called out a name. Her name.

"Star, Star!"

The voice, still distorted, seemed very close, so close that...and then she was being pulled downward. She tried to protest, she didn't want to go deep down into the...light? Sunlight and air? She wasn't going down. She was being pulled up, unearthed. She had been saved yet again by her behemoth protector, Troll.

Dark, cool sand caked a thick, brown layer over Star's sweat-soaked skin, hair, and clothing. She doubled over, and coughed up gritty clods. A good amount of sand had collected in her hat. As she writhed and coughed, the hat shifted, and slid down her back. The cincture constricted around her neck, choking her once more.

Troll quickly, yet carefully, slipped the article over her head, and pitched it into the sand.

In hoarse, whooping coughs, Star continued hacking up large quantities of grit. Her throat felt like a dry and rocky well. Her mouth was like a cavernous, gaping tunnel.

Troll swatted her back a few times to help her clear her throat.

Star frantically felt around her neck line to make sure her father's compass still there -- it was.

Troll brushed back her hair, tenderly ringing the sand from her now sandy, blond curls. He wet his fingers with his own spittle and cleared the dirt and sand from around her eyes.

Plenty of grit had managed to get in her eyes, making it painful to gaze around. But when she could, she peered up in to Troll's worried gape.

Voice quavering, Troll smiled weakly, and said, "Thought I'd lost ye. Next time, hold tight to me."

Star hoped there would be no next time.

****

Despite his heightened hearing, the sandstorm took the Dog completely by surprise, as if it had been simply conjured into existence.

The Dog sniffed a random stone; searching for a hint of his wayward friends.

A frightening warble arose.

A huge wall of sand stretched out across the horizon, headed straight for him.

The Dog didn't bother trying to run. Without so much as a moment's hesitation or fore-thought, he did what any animal would do -- he dug. He managed to claw out a small dimple into the surface of the sand; just enough space for him to entrench himself.

Just as the maelstrom hit, the Dog squatted as low to the ground as he could and covered his head; holding onto his hat.

It didn't take the Dog long to dig his way out. He stood upright, and shook himself off.

The skies were a sandy hue of...well, sand. No sign of the sun, yet it wasn't night either.

The Dog scanned the area.

Vast emptiness, nothing more.

He had lost all sense of direction and time. He had lost...well, everyone.

He had been so certain in his abilities, so sure of his senses. But he had failed, just as he had failed to protect Sarah the previous night. The Dog sensed the attack, but by the time he got there, all was said and done. He had been so proud by the fact that he found water and saved...well, all of them. But after missing the scuffle between Sarah, Hickey, and Zeke, the Dog was filled with shame. He couldn't protect them, not on his own. He needed to find Troll and Star, and he needed to do it now. So the Dog left.

Sure, he could wander away from the group, track down Troll and Star and reunite them all. No problem. But things hadn't worked out like that -- at all. For some reason, he couldn't zero-in on any of his friends. Odd. Was something or someone blocking his senses? Was that even possible?

The Dog squatted back onto his haunches, and whined lowly.

A lone gust of grit and stone answered, and then silence.

The Dog sniffed at the air, whined again, and like any dog, waited for someone, _anyone_ , to come along.

****

Vultures circled overhead, creating shadowy forms that reminded Troll _way_ too much of the Wraith.

After the sandstorm, the winds ceased and the sun beat down hotter than before.

Troll and Star staggered on at a crawling pace.

Star's coughing incipiently hoarse as it was constant. Every now and then she hacked up a mucus-covered-dirt-clod. Apparently the very act made her sick, causing her to heave all the more, and before long she was coughing up blood, as well.

Troll felt weary and worried. Worried about things he dared not even think about, and so, he did the only thing he could think of -- he sang. But his voice was not at all its usual boisterous self. Low and weak. He mumbled the words over and over again. The song had been stuck in his head ever since the sandstorm. At first he only hummed, but soon he meekly belted,

_And on and on it goes_ ,

_We shall sing this song some more_...

Only fitting that he should sing such a never-ending song on their never-ending campaign through this never-ending abyss.

... _We shall sing this song some more_...

Troll paused to regain his weakening breath.

... _Until my heart stops beating_ ,

_I shall never cease in song_...

But when Troll heard the cocking of a pistol, he did indeed cease in song.

Covered in dirt and grime, Star pointed her shooter at him. Dark bags and circles hung under her faded emerald-eyes like the sand dunes that surrounded them. A bit of blood congealed at the corners of her chapped and blistered mouth. She croaked, "Stop singin' that damn song. I don't ever wanna hear that song again." Compass dangling from her open-throated shirt, Star's arm wavered under the shooter's weight.

Troll panted, "Can' help it, t'is been nestled in me brains for some time now."

"I know." Cough. Cough. Hack. Her eyes narrowed into weary slits. "Mine too. Just don't sing it or I'll shoot you in the foot. Or, myself in the head. I haven't decided yet."

"How do ye know it will even fire? Things probably packed with sand. It'll probably misfire and take ye'r pretty, little hand, clean off."

Star's arm dropped and the firearm slipped from her grasp. The shooter collided with the sand in a muted thump. Star sobbed in a choking, hiccupping sound that resembled the Dog's awkward laughing, 'though, she seemed unable to produce tears. Hacking, she doubled over, and coughed up another bloody clod of dirt. Star's eye's rolled up in the back of her head, and she swooned.

Troll darted toward her, caught her in his arms. He kissed her forehead, ran his fingers through her dirty hair, and embraced her as tightly as he dared.

Star twitched. She opened her eyes -- a little. Clots of sand clogged her oculars.

Could she even see him? It must have hurt -- a lot.

But with no water to wash them out, Troll could do nothing to ease her torment.

Lungs hitching and hiccupping in hyperventilation, she croaked, "I jus' wanna go home."

Troll shushed her. He stroked her hair, and held her for what seemed like a long time.

Physically unable to travel any further, they rested there for the night. The wind picked up and howled across the lands; spreading sand about in haphazard whirlwinds. Too breezy to build a fire, they sat silently in the cooling sand.

When the coldness of night fell upon them, the gales finally died down, but still a bit too windy for Troll to start a fire with his flash-powder. The two huddled together under Troll's cloak for warmth. Tonight seemed colder than the previous night and Troll considered burning his staff for a fire. But he (like Star), grew weaker by the moment. And if he used his staff for kindling tonight, he wouldn't get very far tomorrow, and thusly, abstained from even entertaining the notion at all.

Star sobbed, still incapable of yielding the tiniest of tears.

He didn't understand. How did she survive such weather as a child, and alone? Perhaps he'd never understand. Mayhap, they'd never make it out of the desert.

Troll sat there praying for guidance. For hope. For help. Yet still, God remained mute to his pleas.

****

Despite being out of wood, Ally wanted to start a fire by burning some of their extra clothes.

'Ro pointed out, how they previous night, their campfire had been clearly visible from the tanker's perspective. Had it not been sentried by a lone, petrified Porter, things might have turned out a _lot_ different.

The day's travel took its toll on the ol' man. He tried not to show the amount of agony he experienced. But Ally could tell by the way the ol' man's gripes and grumbles incipiently replaced with silence.

If they didn't get to wherever they were going, and soon, then ol' Paulie wouldn't be the only one buried out here.

Unfortunately, Ally had no idea where they were going. His plan was to head north to the mountains, while Sarah and Anne desperately wanted to reunite with their friends. And where was the Dog in all this? Did he just really leave the two girls in the Jessip's care?

The ol' man slept now, and the boys (plus Anne), played a quiet and rather un-eventful game of slapjacks.

Sarah and Sandy quietly chatted just outside the player's circle.

Sandy had taken a shine to both Sarah and Anne.

Should she really be getting so attached? How much longer would the two girls journey in their company?

Too many questions and Ally hadn't a single answer.

'Ro polished his harmonica with a 'neckerchief, and asked, "So, are we just not gonna talk about it? Or are we gonna wait 'till the kid ain't around?"

Anne just sat there humming; bobbing her head as she carefully rearranged her cards.

Ally asked, "Talk about what?" He glanced at his cards. The suicide-king, and one-eyed Jack. Again.

Truly, the gods of chance had doomed them all.

'Ro shot Ally a cross-glance, and said, "You _know_."

Ally replied, "Tryin' not to think about that, 'Ro."

Without gazing up, Anne chimed, "Ignoring a problem is no way to solve it."

Whether he wanted to talk about it or not, Ally knew what 'Ro was referring to, but did Anne?

Hickey spurt tobacco-juice in the sand, and said, "He's become just like a lame horse. And there's only one way to deal with a lame horse."

'Ro glowered at Hickey, and said, "Really? You ain't said but a word all day. And now when you open your mouth, _that's_ the first thing that comes out?"

Hickey sighed and placed his cards face-down in his lap. He gazed up at 'Ro, and said, "Look, man, I know he's your pops n' all. He's been like a father to all of us. But facts-is-facts, he's old and dying, and for that, there ain't no remedy."

Roy cracked his knuckles, and said, "Wow, Hick. I never knew ya could be so poetic."

Hickey shrugged, and spat.

Anne asked, "Would ye really shoot Grampa Grey?" Bottom lip quivering, her teary gaze bounced from person-to-person.

"Not a chance, sweat-pea," Ally said without hesitation.

'Ro asked, "So what are ya supposin' we do? Take turns carrying him?"

Hand raised, fingers wriggling, Anne chimed, "I'll do it!"

Nodding oafishly, Zeke said, "Yeah, me too."

Arms crossed, Hickey snorted, "Well y'all can count me out." His cards fell listlessly into the sand, revealing a duce and a four.

He had nothing.

Ally asked Hickey, "Thought ya said, he was like your father, too?"

Hickey replied, "And ya know as well as I do, that ornery ol' bastard won't let none of us carry him."

Anne said, "I'll talk him into it. He likes me."

'Ro asked Ally, "And how long do ya reckon we can keep that up for? That kid ya let go, Futnick, or whatever the hell his name was, has probably caught up to his buddies by now. They're gonna be lookin' for us. How well do ya suppose the..." 'Ro scanned the group, attempting to count them. He waved his finger about, dipping it, as if checking them off in turn. "Uh, let's see here," he mumbled. "We gots one...two...three...uh...five--"

Anne chimed, "There's nine of us."

'Ro said, "Right, okay." He scratched his stubbly chin. He gazed upward, tongue slightly protruded. 'Ro said, "So, what's one less than that?"

"Eight," Anne merrily decreed.

"Okay," 'Ro said, returning his attention to Ally, "so anyway, how well do ya think the eight of us can hide out here in the open with the ol' man on one of our backs?"

"As well as we can," Ally replied after a moment's contemplation.

'Ro peered at Ally. A queer and unreadable look spangled his hazel-eyes.

Usually, Ally knew what his brother was thinking, unless of course, 'Ro was about to do something foolishly impetuous. But Hickey was right. Grey had become much like a lame horse, and there remained only one way to deal with such.

****

Journal entry,

How many days has it been in this cursed wasteland? Two? Three? Alas, dear journal, it feels as though a hundred years. Where am I going? What am I doing? Where are the others? Why does the Lord refuse to answer my prayers?

We're out of food and water. Surely, we shall not see another day if our condition does not improve.

If this be my last entry, I have only one thing to say, death to the king and all those who oppose the one, true God, for they--

Blanketed with Troll's cloak, Star stirred in her sleep. Her face shriveled up as if tasting something sour.

Troll sat a few paces away, as not to disturb her.

A bitter wind arose and Star shivered. She turned on her other side, nestled deeper in the furs, and curled up in a fetal position.

Troll returned to his memoirs. Having trouble remembering his train of thought, he re-read the previous passage. He began writing a statement. But the words did not do his heart justice. He tried to start anew; write something clever, meaningful. But, weariness stung his eyes and made his head ache. Frustrated, he clasped the journal shut, and sighed. But no, he was not sated. This would not be how his last journal entry would end \-- fractured.

With a swill of determination (possibly the last he'd ever have), Troll carefully opened the leather-bound book and once more, attempted to write his own epitaph.

****

Like usual when she awoke from 'the dreams,' Star did so with a sense of abandonment and alienation; lost in a strange place she couldn't remember coming too. She cursorily scanned her surroundings.

Desert. Dunes. Sand. Nothing more.

The stars twinkled like brilliant snowflakes in the night's frigid air. The moon was kind enough to show its face; one of those full, yellow moons that seemed impossibly large.

The wind arose, pelting her with stingy grains of sand. The cold gust sank deep into her bones, and she shivered. Suddenly she was back in the woods, before Silverdale and all this mess. She was traveling with Troll and the Dog, on their way to Krin, traversing through torrential spring storms.

She blinked. The grit caught underneath her eyelids raked across her oculars. For some reason, she thought of broken glass; sticky, shattered pieces of whiskey bottles.

Troll sat a few paces away, cross-legged in the sand, writing in his journal via moonlight.

Star peered up at that big, smiling, yellow-faced satellite. For the briefest of moments, she felt like a child again, as if still back in Krin, admiring the heavens with her loving family. The siege hadn't happened yet. Furion hadn't happened yet. And as far as the child within her knew, none of it ever would.

She swallowed, and the sides of her throat grated against each other. Agony. A longing stirred within her for what she knew she could not (and possibly not-ever), have -- water. She moaned in distraught.

Gaze glued to the journal spread-eagle in his lap, Troll whispered, "Just recording my thoughts."

Every muscle in her body was stiff and sore. In more pain than she could recall, she crawled on all fours toward Troll. She lay down next to him and made a motion to rest her head in his lap, which he allowed. He stoked her hair and cheek and she released a soothed moan (best as she could manage, anyway).

Troll hushed her, and caressed her face and hair again.

Troll whispered, "Myriam."

"Yes?" she croaked.

"Whatever happens in the morrow, come what may, I just want thee to know that I love thee with all my heart and soul." Troll's gape shimmered with tears.

It was the closest Star had seen him come to crying. And if they weren't both so dehydrated, then perhaps they could blubber the night away in each other's arms.

Star had fallen in love with Troll the moment met him, though she never allowed herself to admit it. And though she yearned to run into his embrace and kiss him passionately lo these many weeks, something kept her from opening her heart to him \-- her past. Everyone she ever loved or cared about was now long dead, and it was all her fault.

But there, in his embrace, dancing upon the cusp of death, Star gazed into Troll's eyes, smiled, and said, "Love ya too."

Then all faded to black.

****

Grey wailed, "Put me down, damnit!" His ululating had been constant for some time now.

The sound bore into 'Ro's brains like slugs on strawberries.

Grey iterated, "Put me down!" The ol' man wasn't exactly flailing wildly in protest. His caducity was far too extensive for that. But neither did he go out of his way to cooperate. "Put me down, I say!"

Zeke carried Grey piggy-back style.

Grey marched on his own-two-feet when they set-out that morning.

No one even suggested transporting him.

'Ro knew the ol' man wouldn't have none of that.

Evidently, so did everyone else.

But before long, Grey lagged behind. The others wanted to wait for him. But apparently, he wasn't havin' any of _that_ either. "Go on," he hollered, waving them off, "Don't worry 'bout me, I'm a-comin'."

Head canted, Hickey shot 'Ro (not Ally), a glance that said, "For the love of God, just carry his feeble ol' ass."

Sarah rested her hand on Grey's shoulder, and asked, "Be thee well?"

"For certain, li'l darling," Grey replied. He smiled wanly and rubbed his swollen knees.

Ally asked Grey, "Ya good to go?"

Grey's face wrinkled in disgust. Exposing brown, rotting teeth, he asked, "Ya asking me to a ho-down or are we fixin' to ride on outa here?"

Less than an hour passed when the ol' man straggled again.

No one tried to help him, they all knew better than that.

Maddy in hand, Anne skipped toward Grey.

Sarah quickly reached out and snaked her arm around Anne's. Sarah bent over, admonished a slender finger, and said, "No, Anne. Leave him be."

The wind arose, swirling Sarah's tattered sun-dress. The gale shifted, pressing fabric against her buttocks; outlining every contour. Sarah's wavy red-hair fluttered in the breeze.

For the first time, 'Ro saw her as something more than a simple peasant-farm-girl.

Hunched over, Grey howled, "I said, leave me be!" One hand rested on an arthritic knee, the other swatted away Ally's hand. "Get on now! Git!"

They left him be and rested a spell before continuing.

Way less than an hour later, the ol' man faltered again. His puffy face, dusted with a fine layer of sand. His cheeks sunken, jaw slack, mouth open; his stumbled gait made him look like a walking dead-man.

Brow scrunched, bottom lip protruded, Anne asked, "Are ye well, Grampa Grey?"

Sarah still restrained her from racing to the ol' man's aid.

Wearing a pained and pallid smile, he panted, "Sure thing, sweet-pea." He breathed in shallow, phlegmatic gasps.

Hickey flailed his arms in a gesture of hopelessness, and said, "This is stupid! We can't keep stopping like this! We gotta keep moving, stay ahead of the king!" The vein in Hickey's thick neck throbbed. His face might have been flushed, but was covered with too much dirt and grime to be sure. Hickey sighed. He removed his hat and ran a burly hand through his short brown-greying hair (not as grey as Grey's, but getting there). He gazed at Ally, and said, "Just carry his ass."

The two Jessip boys peered at each other; wondering the same thing.

Well, who's gonna do it?

Grey lurched up-right; stood straight, and said, "Don't you dare." His faded-blue-gaze spangled with a wild, gunman's rage. "Don't you fucking dare!" His right hand dropped youthfully to the fire-arm nestled upon his hip.

Sarah started.

Anne squirmed out of her arms.

Sarah didn't reach out for the girl. She probably didn't even notice.

Conceding his palms, Ally said, "Whoa, take it easy, pops." He crept toward the ol' man.

Sandy followed.

Ally continued, "No one said anything about carrying you."

Grey snorted, "Ya got that right." He suspiciously scanned them from beneath his cloud-like brows.

Hickey muttered, "I said something about it."

'Ro said, "Can it, Hick."

Grey wheezed, "Ain't no one gonna be carryin' me."

"Pleaeeeeeeese," Anne said, tugging at his faded cotton shirt. She batted her big brown-eyes, and said, "Let us help ye."

She gazed up so sweetly and innocent, who could refuse her? Not Grey, that much was certain. He might have been an ornery old man, but, he was still a big softy at heart.

They took turns hauling him; first Ally, then 'Ro, then Roy, and now Zeke. Hickey remained the only to take a shift.

That lazy asshole, 'Ro thought, hitching up the pack strapped across his shoulder.

Since one person carried Grey, and the previous member to do so rested and bore nothing, they also had to rotate who transported what provisions. Even Sarah and Anne lugged their fair share.

Things went smoothly for a while. Grey only grumbled his complaints when being "exchanged".

'Ro's thoughts turned to the Porter boy. What had happened to him? Had he made it back to his unit, or whatever? Or had he died in the desert like ol' Paulie? 'Ro hoped it the later.

"Put me down, damnit!" Grey yelled, struggling to climb off of Zeke's back, "I can't go on no more."

Zeke gently lowered him onto the boiling sand.

Hickey sneered, "Can't go on? Ya ain't even get'n on now!"

Grey doubled over, and clutched his senescent knees, as he coughed and wheezed.

Sandy asked, "What should we do?"

"What should ya do?" Grey wailed. "'Ro knows what to do, don't cha boy?"

'Ro stammered, "I...I..."

Grey cried, "Put me 'out my misery. Put me down, I's only slowing ya'll down."

Ally said, "Easy now."

Grey said, "Get away from me ya pansy-ass." He swatted away Ally's hand. He gazed at 'Ro and said, "Just put me down for y'all gets killed." His pillowy, white brows arched. His faded-blue-eyes grew wide, filled with anguish and terror.

'Ro said, "Tell ya what, let's just have some lunch and rest a bit."

Tottering, Grey yelled, "We rested too much already!"

Hickey nodded toward Grey, and said, "He's right, we can't afford to waste any more time."

'Ro continued, "I said, we's gonna rest and have lunch." In a softer tone, he added, "Just for a little bit."

Ally said, "I think that's a good idea. Maybe we'll all feel a bit better after lunch."

So that's what they did.

The Dog was still absent.

****

Troll and Star traversed at a slow and awkward gait. They hadn't spoken all day. Nothing more to say.

Amid dehydration and fatigue, waves of heat and chills racked at Troll's aching bones. He reckoned Star felt the same. The sensation was foreign to Troll. He suspected this was what it felt like to run a fever. But in Troll's experience, when on got sick, one usually died.

When they finally decided to call it a day, the winds calmed enough to allow Troll to build a small fire.

Troll had surpassed thirst. Beyond hunger. Weariness no longer seemed a concern of his. Nothing was. Not anymore. They were going to die out here. He knew it. They both knew it. There would be no rain. No rocks small enough to suck moisture from. No more snakes or bugs to munch on. They were going to die out here in the middle of nowhere. They were going to die and nobody would save them. Not even God.

Troll held Star in his arms as the sun set and the stars came out.

She stared longingly into his eyes.

Troll kissed her, and she kissed back. The act itself pained Troll's chapped and blistered lips, but that didn't deter either of them.

She pulled away. Their gazes locked together as her slender fingers undid the string tie upon his deer-skin shirt.

He allowed her to pull off the garment. He unbuttoned her shirt, and slid it off her lithe shoulders. When he tried to remove her compass she turned away from him, and crossed her arms across her supple breasts, as if shamed. Her exposed back was riddled with lashing scars. He ran his fingers tenderly down her spine and she made a soothing sound like when he rubbed her shoulders in Rev. Lowell's kitchen. But all that was over now. She turned toward him and he brushed back the hair plastered to her grit-smeared face. She kissed him and though it hurt like hell, he kissed back. Troll gently pulled her pants off while she undid his kilt. He wrapped his thick cloak around them and they made love. It was a beautiful moment without words. And when it was over, they held each other -- and made love again.

****

"What should we do?" Ally asked the assembled party.

Hickey said, "I say we take the old man's advice, and put him out of his misery."

Secretly, Ally _wanted_ to agree.

Face red, eyes bulging, 'Ro spat, "Just try it."

Roy conceded his palms, and said, "Just take it easy fella's. Maybe we should just ask him what he wants."

Thin lips trembling, Sandy replied, "Because you know what he'll say, that's why."

Hickey grumbled, "Then maybe we should."

The gang glared at Hickey.

Expectorating tobacco juice, he said, "Think about it, he ain't long for this world, anyhow. And if _they_ catch up with us..."

Silence.

When they started out that morning, Grey appeared much better.

Betting against doubt, Ally hoped a good night's sleep was all Grey required. But deep down, he knew better.

And it wasn't long before they took turns carrying him again. The ol' man howled and moaned the entire time, declaring how he just couldn't go on. The pain from being hauled around like a piece of luggage was just too severe.

Zeke eased the ol' man off his back, and helped Grey lie down in the sand.

Now, they all stood around, mulling over their limited options.

Grey's joints swelled up to the size of summer squash. He sweated profusely, skin pallid and clammy. Tears casually rolled down the side of his wrinkly cheeks and carved tiny trenches in his dirt-smeared face.

Several times, Anne attempted to help the ol' man to a sit. No use. He simply couldn't move. They were stuck, unable to go on, and the boys (Hickey in particular), grew antsy about the thought of the king's encroaching army.

Grey wailed, "Help me, Ally. Help me, son."

Ally pulled at his greasy brown-hair, and roared, "What am I supposed to do, huh? Just what the fuck am I supposed to do?"

Grey gasped, "Ask your brother."

_Ask ye'r brother_ , _ask ye'r brother_ , that's all the council Grey proffered Ally these days. Ever since 'Ro's miraculous return (or rescue, depending upon how one looked at it), from the gallows. As if the ol' man had written 'Ro off for dead. And then, when he wasn't, he had been risen above the ranks to inherit the right to lead the Jessip gang; surpassing his older brother and usurping his position as head of the pack. He hated to admit it, but secretly, Ally wished he'd never even bothered to spring his brother's busted ass. Surely things would be much better-off had such improvised disaster never occurred. But that was then, and this unfortunately was now. And now, Grey could travel no further.

Wincing, body arched in contortion, Grey moaned, "Ask ye'r brother."

But Ally didn't ask his brother. Instead, he stormed off and sat by himself in the blistering sand.

No one followed.

Ally sat there a long time, staring out into the horizon, just thinking, or rather, trying not to. After a while, Ally felt his brother approaching from behind. 'Ro didn't say anything. Ally just sensed his presence. Ally turned and peered up at his brother.

Ally was about to say, "So, what do ya think?'" But he didn't. That's exactly what the ol' man wanted; for 'Ro to be in charge. And Ally had a _big_ problem with that. He hadn't scrapped in servitude amidst the ol' man's feet to just be cast aside by the prodigal son.

'Ro pulled his pistol. He rotated the weapon, held the barrel, and offered the handle to Ally.

Ally sat there, gazing up at 'Ro in uncertainty.

Did 'Ro really intend for him to go through with this? If he was to attain leadership of the gang, then yes, he would have to.

'Ro gestured for Ally to take the gun. After a moment's hesitation he did.

****

The sun beat down relentlessly. Troll and Star traversed at a crawling pace. Had the sand not been so blistering, Troll might have actually considered crawling. Troll hyperventilated, unable to catch his breath. He swayed back and forth; leaning upon his trusted staff for support. He supported Star, in turn.

Star's head rocked backward. Her eyes rolled up into her head.

Troll grasped her by the shoulders, steadied her in front of him, and croaked, "Are ye well, my Star?"

She gazed at him, and moaned, "Wh'a'aaaaaa..." Her eyes rolled up in the back of her head again. Her entire body went limp.

Troll slowly lowered her to the ground. He shook her, and called her name. No use. Troll fell unto his knees and cradled Star.

What now?

Star's body burned in fever yet she trembled in cold sweats.

This was it, the end. He had failed.

Troll gazed heaven-ward.

Why had God abandoned them?

Large, shadowy buzzards circled hungrily above.

Troll prayed, dear Lord, I pray we long dead before they begin to eat us.

Black splotches formed in Troll's vision. His head felt light. Entire body thrummed and hummed.

I'm sorry Myriam. I love thee.

And then, Troll fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

****

Ally quavered, "I...I...I can't do it." The shooter in his hand shivered as if alive and freezing its cobalt-ass off.

'Ro had never seen a gun unsteady in Ally's grip.

"Give it here," Hickey said, physically interjecting, "I'll do it."

"No!" was the assembly's resounding consensus.

Zeke balled up his unbroken fist, prepared to brain Hickey again.

Grey said to Hickey, "The hell ya will." Ally's shooter hovered a few feet away from the ol' man's forehead. "Ain't no one takin' me out this world but my own flesh and blood." Gasp. "Only way it should be."

Grey said his good-byes to each member of the gang, even made time to make his peace with Sarah and Anne. He said, "Now ya be a sweet little pea, ya hear?"

Anne replied, "I will, Grampa Grey." Her bottom lip quivered. Her eyes welled up with tears, 'though she didn't cry.

Sarah led Anne away.

'Ro could tell she didn't want Anne around to witness, but given they were way out in the open, in the middle of nowhere, Sarah had no place to take the girl.

Grey embraced his friends and family, tipping his hat to them all.

When it 'Ro's turn to say goodbye, the ol' man gazed into his son's eyes, smiled, and patted him on the cheek.

Grey pulled Ally in close, and whispered something 'Ro couldn't hear.

Ally glared at 'Ro.

It was the first time 'Ro felt afraid of his brother. But why? What did the ol' man tell him?

Out of all of them, only Sandy cried.

Roy, Zeke, and Hickey didn't say much to the ol' man. They just shook his hand, patted him on the back, and tipped their hats to him. Zeke gave Grey a great, big bear-hug.

Then the others receded into the background, and waited for the deed to be done. Still Ally couldn't do it.

Grey gasped, "For God's sake ya pansy-ass-flower-for-a-dill-weed, just let ye'r brother do it."

Gun trembling in his grip, Ally lowered the weapon. Shame danced within his teary gape.

'Ro stepped forward. He placed a hand over the pistol, and Ally allowed him to take it. Neither brother so much as glanced at each other during the transaction.

Grey said, "Come on, what cha waitin' for?" A crooked smile hung from his chapped lips. His eyes twinkled like when he was twenty and he had single handedly gunned-down an entire firing squad. Ah, but that was an entirely different life. Grey continued, "Ya just gonna stand there, eye fucking me like ye'r faggot-ass brother. Or are ya gonna put metal where ye'r mouth is?" Wheeze. Spittle flew from his lips. "Ya gonna cry or are ya gonna do what needs to be done, men's work?"

But 'Ro _was_ sobbing. And honestly, he didn't know if he could pull the trigger any quicker than his brother.

Grey taunted, "Come on ya fucking faggot, what'cha waitin' for? The buzzards to pick my bones clean so ya can fuck my ivory-white asshole? Bet that's what ye'r thinkin' ain't it, ya good-for-nothing sissy?"

The ol' man was trying to goad him. But 'Ro would be damned if he'd let his emotions get the best of him -- this time. 'Ro bottled his anger and steadied his weapon. Still, he couldn't do it. When 'Ro looked down at his father he didn't see the feeble old man lying there in the sand. He saw Grey the way he was. Young, clever, and charismatic. He saw the young man who took the boys out into the wilderness and taught them how to hunt, fish, and handle a weapon. 'Ro remembered the first time Grey took the boys out to shoot. 'Ro (then seven), had never fired a weapon before. Too afraid of the recoil.

_It's okay_ , Grey said, tenderly placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. _You can do it_.

"Come on, boy, do it, ya pansy-ass weakling," the old Grey taunted.

_You can do it_ , the young Grey said in the back of 'Ro's mind.

"Do it ya fucking faggot!"

_You can do it_. _Don't be afraid_ , _just close your eyes and squeeze the trigger_.

_No_ , _pa_ , _I'm afraid_.

_It's okay_. _There's nothing to be afraid of_. _Just close your eyes_ , _squeeze the trigger_ , _and above all else_ , _trust me_.

Grey erupted in a fit of raspy coughs. He gasped, "Come on ya pussy, do it already. Just close ye'r eyes and squeeze the trigger."

'Ro shut his eyes. Instantly a phantasmagoria of memories crashed over him. Camping outside with Ally and the ol' man. Laughing and drinking at the bars. The wind rushing through his hair after just raiding a town; his father whooping and hollering at another victorious conquest. His father's young face, his smile. He remembered all the things that he would never again experience. Hot, salty tears streamed down 'Ro's dirty face (eyes still closed), as the gun trembled in his hand.

"You crying, ya fucking sissy, huh? Why don't you stick that gun up your ass and pull the trigger? That'll really give ya something to cry about."

'Ro didn't do that. He didn't do anything.

And still, the old man continued laying into him again and again, relentlessly. "Come on ya fucking faggot!"

_You can do it_.

"Just do it already!"

_Just close your eyes_...

"Come on ya pussy!"

_Squeeze the trigger_...

"Can't ya see I'm suffering?" Grey's voice broke, hitching as if about to cry.

'Ro opened his eyes. His father lay before him, pleading for mercy.

Grey said, "Please, 'Ro." His voice sounded meek and humble. His shimmering eyes seemed to call for mercy, begging for release.

'Ro finally understood that Grey didn't want to die for their benefit, but for his.

_And above all else_...

Grey wheezed, "I need your help, son. Don't let me down."

_Trust me_...

The wind howled. Dust and flecks of stone swirled the air.

A single report reverberated throughout the barren wasteland.

And then, silence.

****

Since only a dozen or so of the survivors of Silverdale remained, Byron had been chained to the box-car.

The day grew hotter than those previous, and impossibly long.

Byron tried to recall the events of the past few days and found that he could not. He'd never been so scared in his entire life. First he was enslaved. His home destroyed. Even if he did escape, he could never go back. Suddenly, he felt a certain kinship with Star.

After that, well...that was fuzzy.

Now he was chained to the box-car. So far, everyone else shackled along the heavy, iron giant had contracted the melting sickness, also known as, the king's disease. Byron had not yet experienced the first symptoms; boils and rashes. But that's what frightened him most -- the waiting.

The slaves no longer pulled the car. They no longer could. Not that it mattered. The car had gained and sustained enough momentum, and now coasted at an even speed. Now, the problem was keeping up with the tanker's unrelenting motion.

Byron's mouth was dry and coarse. His brotherly robes reduced to rags. Constantly whipped, his back suffered so many lacerations that he no longer felt the leathery licks, and so, the soldiers lost interest in tormenting him. His sandals had worn away leagues ago. His feet were bloody, blistered, and festering. But he no longer felt the ache in them either. In fact, Byron no longer felt anything. A cavernous emptiness had carved into his soul from being abandoned by a God he so adored and served. But all that seemed meaningless now as he realized all he'd ever done, all he'd ever been -- was gone forever. A chasm carved its way within him. One he could never fill. He watched his feet erode away with a sort of quiet fascination. Hoping he'd never have to find out where those feet led him.

A young boy, whom Byron didn't recognize (probably one of the late-Mayor's many stewards), seemed to melt under the un-relenting sun. He watched as the boy's hair fluttered away in clumps. Teeth fell freely from his chapped and bleeding gums; leaving a trail of hair and teeth for Byron to walk over. Sores riddled the boy's body, swelling until they erupted in a grotesque discharge of blood and pus, until his very skin melted off. And, oh, how he wailed.

A soldier rode by and hatred welled up within Byron, a hate that would no-doubt consume him in darkness if he fell into it.

The rider tugged at the reigns, and the armored steed reared back in a whinny. The soldier unclasped a coiled whip from his belt, and trotted toward the howling boy. The whip appeared as black as the soldier's armor.

The boy cried out for mercy, and then he was whipped. Every time the lash struck his body, bloody chunks of skin and muscle flew. The flesh seemed like mucus; tacky and runny, as if more of a thick, crimson, and flesh-colored swirl of mud that stuck to the chains and side of the box-car. The human reside cooked and coagulated under the burning sun. The stench was horrendous, like a month-old-skunk-carcass roasted over an open flame.

And when the slaves died, did the soldiers unshackle their bloated and runny bodies into the sands to decompose? No, for the slaves were Furion's personal property and would not be released without say-so. And Furion didn't say so. And even if the Lord of Black had, the soldiers probably didn't want to get that mess of sticky, human residue on their neat, shiny, black uniforms.

Oh, how Byron loathed them. Had he been given the chance, why, he would... No! Byron shook those black thoughts away and cast his gaze ground-ward. He didn't want to glace up and see the melting corpses being dragged alongside him by their shackles. Bad enough he could _smell_ them.

A few times big, black, odd-looking birds soared down and plucked pieces out of the rotting corpses. The birds quickly spat out the detritus meat. One of the birds dropped dead to the ground. No bird attempted such a daring feat after that. And though they circled overhead a while longer, they soon took off for non-poisonous meals. But that hadn't stopped the flies from coming. Swarms of black clouds of flies drifted among the box-car. Their ubiquitous buzzing bore into Byron's brains.

The flies constantly bit at his exposed flesh. He didn't swat at them. And even if he did, it made little difference, for they would not abate until long after the sun sank behind the horizon.

Byron stepped in something gooey, something that squelched between his toes. He glanced up.

The boy chained ahead of him had finally fallen. The only thing holding the boy's corpse together was the tattered clothes around his mangled body. But as he was drug through the coarse sand, the rags, and even body parts tore away. What Byron just stepped in were the boy's intestines.

No, Byron had not experienced the first signs of the king's disease. Not yet. But that was the worst part. The waiting.

****

Linked to the back of the box-car was an invisible flatbed car. And on that invisible car, stood an invisible tent. And in that invisible tent, resided Furion the Black. Furion the slave driver. Furion the dark lord of magic. Furion -- the Hellion.

T'was a shame the tent invisible, for it made from the finest of silk, and furnished in rich colors of purple, red, pink, and black, and suspended by thick silvery ropes and strands. The octagonal interior of the tent housed the Lord of Black, and his new toy. The object, once Annola's blue ball, had been melted down and fashioned into a mirror -- Furion's mirror. The mirror itself was a crystalline, oval glass supported by a frame of black ebony. Silvery threads and ropings resembling spider webs fastened the mirror to the frame.

Furion did not peer into the mirror. Rather, his gaze affixed upon the shadowy apparition who had just materialized before his naked (and thusly, unmasked), eyes.

Right on time, as usual.

The shadow said, "Greetings brother."

_SCREEECH TA-KAT eeeSCRAAATCH_! Furion roared. Greenish gook that stunk of rotten cotton spattered from his angrily twitching mandibles.

"Take heart brother," the Wraith replied. "She is not far."

_SCRAcKhcht Ta-lee SCREEKITY-SKaT_. His green venom splattered about the silken room. All that the mucus touched smoldered and smoked. The stuff would have done the same to the Wraith, had things not simply passed through him, as if he really were a shadow.

The Wraith replied, "They must be allowed to proceed." His voice cold and stern, like rusty nails in a mason jar. He floated toward his brother; coming face-to-face (as it were). In a soother tone, the Wraith chuckled, and said, "She'll be in your clutches before you know it."

Furion settled his roaring anger, and instead of speaking in the cracked speech of the SCREE-TAW, spoke in his brother's mind in a myriad of voices that flowed over like waves.

_And their friend_?

"Annoying he's not become ill yet, but he will. Surely he is strong, but not too strong to die."

_Or turn_.

The Wraith merrily replied, "Now you're thinking. And soon there shall be another in their midst, and he has...talents."

_One of mine_?

"I'm only borrowing him." The Wraith wafted his taloned claw, and said, "You can have him back when I'm done."

_SCRAW-ACKITCHY-SCREE_! _He's mine_!

"But brother, how can you be so greedy when you have so many?"

_They die like flies_.

"And yet I have found no corpses in the sand \-- at least, not yet."

_Travel makes me hungry_. _Mutation makes 'em soft and runny_. _YUM_!

"And soon you'll have more than your fair fill -- and her. But until then, turn their friend. The brother. Turn him! Turn him black!"

****

Anne asked, "What is that thing?" Her brow furrowed, granules of sand fell from her face. She pointed at something strange, indeed.

"I'm not sure," Sarah said. "It appears to be some sort of sign."

Anne asked, "Out here?"

The sign stood propped up with two warped and rusty metal bars, the likes of which Sarah had never seen. The bars had once been straight, were H shaped (according to Anne), and with holes evenly drilled into the thin iron. The precision of the bars appeared beyond the craftsmanship of any blacksmith she ever met.

The sign, itself, also looked metallic. Once flat but now corroded and mangled. Despite how warped the sign seemed, letters were still clearly legible: AL BE R Q UE

Sarah said, "I wonder what that says."

Anne chimed, "I think it says, Al Ber Kway."

"Oh, Annabelle, like ye know how to read."

"I do so know how to read!" Anne stamped a foot. She scowled, arms crossed.

In a condescending tone, Sarah nodded, and said, "Aye?"

Brow furrowed, lip protruded, Anne replied, "Aye."

"And who taught ye?"

Anne opened her mouth. A keening arose, scattering sand and flecks of glassy grit. Anne's gaze darted to the side, as if listening to some voice unheard by Sarah. Anne's gape slowly rose, searching Sarah, examining her body as if it the first time they met. Anne smiled, and said, "Ye'r right, I don't know what I was thinking."

Nor did Sarah. But the unrelenting heat did seem to have a disastrous effect on the mind. Sarah turned toward the sign, and reiterated, "I wonder what it means." Sarah shifted the weight of the shotgun strapped across her shoulder. The weapon felt foreign to her. Hell, she wasn't even sure she knew how to use it.

After 'Ro shot his ol' man, Sarah began to worry. If the gang could kill their patriarch, their own father, then what would stop them from doing the very same to her if she fell behind, or God forbid, Anne? The Jessip's fear of being caught by the king's legions could drive them to anything. Anne just wasn't safe anymore, especially while the Dog remained absent.

Just where in the name of Heaven was he?

Sarah just hoped the Dog had one heck of a good reason for abandoning them to those savages.

Sarah learned a lot about the gang during her tenure as an honorary-member. Grey wasn't even 'Ro and Ally's biological father. He was their uncle. The mother (a prostitute), died during child birth. Their uncle, Greyson Granholm Jessip (even then, an infamous outlaw), took the boys and raised them as his own. Grey was often away on business, so Grey's lover, (a kindly woman by the name of, Rose), helped take care of the brothers until they old enough to join the gang.

Much like Sarah, Sandy had been a farm girl. One day, the Jessips raided Cassandra Plainwell's sleepy hamlet. It was love at first sight, and Cassandra begged Ally (then eighteen), to sweep her off her feet and ride off into the setting sun.

The only other actual Jessip was their cousin Zeke.

Zeke and Paulie were already in the gang when Sandy first joined. There were others who'd either been gunned-down, hung, or simply quit the life of a scourge.

Paulson Cobbler used to cobbler, as was his father before him, and his father before him. When the gang tried ransacking Paulie's shop, Paulie defended it by hurling burning piles of horse manure at them. Impressed by Paulie's bravery and ingenuity, Ally suggested he dabble in other trades. Paulie never looked back.

Many members had filtered through over the passing years. Many came and went.

In his youth, Roy was gambler and a drunk.

Hickey had always been an outlaw.

Yet, for all Sarah endured with the group, the only members of the gang she'd miss were Sandy and 'Ro.

Anne probably missed Zeke and the ol' man.

Surprising how well Anne took the murder of the Jessip boys' father.

After all was said and done, 'Ro stormed off to be by himself. He attempted to hide the tears streaming down his face with his hand.

But Sarah saw it.

Anne didn't cry. She just stood there as silent and motionless as the gang.

After a while, Ally motioned to go see how 'Ro was holding up.

"No, wait," Sarah said, not knowing why she should suddenly volunteer. "I'll go."

A swale of relief blustered through Sarah when she saw 'Ro no longer blubbered.

He just stood there, his back to her. He polished his harmonica with his greasy thumbs, and said, "Ya know, my father gave me this." He held up the instrument, and said, "The ol' man used to say that when I was a boy I talked too much. Just yammered on and on. One day, he got fed up with it and stuck this here 'monica in my face just so's he could hear something other than my blathering."

Gaze diverted, hands kneading hem, she replied, "T'is a fine instrument."

He turned to her. Tears shimmered in his hazel gape. He asked, "Was I wrong?" His voice cracked. "Was I wrong to do it?"

"I...I..." Sarah stammered, trying to think of something -- anything to say. She could not.

'Ro pivoted. His dirty face mudded by tracks of tears. His eyes puffy and red. His thin lips trembled.

"I'm sorry," Sarah said, gaze down-cast, kneading her hands in the hem of her tattered dress. "But I believe it's time that Anne and I parted ways from ye. T'is nothing personal. I believe ye were going north. We're headed west to fiend our--"

"I'm sorry," 'Ro blurted. "I'm just so goddamned sorry."

Sarah startled a bit by 'Ro's blatant blasphemy. Gaze averted, Sarah continued, "Ye took us in at or time of need. And we thank ye for it. But now I just think it's best for all of us if we continued upon our own journeys."

He nodded, and said, "Yeah, I reckon ya might be right." He sniffled, and wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

Sarah touched his forearm, gazed up into his eyes. Before she knew what happened, they were kissing. Sarah's heart fluttered, her head felt faint, but in a good way, completely different from heat-exposure.

Blushing, Sarah pulled away from him, peered into his rheumy eyes, and said, "God be with ye." She smiled, and added, "And don't let ye'r friends se ye crying, especially that Hickey."

He snorted an awkward laugh, and said, "Okay."

The two returned to the group.

Sarah declared her decision for departure, and after a bit of discussion, they all agreed that separation might be best.

They made their goodbyes.

Along with extra packs, blankets, canteens, and MREs (which were Grey's and Paulie's), Sarah had been given a shotgun.

Sandy gave Anne a small pocket knife.

Then they parted ways.

The sun began to set over the horizon when Sarah and Anne encountered the mysterious sign.

Sarah studied the omen and the peculiar words writ upon it. Sarah wearily unslung the shotgun and aimed it at the sign, as if the inanimate object would suddenly spring to life and gobble them whole.

"I'm telling ye," Anne squeaked, "it says, Al Ber Kway."

Sarah lowered the shotgun, and said, "Okay, so then little-miss-smarty-pants, what is Al Ber Kway?"

From behind, an unfamiliar voice said, "It is a city."

Sarah startled, nearly dropping the weapon in her hands. She pivoted.

Three soldiers in black body-armor stood before her.

The Dog was with them.

Anne squealed, "Puppy! Puppy!" She raced into his awaiting arms and hugged him.

Once again, Sarah felt an angry-green pinch.

Sure, the Dog would hug _her_.

Anne leaned away from him, frowned, and asked, "Where have ye been?"

At first, because of their armor, Sarah thought the Dog had brought soldiers of the king. But the king's men wore heavy armor and helmets that masked their entire bodies. These men wore regular cloth pantaloons. Their black armor chest-plates lacked the mark of the king. Instead of entire body units, these men's armor comprised of two plates covering the front and back of the torso; strapped together along the shoulders and around the waist, like a vest. A vulture, wings spread, etched into the chest-plates. These men wore no helmets. Their faces were clearly visible. Two of the men had shaggy black-hair, and might possibly have been brothers.

Sarah prayed, Dear, Lord, no more brothers.

She trained the shotgun at the men.

The third man, the one who spoke, appeared older. Wrinkles covered his balding head. His chin narrowed like an upside-down triangle.

All three men were very tan.

The third, or lead man, crept toward Sarah. His palms out, he said, "But Al'ber Que is not just any city. It is a great and thriving empire left unspoiled by the king's clutches."

The man spoke with a thick, unusual accent, the likes of which, Sarah had never heard before.

"Allow me to introduce ourselves, _Madiriis_ ," the man said with a gesture of grandeur, "My name is Diego, proud member of the _d'el guardii_ , the Al'ber Quearian guard. We were out on patrol when we found your friend." He nodded toward the Dog, and said, "We were bringing him back to the city, and here you are."

Sarah asked the Dog, "What about Troll and Star?"

The Dog lowered his head; shielding his eyes 'neath the brim of his odd-looking cap. His beard danced in the desert breeze. He wore the boots and jacket Sarah made for him.

Diego said, "We would gladly help you look for your friends, _Madirii_. The Mo'tave desert has devoured many _espiritis_."

Sarah asked, "What is that ye keep calling me?"

Diego explained, " _Madirii_? It is a title. I guess in your tongue, it would be the same as madam."

Sarah asked, "A what?"

Dog gently placed Anne on the ground, and said, "A Goodie."

Sarah tightened her grip on the shotgun, and said, "Oh."

Diego continued, "Now if you _Madiriis_ would care to accompany me back to the city, Sanjar and Maliik will continue to search for your friends with _Easta_ Dog."

Sarah asked the Dog, "Are ye sure?"

The cur had left them in the hands of those outlaws, only to return, and then want to abandon them again? Only this time, the Dog suggested they go with complete strangers to a foreign land.

Anne tugged at Sarah's arm, and squealed, "Come on, Sarah, let's go."

Sarah said, "But the Dog--"

Anne blurted, "He's got to go look for Mr. Troll and Ms. Star. He can't leave them behind. He won't!"

Diego said, "I can understand your cause for hesitation, _Madirii_. But I give you my word, no harm shall come to you or the _Madiriiette_. Of this I swear."

Sarah gazed at the Dog, and asked, "Do ye trust them?"

The Dog stared at her.

Anne tugged harder, and said, "Maddy says we've got to trust _somebody_."

Sarah asked, "Oh? And where is ye'r dolly?"

"In my pack," Anne replied. "But he says it all the same."

Diego said, "Please, _Madiriis_ , night comes soon. My men and _Easta_ Dog can take care of themselves. But the desert is no place for you."

Sarah glanced at the Dog again. She could read the confliction on his face; go look for Troll and Star, or keep watch over her and Anne. Not an easy decision. Suddenly, Sarah realized she might have been too hard on the Dog -- again. Perhaps, he hadn't truly abandoned them after all.

The Dog nodded, and said, "Go."

Doubting every step she took, Sarah hitched at the weapon strapped over her shoulder, took Anne's hand, and followed Diego into the unknown.

****

Something thorny struck Byron's ankle, rousing him from his...well, he didn't know where his mind had been. The best he could equate it to was a daze, 'though far deeper. He peered down at his tattered feet. The object that stung him looked like a ball of brownish-yellow thorn-weeds. He raised his gaze higher but ever so wearily. The first thing he noticed were the mushy bodies around him -- there were none. Byron dared to raise his gaze a little higher. Nothing. All of the other slaves gone. Their shackles lay loose and abandoned in the sand. Even the soldiers had deserted the box-car.

Then it hit him, the car had stopped. He was standing still. How had that happened? When had that happened? Was he losing his mind? Was he dead? Was this the afterlife?

The wind picked up. A cool, sweet smelling breeze soothed Byron's sweaty, sun-scorched skin. He scanned the surroundings. He no longer stood in the desert, not exactly. The ground appeared flat, hard, and brachiated with veiny cracks that reminded Byron of dried skin right before it melted under the blistering sun. Small, bulbous scrubs peeked out of the hardpan flooring as tumbled weeds rolled lethargically across the dusty land.

The heavens appeared pink and purplish with blotches of dark blue. Alien stars littered the twilight sky. Constellations Byron had never seen before.

To the east and south of him lay the desert. To the north and west, rolling hills and purple mountains stood sentry; walling in some foreign land. God, he had never seen so far before, so much at one time. Beautiful.

Then it hit him again, unbelievably harder than the first -- he was alone. All alone in a strange world, and still chained to a now motionless box-car. He fell to a crouch, meaning to scream, cry -- anything. But nothing came out. There he stood, bent over, holding himself, and trembling. The wind blew again and the tumble weed, still attached to his foot, stung fiercer. He picked it up. Its thistles tore into his calloused and sun-burnt flesh. No matter.

What happened? Where was he? Why couldn't he remember anything?

He let the thorny weed-ball fall from his grasp, squeezed his eyes shut, and forced himself to remember something -- anything. Nothing.

He moaned. Eyes closed, Byron tried to focus his thoughts again. But all he saw was blackness. Nothing more.

****

Convincing the conductor to put Fedic in restraints had proven difficult, difficult but not impossible.

Two days passed since the completion of Fedic's strange and unprecedented mission. Two days of wandering through the desert. The young Porter should have met up with General Shroud's unit by now. But Fedic had never been good with directions. Ever since he could remember, he occasionally confused his right hand with his left. And now he was lost, and dying of a malignant cocktail of starvation, dehydration, and exposure. He thought his suffering over once he took the mark. But only after accepting the mark of the king into his heart and soul did he ever really know true torment.

But alas, he had come too far to turn back now. He stripped off his heavy armor days ago. No matter. Some marks could not be washed clean.

Things were not supposed to be this way. Fedic was not supposed to die out here. Yet, despite following his orders to the letter, once the deed done, Fedic had been abandoned. This confounded him. He had been told he was destined for great things. Had he merely been a pawn this entire time?

Fedic's mouth so dry it felt like the inside of his throat cracked and fissured. His head throbbed like some behemoth drum. His bones ached as he crawled through the blistering sand; skin literally cooking. He mumbled, "I did what you wanted. I didn't want to, but I did. Are you not pleased?"

Fedic gasped for nourishment from the hot, dust-riddled air. He collapsed face-first. Ear and nose rings burned his skin. His forehead and cheeks instantly sizzled upon the coarse sand. Fedic felt it, but was too weak to care. Head down, body attacked by cold sweats, Fedic muttered over and over, "I served you well...I served you well...I served you well..."

"Indeed you did," a pleasantly hollow voice replied.

Wearily, Fedic raised his pounding head, and stared at the shadowy figure before him.

Was this an illusion?

The Wraith greedily rubbed his talon-like hands together, and said, "I could use a man of your talents. But first, I believe a test is in order."

Fedic croaked, "My Lord?"

"Indeed," the Wraith replied.

A cold hollowness ate its way at Fedic's innards. Had he made the right choice? Had there ever really been a choice?

The Wraith offered his talon-like hand, and said, "I present to you, the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to prove your mettle and merit. I assure you it will not be easy. But if you succeed, I shall give you everything you ever wanted, everything that you once had but was taken from you. Do you accept?"

Fedic sniffled, and asked, "What would you have me do?"

The Wraith chuckled, "The Devil, as they say, is in the details. But firstly, I shall require a symbol of your servitude. Simply kneel before me and proclaim me as your God above all others. Do that and I shall set you on high. I shall seat you beside me. I shall give you power, fortune, fame, everything you've ever dreamed of and more."

Fedic shivered. He couldn't tell if it because of the cold sweats or the shadow's ominous presence.

The Wraith continued, "What say you, do we have an accord?"

Fedic trembled again. He knew this was wrong. It felt wrong. But unfortunately he had gone too far, done too much to turn back now. Either this or death. "Yes," Fedic cried, bowing before his new lord and master, "Yes, my lord, yes."

"Excellent!" The Wraith clasped its claws together, and said, "Then let the trials begin."

Fedic took the demon's talon in his hands.

The Wraith wafted his other talon through the air. A bright, blue flash of dark-light emitted as a doorway in space and time opened.

And then the two were gone.

****

3

Star awoke alone in a large room of ashlar brickwork. Fluted pillars stood in the corners, holding up the flat, stone roof. Many a large open window (decorated with wooden mullions), had been carved into the exterior stone walls, and the breeze blew maroon draperies around like banners on a battlefield. It felt _much_ cooler in here, almost chilly; a welcome change from the blistering desert heat of days past. Star glanced around. A simple oaken bureau leaned against an interior wall. Star lie on a plush bed littered with silk sheets and pillows of rich purple and lavender. Next to the bed sat a small nightstand, also oak.

The breeze picked up again and Star shivered, but not unpleasantly. She clutched at her chest, and made sure her father's compass still around her neck -- it was. She wrapped the silk sheets tighter around her. She had been cleaned and dressed in a sleeping gown. Her hair seemed to have been washed and brushed with the utmost of care. Of course, Star had no recollection of any of this. She sat up and the gown, just a little too big for her, slipped down her collar, exposing lithe brown shoulders. Star glanced around again. Where was she? How had she gotten here? Who bathed her? Who dressed her? Instantly Troll popped into her head. He had _better_ have been the one to undress and bathe her, but if that true, then where was he?

Straight across from the bed stood a wooden-paneled door with brass a knob. As if on cue, the doors swung open and a woman entered. She appeared around Sarah's age. Her rose-colored silken robs swished around her tan skin. Jet-black bangs peeked out from under the shawl wrapped around her oval face. Slender eyebrows so thin they appeared drawn on. She touted a large stone bowl in the crook of her elbow as she glided toward Star.

"I'm glad to see you awake, _Madirii_ ," the woman said, approaching the bedside. She smiled. Teeth white, perfectly straight. "Thirsty?" Her accent sounded strange, un-place-able.

Star said, "Yes, very." Her esophagus still felt like gravel but didn't hurt as bad as before. The woman offered Star the bowl, which she accepted.

"Allow me, _Madirii_ , you are still very week." The woman helped Star bring the bowl up to her chapped lips.

Star slurped greedily, water drizzled down the cracked corners of her mouth. The water seemed to instantly revitalize the desert of her throat. Cool, crisp, and with a slight sweetness to it. "Mmm." Star gulped down the liquid in big, healthy mouthfuls.

"Easy now, not too much," the woman said, lowering the bowl and placing it on the nightstand. "You don't want to make yourself sick."

Star said, "S'good."

The woman smiled, and said, "Of course, _Madirii_ , it comes from the _cactos d'el agave_."

A cold-headache throbbed in the hollows of Star's cranium. She squinted, hissed through clenched teeth, and massaged her temples.

The woman frowned, and said, "I warned you, _Madirii_. Do not worry, it will pass."

It did.

Star leaned back against the headboard and sighed.

The woman stood there, hands together, smiling, even with her dark-brown almond-shaped eyes, as if expecting Star to say something.

Star asked, "Who are you, and where am I?"

"I am Sirii. You are in the great and glorious empire known as, Al'ber Que. You are safe, _Madirii_."

Star's head ached again, temple throbbed. Her muscles felt sore, unused. Star glanced around, and asked, "How long have I been... _here_?"

Sirii's gaze briefly darted to the side, 'though her pearly-white smile never faltered. Thumbs twiddling, she said, "Perhaps it best if _Easta_ Troll tells you."

"Troll's here!" Star's heart fluttered. "Where is he?" Star tried to climb out of bed. Too weak. This only further infuriated her; striving to get to her feet all the more.

"No, _Madirii_ , you must rest." Sirii lightly planted her palms upon Star's shoulders.

Laboring out of the bed, Star snarled, "I've rested enough, and stop calling me that, my name is Star!"

"However you desire, _Mad_...I mean Star." Sirii folded her hands upon her waist and stepped back.

Star clutched her knees and swung her legs over the side of the bed. No pain, only the burden of attempting to move dead weight. She planted her bare feet on the ground; feeling the reassuring frigid touch of cobblestone. She breathed in deeply, summoned her strength, and tried to stand. She succeeded for the utmost of brevity before he legs wobbled and her knees buckled.

Sirii lurched forward and steadied Star.

Instantly Star's thoughts turned to Troll. Where was he?

"Let me help you," Sirii pleaded. Her face shriveled up, as if experiencing sympathy pains.

Star's first impulse was to push away, but after a moment's contemplation, allowed Sirii to help her. The gown slipped further down to Star's bust line and she grasped hold of it, wrapping it tighter around her.

With the aid of Sirii, Star hobbled toward a window.

Sirii brushed back the flowing maroon curtains.

Bracing the bottom of the oaken mullion, Star peered out.

The sky appeared orangish-purple as the sun sank behind a multitude of multi-storied stone buildings.

The empire of Al'ber Que appeared huge, larger than anyplace Star had ever seen, and that included the fields. Off in the distance -- mountains. She was close now, close to Krin. Close to home.

"Wow," Star said in awe.

Sirii asked, "Magnificent, isn't it?"

"Yes," Star replied, "it's beautiful." The wind picked up and fluttered her hair and gown. If Troll had seen her like that, he'd have instantly fallen in love with her all over again. "So, you know Troll?"

Sirii nodded, and said, " _Si_."

"And he's here, right?" Star gazed out across the empire's skyline and said, "Somewhere."

" _Si_. Along with your other friends."

Star pivoted. One hand on the mullion, the other clutched at her dress, she asked, "My friends?"

" _Si_ , two girls and a...well...their dog," she said, blushing.

Was she talking about Sarah and Anne? Had the two made it to...wherever the hell this _Al'ber Que_ was?

Star asked, "Do you know where they are?"

" _Si_ ," Sirii replied. "They are in the _bazaar_."

"The what?"

"The _bazaar_ , it is where--"

"Don't matter," Star blurted. "Take me there."

Sirii frowned, pencil-drawn brows furrowed, she said, "But you are too weak. And they should be back shortly."

Star snarled, "I said, take me to them."

Sirii stared at her, and said, " _Si_ , _Madirii_...I mean, Star, as you wish."

Sirii fetched Star's cleaned clothes from the bureau and helped her dress.

When Star reached for her shooters, Sirii said, "You won't need those here, _Madirii_."

She'd heard _that_ before.

Sirii continued, "Your friends aren't wearing their weapons."

Star considered this. She unbuckled her holsters, rolled her shooters up in her poncho, and stuffed them into her pack. She peered at Sirii; expecting some rejection or frown of disapproval. Star found neither.

Sirii escorted Star out the door into another larger room furnished with plush chairs, a table, and even a mirror. Doors had been fashioned into the interior walls, no-doubt leading into other bed-chambers.

Lancet windows flanked a curtained archway along the exterior wall.

They shuffled toward another door and out into a stone stairwell.

Children screamed and cried as they ran up and down the ashlar steps.

The pungent stench of fecal matter and unwashed bodies hung heavily in the air despite the mullion windows carved into the exterior walls.

Star had smelt worse. She clung to Sirii as they clambered down the crowded stairwell.

An elderly, tan woman dressed in robes and a shawl, touting a basket of laundry, ascended the steps, and bumped into Star.

Star's knees buckled. "What is this place?"

" _L'apartamentii_ ," Sirii replied, bracing Star. "A building where many families live in their respective quarters. As you can see, this is the main stairwell."

"Is it always this crowded?"

" _Si_."

A man with pale skin and long, blond-hair bumped into Star on his way out of the building.

Sirii steadied her, and said, "We should go back and wait for your friends."

"No," Star replied. "I've waited long enough." She glanced up at the woman who first jostled her.

The woman trundled up through the throng of loiterers, as if completely oblivious to Star's presence, as did the man who had also collided with her.

Star and Sirii continued their slow and steady descent.

A door stood along the interior wall on each flight of the stairwell.

How many people lived in this building?

Star's legs wobbled like reeds swaying in a summer's breeze. But, after a couple of flights, she soon found her stride.

Star felt winded, exhausted by the time they reached the large double-door at the bottom of the stairwell.

Outside, the sky above still appeared an orangish-velvet, but the narrow alleys between buildings were dark and gloomy.

Children cried. Voices shouted in some foreign dialect. Dog's barked.

Star glanced at the stacks of food and human waste piled alongside the cramped spaces between buildings.

The stench she had smelled within the stairwell actually originated from outside. The putrid malodor seemed stronger in the open air.

Examining her strange surroundings, Star asked, "What is this place?"

Sirii replied, "The Northern borough."

As they traveled southbound through the cramped squalor of the boroughs, Star's leg muscles loosened. After passing several buildings, they crossed into a large sandstone street crowded with people.

Star had never seen somewhere so big, had never been someplace so big. The streets were littered with people of all kinds of skin colors and garbs; tan people dressed in robes like Sirii (who, strolled beside her; hands folded in front, letting Star take in all the sights and sounds). White denizens dressed like those in Silverdale. There were even black folk like her, but none with fair hair and eyes (leading Star to suspect she the sole child of Krin, possibly the last one left in the entire world). Yellow, red, brown; individuals peacefully co-existing as they ran their evening errands.

"Star, Star!" a familiar voice exploded in excitement and glee.

Star pivoted.

Just over yonder, Anne emerged from the bustling throng. She jumped up and down, waving her hands.

Star cried, "Anne!" Her heart felt weak and strengthened at the same time. She fell to her knees.

Anne raced into her arms, and said, "Oh, I'm so glad to see ye!"

"Me too." Star planted kisses all over Anne's face. She pulled away and peered at Anne. She seemed older somehow. Not sharper, just _older_. How could that be? How long had she been out for?

Anne helped Star to her feet, smiled, and said, "We all knew ye'd come back to us."

_They always come back to me_!

No! Star shook that thought away and gazed at Anne.

God, she looked so much older. Her face more slender than round. Grown into her body.

Why, Star didn't even have to crouch to meet the young lass at eye-level. "Where is Troll? Do you know?"

"Over here, Myriam!" Troll boomed from afar.

Star whirled toward his voice.

Troll, Sarah, and the Dog emerged from the wandering crowd.

On wobbly legs, Star dashed into Troll's arms and they kissed. "We did it," she said, eyes stinging with salty tears. "We made it."

He stroked her hair, and said, "Aye, Myriam, we did."

****

Star asked Troll, "How did we get here?"

Ah, yes. He knew the time for questions would come.

Night, yet the lanterns below lit the still crowded avenues in an orangish glow.

After a joyous reunion in the streets, Troll led the others back to their top-level apartment, the very same one in which Star awoke earlier that evening. From there, they ventured out onto a stone balcony. One existed on every floor so that families could dine in the open air during good weather.

The Dog leapt onto the roof.

One by one, Troll lifted his friends and the Dog helped them up.

Troll (and Sarah and Anne), had invited Sirii to join them.

Star seemed apprehensive about an "outsider" participating in their reunion dinner. "I'm sure Sirii has a family of her own which she'd rather be with," she said.

Troll knew Star liked Sirii, she just didn't really trust her, but after all that happened in Silverdale, who could blame her?

Sirii thanked them for their hospitality, but regretfully informed them that she had other plans. Then Sirii wished them all well and took her leave.

The five now sat in a circle, sharing rations of cheese, bread, sliced meats, and fruit jellies. All of which, Troll purchased at the market, after relaying to the others, a twinklin' assured him that today was the day that Star would awake, and she would be _hungry_.

Troll, Star, Anne, and Sarah gabbed on about their own trials through the desert.

Moping, the Dog sat outside the dinner-circle.

After they'd all had their fill, they got down to business.

"So, how did we get here?" Star asked again.

Troll ran a hand down his scar and beard.

Where to start? He barely understood it, himself.

Troll sighed, and said, "The people of Al'ber Que are not oblivious to this king. The Dog found some scouts of theirs and had us found in turn. Sarah and Anne found their way here on their own with a little help from our friends the Jessips."

Sarah said, "The Dog was really the one who showed us the way." She gave the Dog this weird, adoring look, sort of making googly-eyes at him.

Troll noticed. He knew Star did, too.

"Thank you," Star said to the Dog. She leaned over to hug the Dog, but he pulled away. Star said, "Oh, no you don't, you already got out of one hug." Star wrapped her arms around the Dog and embraced him.

The Dog blushed. An awkward smile painted his fuzzy face.

Troll continued, "It appears that this place is isolated and camouflaged by the mountains surrounding it, thusly remaining a refuge for deserters of the king's wars."

Nibbling on a wedge of cheese, Star asked, "So, what's our next move?"

Troll replied, "We continue as planned and amass an army."

"What about Krin?"

Troll said, "All in good time."

Anne bobbed her head, and said, "Me and my friends are ready to kick some ass."

"Annabelle Warwick!" Sarah scolded, "Language!" Sarah's face shriveled up, as if tasting something most foul.

Anne scoffed, " _Pfish_." She waved her hand dismissively in the air, and said, "Like we haven't heard worse in the _bazaar_."

Star turned to Troll. Brow furrowed, her emerald-gaze penetrated into the depths of him.

Troll laughed, clapped, and then pat Anne gently on the head, as if she some house-hold pet.

Star said to Troll, "Tell me about Sirii."

"I believe Sarah can tell ye best," Troll said, conceding the conversation to Sarah.

Sarah's back straightened, gaze averted. She kneaded her hands into the hem of her dress, and said, "Aye...well...right, um...when Anne, the Dog, and I came here, we had to go through pra...pro..."

"Processing," the Dog said.

"Right," Sarah replied, "processing, thank ye." Sarah turned back to others. "After they asked us a few basic questions--"

Star asked, "What kind of questions?"

"Just basic ones," Sarah replied.

Anne chimed, "Yeah, they wanted to know where we came from and what we were good at."

Star asked, "When they asked you where you were from, did they want to know if you were soldiers or slaves or--"

"Nope," Anne chirped.

Troll said, "They don't really care about such things here."

Star asked, "Then why do they care where you're from?"

Gaze averted, Sarah said, "I...I don't know."

Gape narrowed, Star inquired, "And you didn't think to ask?"

"No, I...I'm sorry," Sarah replied.

Troll gently placed a hand on Star's shoulder.

In a calmer tome, Star said to Sarah, "Sorry. Please, go on."

Sarah continued, "Well, among the questions they asked, they wanted to know how many we traveled with. How many were in our party so that they could find a place for us where we could all be together."

Star turned to Troll and said, "But we were unconscious when they brought us here."

"Aye," Troll replied.

"So we didn't go through processing, did we?"

"No," Troll replied.

Twirling her compass chain, Star asked, "So, does that mean we'll have to tomorrow?"

Chewing, Anne wiped her hands, and said, "No, Dog and some of the Al'ber Quearian guard, known as the _d'el guardii_ , found me and Sarah. A friend of mine, a _d'el guardii_ by the name of Diego found ye and brought ye in secret. Ye haven't gone through processing. No one knows ye and Mr. Troll are here."

Sarah brushed back her wavy, red-hair and said, "Normally, people are crammed into apartments."

"So I've noticed," Star blurted.

Troll gestured for Sarah to continue.

Sarah said, "Diego and his family have helped and looked out for us since our arrival here."

Troll said, "That is how we acquired such lavish, and most of all, private accommodations."

Sarah continued, "Right, see, everyone who lives here, whether native or new-comer, is given a place to live, free of charge."

Anne sighed heavily, rolled her eyes, and said, " _Actually_ , only the _teran-oht_ are given free housing, but that's only until they can get on their feet again. Currently our _apartmentii_ is paid through the _tribune_ of the natives."

Star asked, "Native? New-comer?" Her brow furrowed, bottom lip protruded, compass chain twirling.

Troll knew she wasn't following any of this. But he couldn't rush her. Tomorrow was a brand-new day. And he had a lot to tell Star. "Aye," Troll said. "But food, clothing, and damn near anything and _everything_ else costs money."

"Ain't that the truth," Anne said, slicing an apple with the knife Sandy had given her.

Troll leaned toward Star, and said, "Ye won't believe the price a loaf of bread is here."

Brows arched, Star asked, "How much?"

Sarah cleared her throat, and said, "Well, for example, the fine meal we shared here tonight costs about a week's worth of wages."

Anne snorted, "Yeah, for three people."

Star spread her arms out over the left-overs of their glorious bounty, and asked, "So, then, how did you afford all _this_?"

Troll gently nudged her in the ribs, and said, "Oh, we have our ways. A bit of magic, deep pockets, 'n such."

Anne rolled her eyes again, and said, "Anyway."

Sarah continued, "Aye, well, we had to find work, I being a seamstress, thought it best to try my luck at one of the local shops. And I figured Anne, who'd always been a big help to me, could serve as some sort of shop helper of sorts."

Anne peeled another apple slice, and said, "Here, they call it, _dischaag_. A shop is called a _tiendii_ , and the shop owner is called a _bazaar'iste_ , 'cause they work in the _bazaar_."

"A large open-air market," Troll added.

Star asked, "And Anne works there too?"

"Aye," Troll replied. "Unlike Silverdale, here, children are brought up helping out the family with finances, it's part of a child's education. See, when one reaches the age at which they are able to work; they help out parents, uncles, aunts, what-have you, so that a child can learn a variety of skills."

Star asked, "And the kids get paid for that?"

Munching on a piece of apple, Anne said, "Believe me, I wouldn't be doing it if I didn't."

Sarah continued, "As it turned out we found work at the first shop we had appa...appall..."

"Applied," the Dog said.

"The first," Troll mouthed to Star while'st animatedly holding up his index-finger, attempting to fish another one of Star's famous smiles out of her otherwise stoic and sincere face.

Sarah blushed. Hands kneading fabric, she said, "It seems Sirii just happened to have need of new hands."

Star asked, "And what happened to the old help?"

"They vanished into thin air," Anne said, waving her fingers eerily in the air, "Oooooh."

Palm out, face hidden 'neath her hat, Star said, "Wait, let me see if I got this straight. Are you telling me that Dog, Sarah, and Anne got here before us?"

Troll nodded.

Twirling her compass, Star continued, "Then Dog and these watch-guys found us, and brought us here without being processed?"

"Correct," Troll replied.

Star asked Troll, "Then you woke up. And me, two days later?"

"Aye," Troll concurred.

She asked, "And you thought I was gonna wake up today?"

Scratching at his beard, Troll replied, "According to my twinklins'."

Star's lip curled. Brow arched, she snarled, "So, y'all just left me with Sirii? A stranger?"

The others, Troll included, could not meet her gape.

"What?" Star asked, scanning the others, "What is it?"

Anne yawned, stretched, stood, and said, "Well, it's past my bedtime." She tugged at Sarah's sleeve, and said, "Come on, tuck me in."

The Dog had already scampered off somewhere while the others weren't looking.

"Come on," Troll said to Star. "Let us retire."

The four returned to the top level (under the roof, of course), apartment.

Star asked, "Where do Sarah and Anne sleep?"

Troll said, "They share both a room and a bed, the two have grown quite accustomed to sharing a bed or a nice patch of grass, and thusly cannot sleep without each other, as if each other's dolly."

"And Dog?"

"He sleeps on the roof, keeping watch." His hand on the small of her back as he led her toward the room she had awoken in.

Smiling, Star said, "I couldn't help but notice there's two other doors."

Troll chuckled, and said, "Right, ye are. These apartments are intended for large families. But seeing as there's only five of us, the other two rooms go unused. If nothing else, it serves as peace of mind, knowing we have a private place to hold congress." Troll opened a door and gestured for Star to enter.

Star asked, "Whose room is this?"

"Ours, of course," Troll replied.

"Ours, huh?" Star craned her head upward, kissed him, and sashayed inside.

The room was dark save for the faint glow of lambent lantern-light outside.

Troll shuffled toward the nightstand, produced a match from his cloak, stuck it, and lit a candle.

Star shut the door behind them, leaned against the oak-fashioned portal, and asked, "So what's the score?"

"How do ye mean?"

Star removed her hat and tossed it on the ground. She gazed into his eyes, and asked, "You know, what's going on here?"

"My dear, Myriam, what do ye--"

"Oh, stop it! Why do I feel like I've...we've been asleep forever? Why does Anne look so old?"

Troll ran a hand through his greasy hair. Braids and beads shucked and jived.

Foot tapping, arms crossed, Star said, "You're keeping something from me -- _again_. So spill."

Troll sighed, performed his characteristic running of a hand down the left side of his face, and said, "Very well, ask of me what ye will."

Star's chin dipped, face hidden 'neath golden curls.

No-doubt, she had many questions on her mind. The only real quandary was which to ask first.

Star gazed up at him, and said, "You said that I woke up today. You, two days prior. And Dog, Sarah, and Anne arrived here earlier."

Troll plopped down on the bed. The silky sheets and pillowy cushions felt softer than any patch of grass on God's green Earth. Troll yawned, stretched, and said, "My dear, I believe we've covered this."

Star sauntered toward Troll. She lay on top of him, kissed him, gazed into his eyes, and asked, "How much earlier?"

Troll sighed, and whispered, "It can wait."

Star hushed him, kissed him again, and said, "Tell me the truth. I need to hear it."

"Nearly a year," Troll blurted.

"A what!" Star hoped off him. She leaned against the lancet window, ruffled her hair, and asked, "Are you sure?"

Troll propped himself upon his elbows.

The cushion springs groaned under his hefty weight.

He shrugged, and said, "Give or take."

Star huffed. She peered out the window, and said, "I don't understand, how is that possible?"

Troll sighed, and said, "My dear, Myriam, I'm afraid I knoweth not. But as I have told ye before, I have experienced similar slips in time, I believe ye have, as well."

Arms crossed, face hidden 'neath cascading curls, Star pivoted, and asked, "So what are you saying?"

Yawning, Troll said, "Only that which I have already disclosed, nothing more."

Star sashayed toward him, and said, "Don't be like that, speak your mind."

Troll replied, "I'll tell ye everything tomorrow, I promise. I'll tour ye around the entire empire and sate every query. But tonight we could all use the rest, we need to finish recuperating. And then we can begin again anew. Just know we are safe for now."

Star smiled, sat down next to him, and said, "But I'm not tired. In fact, I feel wired. I want to go out and see the sights. Star jaunted toward the window, and said, "I mean, look out there. It's still so busy, so _alive_. Krin, Silverdale, hell, anywhere else in the world would be a ghost town at this time of night."

A slight breeze blew the curtains and Star's hair, exposing her horse-shoe-shaped brand.

"I know, it's so busy, it makes it difficult for one to sleep," Troll said, yawning. "I mean, it's hard to sleep without ye next to me."

Star turned, gazed at Troll, smiled, and said, "That's the sweetest and lamest line I've ever heard."

"Perhaps, but it doesn't make it untrue," Troll said, smiling back.

"And I _am_ tired."

Star said, "Aw, come on. Take a walk with me, at least for a little while."

"Tomorrow I shall entertain your every whim, I swear to it. Please, just lay with me a spell until I fall asleep, then ye can go for a stroll if'n ya please."

Compass chain twirling, Star sauntered toward him. She smiled, blew out the candle, and said, "Very well, I think we can accommodate." Star wrapped her arms around Troll, nuzzled her chin into his chest, and said, "There's just one thing I gotta know. What the hell is that thing that everyone keeps calling me here?"

"What, _Madirii_?"

"Yeah, that."

Troll replied, "It's a title, like Ms. or madam."

Star snorted, nestled tighter to Troll, and said, "Well, I don't like it."

****

The singing had stopped. For now. But only a matter of time before the screaming started. Always dark down here in the mines. Long, cavernous tunnels stretched on for leagues. Pits led down into the deepest, darkest bowels of the Earth. Byron didn't know how long he'd been down here. It felt like forever. Was he dead? Was this Hell? Alas, he just didn't know.

The thousands of men, women, and children all sweating in labor made the air sultry and humid.

During the day, the salves toiled ceaselessly. They mined the tunnels for rocks, minerals, and sometimes even gold. Soldiers were down there, too. They punished the slaves if they ceased their drudgery for but only a moment. No fear of revolt. The heavily armed soldiers only doled out the smallest rations of dirty, earth-smelling water.

Most slaves were chained in small work groups. Sometimes a slave would die, and be replaced with another.

Byron survived so many different "team mates" during his tenure, he no longer attempted to keep track of them. Sometimes, Byron would awaken in the morning, and slaves would be missing from their shackles, as if they simply dissipated like rolling steam. It reminded Byron of the box-car. God, he hated that box-car. Sometimes, hate was all Byron felt anymore. Other times, terror.

At night, the majority of the guards/soldiers deserted the serpentine paths and tunnels. The ones left behind stood sentry; huddled in small bands at the top-most caverns of the mines. The slaves (left chained in the mines), curled-up close to boulders and rock walls; hiding in crevices and cowering in the dark. Night time in the mines seemed darker than dark, it felt abysmal. The night was also the only time when the slaves got to eat, pending whether they could actually _find_ food. The soldiers doled out dirty portions of water, but never food. So, the slaves dug through dirt in search of bugs; beetles, grubs, spiders \-- whatever they could rustle up.

Byron's stomach rumbled as he silently sifted through fistfuls of earth. Nothing.

A blood-curdling shriek echoed from somewhere off in the depths of darkness.

It was _him_. The thing every slave and slave-driver feared.

Byron didn't know what the thing was, as he'd never seen it himself -- at least, not yet.

The slaves didn't talk to each other much. No point to it. But it was rumored that one of the slaves in Byron's "group had seen the thing up close, but she didn't talk about it. But Byron knew something lurked down here in the dark. He heard things. Night after night. Sometimes even two or three times a night. First, came the singing. A low depressing nocturne. Then silence. And then a scream. A man. A woman. Most times a child. And then silence once more.

****

Arms folded behind his back, Troll asked, "What do ye think, my dear, Myriam?"

Star replied, "It's the most amazing place I've ever _seen_!" She stilled her darting gaze and stared up at him. Her hat tipped back; exposing a radiant smile. Even her eyes beamed.

The sandstone streets were littered with people of all kinds; scurrying about their own errands. Carts, stands, and vendors sold fruits, meats, cheeses, and breads. Shops dotted the perimeter of the open-air markets known as the _bazaar_. Tall standing buildings decadently carved from stone rose above in all directions. This was the _real_ heart of Al'ber Que.

Today, the five arose early, just before dawn. All seemed fresh and eager to start the day as they intended for so long -- together. Sarah and Star whipped up a quick yet hardy breakfast of eggs, toast, fruit, and milk. Troll hadn't enjoyed fresh milk since Silverdale.

When Star asked where the Dog was, Troll said, "I have sent him upon an errand. Ye needn't worry, my dear."

After breakfast, Sarah and Anne trotted off to resume their duties at Sirii's shop.

Then Troll, just as promised, escorted Star on a detailed tour of the city.

Star scanned the passer-byers, and said, "There's just so many of them."

Troll replied, "Aye. So many, and yet each so consumed in their own agendas that most don't even look at each other, let alone talk to one another." Troll purchased loaves of bread from various vendors and concealed the food within his cloak.

Eyes narrowed 'neath the brim of her hat, Star glanced about. "You're right. No one's even paying us a lick of attention." A small smile curled at the corners of her lips. She asked, "Has that ever happened to you before? No one noticing you?"

"Not that I can recall, but as ye know--"

"Right, right. You don't remember anything." Foot tapping, Star twirled the compass' chain, the other hand rested on a cocked hip. At Troll's behest, she didn't wear her weapons. But her shooters were packed in the knapsack slung across her back. "So where do all these people come from?"

"From all over," Troll replied. He strolled on via his staff. "Some are natives of Al'ber Que. Some are deserters of the king. Some are simply refugees, haplessly displaced souls." Troll retrieved his trusty journal from his cloak and flipped through it until he found the page he searched for. "All non-natives are referred to as...let's see...a-ha, here it is, _teran-oht_ , meaning out-lander, in Al'ber Querian."

Star glanced at the journal, and asked, "What are you doing, tyrin' to learn their language?"

"But of course. I must say, while I have heard many a strange tongue in the time that I can remember, I have never heard anything like the language spoken here. Anytime I learn a new word, I write it down." Troll clasped the book shut, tapped it upon his chest, and then returned it to its rightful place within his cloak.

Gape darting among the throng, Star asked, "So how many are there?"

"Nearly ten thousand able-bodied souls. An army, Myriam! One just waiting for _real_ leadership."

"And that's where you come in?"

"But of course."

Shackle rattling, Star stroked her slender chin, and said, "Hmm, ten thousand. Impressive, but not nearly enough."

"Certainly, but more and more people seem to come here every day. Would ye like to see?"

Star nodded.

Troll ushered Star east, away from the _bazaar_. The shops and stands dotting the perimeter of the markets thinned.

Star said, "Tell me about the natives."

Troll ran a hand down his scar, and replied, "Al'ber Que was discovered by a band of deserters and a few former slaves. On the brink of death, the group stumbled upon the empire. Originally an empress ruled over Al'ber Que, which, at the time had a population of less than three hundred, and most of them women. Believe it or not, women are highly revered here. They even view their deity as being female."

Compass chain twirling, Star smiled coyly, and asked, "Really?"

"Ye may be further interested to know that a male's name consists of three names; their name, their mother's, and their grandmother's."

"I like that."

Troll continued, "A female has one name. But those are only the natives of Al'ber Que. As I said, there are others from all over the continent."

"So what happened to the empress?"

Troll replied, "A few years ago, the empress allegedly died in her sleep."

"And her son became ruler?"

"So it would seem. But interestingly enough, while the past hierarchy comprised of just one empress, the current government consists of a council reminiscent to that of Silverdale. And yet, in a place that reveres women, not a single one sits upon the council."

As they proceeded, fewer and fewer people lingered about. Soon the only foot traffic was the people heading their way; freshly processed _teran-oht_.

Unlike those who'd lived in the empire for a while, the new _teran-oht_ gawked at the strange pairing of a giant to a dark-skinned woman with fair hair and eyes.

Troll felt at home; more confident.

Up ahead, stood a stone wall with fortified watch-towers, where Al'ber Querian guards posted sentry. Another, taller wall sat behind the barricaded entryway of Al'ber Que.

Nodding toward the gates, Star asked, "That the only way in or out?"

"The only way in, aye," Troll replied. "But there are several doors along the wall for emergency exit that can be easily blocked from within."

"Kinda like a one-way door that leads outside?"

"Precisely. The smaller wall ye see before us is the inner gate, a walled in area where several small buildings are held, where the new-comers are processed and given shelter and a chance to find work."

Star huffed, "That's nice of them."

Troll continued, "After the first refugees were given sanctuary, and upon fear of the king, the empress formed the first Al'ber Quearian guard. She sent search parties to patrol the desert around the empire. Since that time, they have seen no real sightings of army or invasion, yet people keep coming in every day."

Star nodded toward the wall behind the processing area, and said, "And I'm guessing the larger one defends the city."

"And hides it," Troll chimed. "The outside wall is so stall, it conceals the city within. It is made of the same rock as the mountains surrounding the other three directions of the empire, effectively camouflaging it."

"So that's why the king hasn't invaded yet? 'Cause they can't see it?"

"Perhaps. But riddle me this, my dear, if the king can't see it, than how can all these other people?"

Foot tapping, Star rested her hands on cocked hips. She bit her bottom lip as she scanned the sea of new-comers hustling forth from the inner gate.

Troll said, "Dozens come in every day, yet Al'ber Que's population stays relatively the same, as if people are constantly disappearing and then being replaced."

"Sounds like the fields," Star growled.

"Come, Myriam, for there is much to see." Troll led Star away from the processing area. They ambled south. The sandstone streets contracted as they advanced into the residential part, a place called the boroughs.

Old, decaying buildings cramped together. People and half-naked children scurried about. Babies cried. Dogs bayed. Rats and scavenger birds converged in the dark and narrow alleyways between buildings. Drying garbs littered above the streets upon clothes lines; brachiated in the open air like spider webs. The noxious odor of feces, trash, and human body aroma polluted the atmosphere.

Troll continued, "There are three boroughs in Al'ber Que, one here. One on the northern side of the city. And of course, the eastern borough, behind the processing center. As ye've seen, the eastern borough is smaller than the other two, because that is where many of the newly arriving _teran-oht_ take shelter until given an apartment."

"Are they all as...as...what's the word I'm looking for?" Star asked, switching a hand in the air.

"Destitute."

"What's that mean?"

"It means to be stricken with poverty."

Star's lips curled in an awkward smile. She nodded, and said, "Yeah, I guess that about sums it up."

Troll replied, "Aye, they are."

"But why is that?"

Troll sighed, and said, "The people of Al'ber Que are the most advanced and civilized I have ever seen. They have a system for pumping fresh water into the city, and waste out. As ye know, there are no out-houses in Al'ber Que, but indoor-out-houses within the first floor of every apartment building. They have architecture, literature, and recorded history. They discuss theology and politics. Or at least, they used to. Ever since the current leader took over, their society has been regressing.

"The sloth and malaise of the _teran-oht_ has apparently spoiled the work ethic of the natives, as if them poisoned by the king.

"Such sloth affects their economy. In turn, the local government takes most of the citizens' money in something they call, _taxe_. As ye know, food, clothing, and everything else here cost quite the pretty penny, which here, is called a _sheckle_ ," Troll said, checking his journal once more. Troll retrieved the loaves of bread he bought, and waved them in the air.

Children squealed in delight and trotted toward the giant.

Her narrowed gaze darting, Star backed away in apprehension.

Troll doled out small pieces of bread to the under-privileged children. "God bless thee," he said to each in turn.

Star asked, "What do they pay _taxe_ for?"

Troll finished handing out alms to the poor, and said, "Everything." Troll led Star through the noisy boroughs in a northwestern direction.

She asked, "Are these all apartment homes like ours?"

"Most. Some are bars, poppy lounges, bath-houses, brothels, and other houses of ill repute. Do ye know what a brothel is, my dear?"

"Yeah."

"Then I needn't divulge to ye the scandalous details."

They circled north around the interior of the wall, and toward the citadel. The capital of Al'ber Que, a large spindle-like building, towered over the rural city skyline.

Star asked, "That where their leaders are?"

"Aye, but t'is heavily guarded, more so than the mayor's mansion in Silverdale."

"And I'm guessing they don't just go inviting new-comers into the citadel."

"Correct."

The two ambled south.

Star kept her head down, face hidden. She didn't just walk beside Troll, she marched, as if off to face a long-time rival. Possibly Furion. But Troll felt certain they were safely out of the wizard's reach. For now.

Troll said, "Tell me something, my dear. Ye mentioned something about how ye were closer to Krin then ye've ever been."

"Yeah, it's true."

"So, in all ye'r years, have ye ever heard of, seen, or been to Al'ber Que?"

"No," Star replied. "Come to think of it, I haven't. Curious, don't you think?"

"Indeed."

The street, which was actually the Al'ber Querian word for it ('though the natives pronounced it funny), intersected with a much wider avenue; one of the main arteries of Al'ber Que that led not the citadel, but to the real heart -- the _bazaar_. Ahead of them stood the southern borough.

Troll led Star to a _very_ narrow opening between the wall and the backs of cramped buildings. The space between was so limited, that not only did they advance in single-file, but Troll had to sidle his way through. The sandstone barricades felt warm and sticky, as did the air.

Claustrophobia rattled Troll's nerves. How was Star holding up? Alas, he had not the space to glance back.

They inched on for what felt like a long time. How far had they gone? How many miles? Miles? Ha! More like feet! Possibly even inches.

As they advanced it got darker. The area seemed more confined; thicker, sultry, hard to breathe. Not soon enough, they emerged through an opening of daylight; the polar opposite of the hidden interstice behind the mayor's mansion that led to the _dark_ woods.

"What happened?" Star asked, rubbing her eyes. "Where are we?"

"We're outside the wall, outside Al'ber Que."

Star opened her eyes, squinted as her vision adjusted to the light, and glanced around.

Behind them, the great wall stood tall, solid, and proud, except for the area they just passed through. There, the mountainous veneer appeared cracked and crumbled. Part of it had collapsed upon itself; creating an archway big enough for even Troll to squirm through.

Star asked, "What happened?"

"The Al'ber Querians say that an earthquake decimated this part of the wall. From out here, ye can see that the wall is not circular like that of Silverdale's. It's almost diamond-like. Do ye see the tower-like structures built into the wall?"

Even beneath the brim of her hat, Star had to cup a hand over her eyes as she peered off along the side of the great wall. She said, "I can see _a_ tower, but barely. It's well hidden."

Troll jested, "Perhaps, ye'r visions not as keen as mine."

Star smiled coyly, and said, "Oh, really?"

"But those towers are spaced a mile apart, sentried by the Al'ber Querian watch."

"How many towers are there?"

"Ten along the exterior facing out into the Mo'tave desert--"

Squinting, slender mouth slightly agape, she asked, "The what?"

"That's what they call ye'r infamous desert of despair that has no name."

"Go on."

Troll continued, "As I said, ten towers along the outer wall, and another four along the interior of the mountains, keeping a keen watch on the city from within."

They stood on a small ridge overlooking the desert. Troll directed her attention to the right, where the mountains merged around them. About twenty-feet below lay a cavernous valley where many a rocky pillar protruded from the surface.

Troll helped Star climb down to the odd landmark, where the Dog awaited them.

Dog nodded to Star, and resumed staring at the rock formations that looked like giant ant-hills.

"Looks like hundreds, maybe even thousands," Star said, marveling at the structures. "Are there more around the city? I mean, like, between the wall and the mountains?"

Troll replied, "They only appear to be located in this particular area. But unless we can find other entryways that allow us to inspect Al'ber Que from all sides, then we'll never know for sure."

Star peered upward as she crept into the shadow of one of the monolithic formations. "Are they man built or natural?"

"Don't know," Troll replied.

"What do you suppose they are?"

"I don't know, but look closer, toward the top. What do ye see?"

Star said, "Nothing really."

"Look harder, my dear."

Star cupped a hand over her eyes to block the sun.

Troll said, "Look at the top of the formation. Do ye not see the waves of heat rising up?"

"Yeah, I guess so, so what?"

"Well, those rocks are hollow, and heat is coming out."

Hands on hips, Star said, "So, that doesn't seem unusual to me, considering how hot it is in these parts."

Troll said, "But ye see, if those formations are hollow, then they lead down into the earth, into a cave or mine. And it would be cooler under the surface where the sun's rays do not reach."

Head tilted, foot tapping, she said, " _Okay_."

"At night, steam comes out," the Dog added.

Troll continued, "Indeed, great pillars of steam rising high into the night's sky, which would be plainly visible from the center of Al'ber Que if not for all the lights in the center of town."

Brow furrowed, Star asked, "Lights?"

"Aye, all the candles and lanterns illuminating the city give off an orange-ish glow."

Star asked, "So what are you saying?"

Troll replied, "I'm saying that I don't think Al'ber Que is as invisible as the citizens portend."

"What does that have to do with all the heat escaping from underground?"

The Dog said, "There's something down there."

"What?" Star asked, glancing between the two.

"Of yet, we don't know," Troll replied. "It seems there is something odd occurring here."

Twirling her compass chain, Star said, "Just business as usual."

Troll led his trio back through the interstice, through the boroughs, and back toward the _bazaar_.

Star remained silent and contemplative the entire venture. After a time, she said, "I still can't believe Dog, Sarah, and Anne have been here for nearly a year before they found us. It just doesn't add up."

Troll asked, "Do ye remember seeing any fields, gardens, or animal pens during our tour, my dear?"

"Come to think of it, no."

"That's because there aren't any."

"Then where does all the food come from?" Star asked, gazing around at the plethora of food-tents, carts, stands, and shops.

Troll clapped, and said, "An excellent question indeed. There are two, large, square buildings behind the citadel, but I surmise those are governmentally related dispensaries. Surely they cannot be simply making food there."

Star governed her way through a slew of people and toward a fruit-cart.

Troll asked, "Hungry?"

"Yeah," she said, rubbing her stomach. "Don't suppose they have any buxom berries or morals?"

"Sadly, such delicacies are not indigenous to this part of the world. But here, try this." Troll plucked a small, pale-green object; slightly yellow, and with six symmetric ridges, giving the fruit an odd shape. He tossed it to Star. Troll fetched a few coins from a pouch within his cloak and flicked them into the _bazaar'istes_ hand.

Star asked, "What is it?"

A portly, elderly, native-man with thinning black-hair, and rotting teeth, said, " _C'esta_ starfruit, _Madirii_."

Star asked, "Starfruit?"

"Aye," Troll said. "Does not need to be peeled, go ahead, try it."

A slight crunch as Star bit into the fruit. "Tastes kinda like an apple." She turned to the Dog, and asked, "Want some?"

The Dog shook his head.

They strolled on.

Mouthful, Star asked, "So what do we do now?" A bit of drool ran from the corner of her thin lips and down her oval chin.

Troll said, "Nothing yet, there is one bit of business left to attend to before we devise a strategy. If Al'ber Que were any other small town or hamlet, it would've been done at our arrival here."

Star gazed up at Troll, and said, "We have to meet with their hierarchy."

"Precisely! We must learn all we can before we strike. And unlike Silverdale, I'd like to strike before _they_ do."

"So how do we meet with their leaders?"

"Tonight, there is a carnival, a local observance."

Star snorted, "Well, that's convenient."

"Isn't it, though?" Troll smiled. "It is there we shall find the ones in charge and have a little chat with them."

"How ya gonna recognize 'em, have ya seen 'em before?" She bit into the starfruit again.

Troll chuckled, and said, "No, but I believe they'll be the most gallantly dressed, and if not, there's always my twinklins'."

****

Byron watched as one of his captors whipped a fellow slave (not one of Byron's "teammates"). The lash cracked. The slave wailed. Chunks of gore and blood wafted around the humidly stagnant air in a fine, pink mist. The guard raised his arm and cracked the whip again. Once more Byron watched as another crimson canyon sliced through the slave's flesh, and Byron wondered how long until the feeling in his own mutilated back returned.

Byron and his team (one of which died over the night of malnourishment and promptly "replaced" this morning), piled rocks and earth into carts that would later be transported deeper down somewhere into the mines via a circuit of tracks. It reminded Byron of the box-car. The buzzing of black flies incipiently swarmed within the hollows of his mind. He hated that box-car. He despised those damnable flies. And he loathed the mines and all those within (slaves and slave-drivers, alike).

Byron heaved another rock into the cart and went to fetch another from the pile. As he did so, he noticed a centipede crawling on his hand. He glanced around. No one watched him. Byron ravenously gobbled down the insect. Still all wriggly, he crunched down on the thing's shell. His teeth hurt; almost brittle, as if they would fall from his skull if he chewed too hard.

Byron felt a sudden pressure at the back of his knees, and dropped to the ground. It seemed someone had been watching him after all. The guard didn't say anything, just kicked Byron in the side of his face; emancipating a couple of teeth and freeing the half-eaten (yet, still alive), centipede. The insect crawled over the side of his cheek, stinging him in anger as the armored guardian looked down upon Byron through his visor-like face-mask. Byron hated that man, and though he never would have entertained such a notion before; right then and there, Byron fantasized about murdering that son-of-a-bitch in his sleep -- and smiled.

The guard pulled a small baton from his belt and swatted Byron right between the running lights. Blackness.

****

Anne and Sarah pushed through a sea of people on their way home for the evening. Usually after work, Anne was allowed to go play with her friends for a while. Imagine that, Anne _actually_ had friends. Here, no one knew who she was or who her parents were. No one cared. Anne had many friends, and constantly made more. She even managed to form a small close-nit circle of cohorts: Reyna, Emily, Diego (aka, Diego Jr., or, Diego's son), and Jamal.

Reyna and Diego Jr. were native ('though not related), with tawny skin and ruffled black-hair. Reyna, age seven, appeared chubby while Diego Jr. (twelve), stood tall and skinny.

Emily, a pigeon-toed white girl with blond-hair (age nine), and Jamal, a muscular sixteen year-old with ebony-colored skin and short, flat, black-hair, were both _teran-oht_.

Much like the late Baylon Wood, this was _her_ gang. But instead of pushing others away, Anne accepted more and more people into her life. More friends. As many as her heart could bear, and then more.

And then there was the _other_ thing Anne did with her free time (when Sarah wasn't around, of course). Something she wanted to share with Sarah, but couldn't. For all they endured, in Sarah's eyes, Anne still seemed nothing more than a helpless child. Despite the fact they had been together the entire time, Sarah appeared blind to how much Anne grew. Not just physically, but emotionally. Why, she hardly ever danced with Prince Madgellaine anymore. There was work to be done; grave and terrible deeds that required the setting aside of puerile things.

Sarah had become close with Sirii during their ten and-a-half months stay here. Good for her. Sarah should have other friends. But she seemed reluctant to make any. Was it because of what happened in Silverdale? Was it because technically Sarah now considered herself a Goodie? Anne tried to tell Sarah that didn't matter. No one here knew anything of Silverdale. Here, Sarah could start over and be whatever, whoever she wanted. But Sarah seemed stuck in the past, as if she never really made it out of Silverdale, or the desert, for that matter.

A random passer-byer cloaked in a long-coat bumped Anne's shoulder. Sarah clutched onto Anne's hand and squeezed tightly.

Anne said, "Ye don't have to worry over me so."

"Annabelle Warwick! Ye don't know _these_ people!" Sarah scoffed, averting her gaze.

This reply stung Anne. How would Sarah know who _she_ knew? Sarah didn't talk to anyone but Sirii and the others in their group. Before she knew what came over her, Anne blurted, "Sarah Danvers! I know them better than ye!"

Sarah asked, "Oh, really?" Her thin brow arched up into a half-moon.

"Hi, Nikoli!" Anne said to a gangly, elderly native man with gray, thinning hair.

"Hello, Anne," Nikoli replied, and shuffled off.

Anne peered up at Sarah (which seemed a lot easier since Anne sprouted four inches about four months ago), and said, "See?"

Sarah let go of Anne's hand.

The heavy quilt of guilt draped over Anne; stinging her all the more.

Sarah bowed her head, and kneaded slender, white hands into the hem of her dress.

"I'm sorry," Anne said. And she meant it.

Sarah sighed, and said, "Aye, me too."

Anne took Sarah's hand, and said, "Come on, the others are waiting for us."

Gaze diverted, Sarah smiled awkwardly.

Anne smiled back.

Then, the two continued strolling through the bustling crowds.

****

Colored balls of fire bloomed. Streamers littered the crowded streets as lanterns, candles, and flames light up the mountainous scenery in an orange halo. Song and cheers filled the open area in front of the citadel.

Some wore costumes. Some wore masks and/or face paint. Others went in their daily work rags.

Amidst the celebration, a crier clamored to the crowd.

_Come one, come all_ ,

_Come young, come old_ ,

_Come ye, come ye -- CARNIVALE_!

His shoes seemed outrageously big. His clothes a myriad of different designed patterns all hemmed together. He waved his gloved hands animatedly about in proclamation

_Come ye from the mountains_ ,

_Come ye from the plains_ ,

_Come y'all from the deserts_ ,

_And others, un-named_ ,

His face smeared with red and black grease-paint; white rings etched widely around his eyes. He wore a large straw hat.

_This is a refuge_ ,

_A celebration for all_ ,

_A 'membrance of those_ ,

_Who've trudged off to war_ ,

_For those lost, dead and/or taken_ ,

_Our hearts are still with you_ ,

_We miss you_ ,

_Now, goodbye, goodbye_ ,

_Good-Bye -- Lament_.

_Lamentaugh_!

While the others were busy celebrating, the five entered the town square.

"So, we all know what is to be done?" Troll asked of his trusted compatriots.

"Yup," Star, Sarah, and Anne replied in unison.

Sniffing, the Dog watched the crowd with golden, glistening eyes. Elongated ears twitched this way and that.

Troll asked, "Any questions?" But evidently, Troll's party had no further inquiries.

The ruck cheered and toasted; ushering the start of carnival.

The group wandered away from each other and Sarah grabbed Anne's hand.

"No," Anne said, pulling away. "I can go by myself, it's okay."

Sarah kneaded her hands in the hem of her dress, and said, "Oh, Anne, I don't know."

"But it makes sense," Anne replied. "We can cover more ground if we all split up. Ye can't hold my hand forever, ye know."

Sarah gazed at Troll. A look in her eyes pleaded for Troll to defend her position.

"T'is all right," Troll said to Sarah. He said to Anne, "Just be careful."

"Certainly." Anne smiled and curtseyed toward Troll. She glared at Sarah, and then trounced off.

Sarah wrung her hands into her dress until her digits turned white and pallid. She hung her head in dejection and shuffled off into the bustling crowd.

Troll offered a small prayer, and then slithered into the throng

****

After about an hour of half-hearted searching, Sarah gave up any hope of finding a member of parliament. Point of fact, during the ten or so months living in Al'ber Que, Sarah had never seen a member of hierarchy simply parading through the streets as Mayor Godfrey or Constable Withers did back in Silverdale. As far as she knew, the leaders of this glorious empire lived, worked, and stayed within the citadel's fortified, cylindrical walls.

Troll said that the members of parliament (and obviously any of the Al'ber Querian guard still on duty), would probably be wearing some sort of uniform or something. But all Sarah saw were drunken buffoons in grease paint and garish clothes either too big or too small.

Where was a good ol' fashioned square-dance when ye needed one?

Listless and bored, Sarah patiently made her way through the people toward a wicker stand selling exotic fruit-juice blends. Sarah shoved her way to the make-shift counter. The owner, a native man in his mid-forties, greeted her with a smile full of decaying teeth.

He asked, "What can I get you, _Madirii_?"

"I'll have a drink," Sarah called over the shouts and cheers of the crowd around her.

" _Si_ , but what kind, _Madirii_?"

Sarah brushed a shock of wavy red-hair from her face, and said, "Oh, I don't know. Whatever's good."

The _bazaar'iste_ laughed, exposing his greying teeth. They smelled like festered cabbage sprinkled with skunk sprayings. "I assure you, _Madirii_ , we have many flavors, and they are _all_ good."

"Okay." Sarah pressed a finger to her lips and glanced around. Just over yonder stood a _teran-oht_ woman a little older than Sarah, 'though thicker and darker (possibly a native, but Sarah couldn't tell for certain). The girl held a cup with some pinkish concoction inside. A piece of star fruit was wedged into the lip of the cup. "I'll take that one," Sarah said, pointing at the drink, "the pink one with a piece of starfruit."

"Ah, good choice, _Madirii_ ," the _bazaar'iste_ replied. "That will be ten _sheckles_ , _por favorii_."

"Ten! I thought it usually eight?"

He shrugged, and said, "It is the carnival, _Madirii_."

Sarah grumbled, "Whatever that means." She fetched her coin purse. She only had twelve sheckles on her. But so what? She could afford one simple pleasure for herself, couldn't she? After all, Troll and Star were back and awake. Maybe now they could start pitching in, as well. Sarah handed the vendor the money and he quickly made her drink. Sarah wandered over to watch a group of choreographed dancers, and sipped at her beverage. An acerbic tartness attacked her taste buds and her face puckered up as if she had just bitten into a lemon. Of course, when she saw the young _teran-oht_ holding such an enticing looking concoction, there was no way she could have known that it alcoholic. Sarah had never consumed alcohol before. She sniffed the liquid. It smelled sweet. She took another smaller sip. This time the bitterness wasn't as strong. Almost pleasant; a mellifluous mélange. Sarah took a bigger swallow. This time she barely noticed the bitterness at all, the coldness hit her head like a stone and she squinted; pinching the bridge of her nose.

The giggling off frolicking children grabbed Sarah's attention. As she watched them, she drew the cup close to her breast like Anne did with Maddy -- sometimes. Sarah sighed. Her thoughts turned to Silverdale and a much simpler time. She felt so home-sick that it actually nauseated her.

"Ah, children, the most gracious of the Goddesses' gifts, are they not?" a husky and unfamiliar voice asked from behind.

Sarah chuckled, turned toward the voice, and said, "Aye, until they grow up and act like they don't need ye anymore." She nearly dropped her cup when gazing upon the owner of the voice.

Before her, stood a portly man in his mid-fifties. His hair appeared short, gray, and ruffled, as was his beard. He wore finely pressed clothes of ivory white. Glistening buttons, badges, and medallions glinted off his shirt in the lantern light. His boots were black and polished to a shine. He wore white gloves over his burly hands. A red, velvet sash draped around his shoulder.

For a moment, Sarah thought she was looking at the ghost of Mayor Thornton Godfrey.

"Please allow me to introduce myself," the man said. "I am the Sultan, Rome Cesaro. And you are?"

"Sarah," she replied, diverting her gaze toward the pink liquid. "Sarah Danvers."

"I presume you are _teran-oht_?"

"Aye," she replied.

He asked, "How long?"

"Pardon?"

"How long have you been here in the fair empire of Al'ber Que?"

Sarah sipped. Hiding her mouth behind the cup, she replied, "Nearly a year."

The sultan chuckled and rubbed his gloved hands together. "Well, I must say, I am most remised to think such an elegant woman such as you could have been here in my fine city all that time without my knowledge."

Completely at a loss for words, Sarah blushed and took another drink.

He asked, "What is that you are drinking, _Madirii_?" The sultan licked his fat lips, and said, "It looks most delicious."

Giggling, she replied, "Oh, I don't know what it's called. I just like the color." Her head felt light; a warm buzzing in her body. She could get used to this.

"May I?" he asked, motioning toward her drink.

After a moment's hesitation, she handed him the cup. For the utmost of brevity, Sarah thought he was going to take a sip, but he didn't.

He brought the lip close to his face and wafted the liquor's fruity aroma toward his nose. He sighed, and said, "Ah, raspberry, melon, pomegranate, starfruit, and _agave_. Delectable indeed." He handed the cup back to her. "I am what you might call a connoisseur of fine things," he added, running his gaze up and down her body.

Sarah tippled again. She didn't feel uncomfortable or awkward by the sultan's brash flirtations.

The sultan continued, "Speaking of fine things, tomorrow evening there is a banquet at the citadel. It's mostly for members of parliament and those who work at the citadel, but a few select guests of the public are being invited. If you would care, I would love for you to sit at my table as my honorary guest."

"I would love to. But I could not in good conscious accept such an invitation without my friends."

The sultan asked, "Your friends?" His bushy white-eyebrows shot up into half-moons. A slight scowl dawned across the horizon of his face, as if she had just insulted him.

Sarah said, "Aye, my friends. They are really more like family. And in these times of people disappearing left and right, it seems most cautious and wise to have trusted compatriots at one's side." The words coming out of her mouth seemed foreign, preternatural. As if Troll spoke through her.

The sultan's face grew un-emotive and contemplative. "Well, when you put it that way. It would be my highest honor to receive you all." He smiled. His brown-eyes grew small and beady. He said, "As long as you promise to sit right next to me."

****

Troll strolled through the crowded streets via his staff. He whistled as he scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces of grease-paint. So many things bore on Troll's mind, how could he trust himself to stay vigilant? What if he already saw a member of parliament and didn't recognize them? What if his twinklin's failed him? Troll twirled a finger around the chain of his medallion, instantly his thoughts turned to Star.

Just over yonder, a small group of people gathered around some sort of scuffle. Troll strode through the ruck, and toward the scene.

"Vile creature," roared a large man (not quite as big as Troll, but a giant none-the-less), with long, dirty-blond-hair. He towered over the Dog. The man wore simple skinned-clothing and had many scars on the exposed parts of his muscular arms, barrel-like chest, and proud face. The man's square jawline was cleanly shaven. His bushy, blond brow furrowed. "How dare you steal?" The man stood in front of a meat cart; pointing at the Dog, who squatted on the ground. A long, line of sausage links in the Dog's grasp.

Oh, Lord, what has the Dog done now?

The Dog growled, and pounced. The man grappled the Dog right out of the air and threw him into the cart he'd just stolen from. The cart busted into pieces, leaving the Dog sitting in a pile of meat. Pumping his fist, the _bazaar'iste_ yelled in protest. The Dog ravenously gobbled down pieces of cooked meat. The warrior roared, producing a broad sword form the sheath strapped across his back. The Dog paid no heed and continued edaciously scarfing-down the soiled meats. The warrior brought the weapon high over his head. He charged. The Dog growled. Troll raced toward the two; coming up behind the warrior. The warrior hewed downward. Troll managed to block the blade with his staff. The sword seemed wide and firm, but Troll's staff was stronger, and able to stop the blade without being cut.

Troll said, "I think that's quite enough."

The Dog growled at the warrior, and prepared to pounce again.

"From the both of ye," Troll added, glaring at the Dog.

The Dog lowered his head, guttural growling subsided.

Gaze affixed on the Dog, the warrior said, "This scab is a thief and a scoundrel."

"Maybe so," Troll replied. "But I believe this should be more than enough compensation for the damages incurred." With his free hand, Troll produced a small deer-skin pouch from his cloak, and hefted it in his hand. The jingle coming from within the pouch was unmistakable -- money.

The warrior pulled back, sheathed his sword, pivoted toward Troll, and asked, "Who do you think you are?"

"I am Troll," he said, bowing his head slightly, "At ye'r service. And who might ye be?"

"I am Shadeem Okuric Ossawa, chief of Al'ber Que security, and leader of _d'el guardii_. And as such, I should inform you that thievery is not tolerated here. And this scab was caught red-handed. I suggest you mind your own business."

"Well, I regret to inform ye, that he _is_ my business."

"Him?" Shadeem asked, brow cocked, snarling wide, fat lips. "Really?"

Troll replied, "Aye, he is my squire."

Shadeem glowered at Troll, and said, "Well, your squire is a criminal."

"Perhaps, but we are new to your glorious city. We are used to the laws of the outside word, a world where there are no such laws. A world where one must fend for themselves and take what is needed."

Stepping combatively toward Troll, Shadeem snarled, "Al'ber Que is a civilized society, and such brutishness is not stood for here."

The Dog growled, and leaned toward Shadeem's exposed backside.

Troll waved him off. He turned his attention toward Shadeem, and said, "Understood, perhaps we could see this as a warning?"

Shadeem said, "Your _only_ warning!"

Smiling, Troll said, "Certainly."

Grinning, Shadeem replied, "Very well then, consider yourselves warned." Then he strut off into the crowd.

The people returned to their own business.

Troll pivoted toward the Dog, who still sat on his haunches. He towered over his diminutive companion, and in a low voice, snarled, "What do ye think ye are doing? I didn't think I had to remind thee how imperative it is that we do not attract attention. And what do ye do? Steal from vendors just trying to make a living. I thought I trained thee better than that." Troll snorted, shuffled away, and left the Dog sitting there with his head hung low in dejection.

****

Star slithered stealthfully through a sea of besotted party patrons. She didn't know how long she'd been searching for a member of parliament. She only knew the agitation blossoming within her. Star didn't like large crowds, especially when they were drinking. And this was the largest, drunkest crowd she ever saw.

Someone in costume bumped into her, nearly spilling their libations all over Star. Her hands dropped to her hips, but her shooters were packed away in her knapsack.

People laughed and cheered.

Star grumbled.

"Star! Star!" Anne's voice called over the cacophonous throng.

Star peered around. After a moment, Anne, followed by four other children, trotted toward Star.

Star asked, "Anne, where's Sarah?"

"Oh, she's around her somewhere," Anne replied. "These are my friends, Emily, Reyna, Jamal, and Diego. Guys, this is my friend Star."

Star tipped her hat to the children. Two of which were natives. A third was a little, blond girl. All three looked around Anne's age. The fourth child, a muscular, ebony-colored boy with flat-black hair, appeared to be in his teens.

They waved and said, "Hi."

The bells from the citadel chimed, signaling the time to be ten of the clock; time for the five to reconvene at their designated meeting spot.

Anne turned to her friends, and said, "Well, I'll see you guys tomorrow."

The children said goodbye, then rollicked off to rejoin the festivities.

Where were the parents in all this?

"Well, I guess we should go and find the others," Anne said. "Did ye find a member of parliament?"

"No," Star replied. She took Anne's hand, and said, "But I reckon one of us must have."

The two pushed through the ruck, and toward the seedy alleyway they had entered from.

Troll, Sarah, and the Dog were waiting for them when Star and Anne returned.

"Any luck?" Star asked the others.

Troll said, "I met the chief of security. But that didn't go well." He glared at the Dog, who lowered his head, and whined lowly.

Star sensed disappointment and irritation within Troll.

Probably due to something the Dog had done.

Star thought of the night at Mayor Godfrey's table, where the Dog ripped apart the roast before anyone could be served. She smiled. Looking back, the roast had probably been tainted, and even though he took quite a verbal bashing afterward, the Dog no-doubt saved all their lives.

Blushing, Sarah replied, "I met the sultan. He invited us to his hall for dinner tomorrow night."

Star's thoughts drifted further through Silverdale, to the night at Reverend Lowell's table, when Troll challenged the patriarch by nonchalantly revealing to the others how little the Reverend knew about _anything_.

But, Silverdale had been cursed; a heavy veil enshrouded it. What was Al'ber Que's excuse?

Troll clapped, and said, "Excellent work." Troll asked Star, "Shall we call it a night, then?"

Nose wrinkled, twirling her compass chain, Star said, "Yeah, let's get out of here. This place reeks of Silverdale all over again."

****

Ensconced in darkness, Byron awoke to pitch-black. Either that or he was dead. He could never be sure. Not anymore. He lay sprawled out on his back. His head pounded like the king's war drums. Large, black flies swarmed within the hollows of his skull. He raised a shackled hand up to his forehead. A chain-link clinked upon his two-front-teeth; a blinding pain shot straight between his eyes. Carefully, he felt his aching head with two trembling fingertips. Something clung to his forehead and hair. Something tacky; slightly congealed. Blood.

"Hungry?" asked a raspy voice. It sounded like rocks grinding together at the bottom of a river bed.

A light munching/smacking pattered off the cavernous walls, as if Byron's "team" had discovered a whole mess of fat, juicy earthworms.

Byron's stomach gurgled.

"It needs to feed," the voice said again. It sounded preternatural, inhuman.

Who could it be? One of his "teammates"? Byron sat up. His head throbbed with a heaviness he hadn't felt since the desert. He glanced around. Nothing. Too dark. "Who's there?" Byron called out in the faintest of whispers. Yet, his voice boomed and swelled off the cavernous rock-walls.

"It knows a name," the gravelly voice said. The voice didn't echo off the walls like Byron's.

Was it all in his head? Had he gone mad down here in the dark?

Byron struggled to his feet. His legs wobbled and ached. When was the last time he used them? Byron tottered briefly before slumping hard into a nearby wall. The jagged rocks dug chasms into Byron's dirty and emaciated flesh.

A sniffing noise; resembling that of the Dog's.

" _Phff_ ," snorted the voice in Byron's head.

The eating sounds resumed. Sucking and munching and chewing and slurping. Byron's stomach turned hungrily. He tried to push himself away from the wall but couldn't.

"Is there anyone there?" Byron called again. Once more, the ear-splitting decibel of his own echoing voice bore deeper into his brains. A loud, audible snap, and then more eating sounds. "Hello?" Byron quavered. "Is there anyone there? Anyone there at all?" In the meekest of whispers, Byron added, "Am I the only one?"

"No!" a thunderous voice roared, yet did not echo.

A hot rancid wind forced Byron back into the wall. Warm beads of moisture pelted his bearded and haggard face.

Byron trembled, shutting his eyes. No, this was certainly not in his head. Was it _him_? Had _he_ finally come for him? Was this it, the end, or the beginning of an eternity of torment?

More sniffing.

The thing's breath worked up and down Byron; searching every molecule of sent.

Byron caught another hefty whiff of the creature's putrid breath. An image of melting bodies being drug along the box-car's side popped into his throbbing head.

The thing purred in its gravelly voice, and said, "Eat something?"

Byron opened his eyes. There before him, stood a figure so dark its slumped form was easily visible. The figure stretched a long, talon-like hand out toward him. Something warm, semi-solid, and long, like sausage-links, dangled from the creatures spindly fingers. A rank stench radiated off the loosely hanging links.

"Eat," the figure croaked. It pressed its hand over Byron's mouth and smeared that rancid gook all over his face. Some got in his mouth and with uncanny certainty, he knew what it was. Human intestines.

Byron gagged.

The thing smiled; exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth that were so white they glittered in the dark. "Tastes nice, yes?"

Byron couldn't see the thing grinning inches away from his face (the smile was wider than Byron's head), or perhaps, his mind simply wouldn't let him.

"Tastes _sweet_ , yes?" Five glowing-red-eyes narrowed upon Byron. The thing cackled in a booming, gravelly voice that echoed not.

And then Byron screamed.

****

Much like the previous day, Troll and his group were up with the dawn; sharing breakfast when a slight rapping came from the door.

The others sat there, peering at Troll, their leader.

Anne tensed up.

Troll called, "Who is it?"

A moment's pause before a woman's voice replied from the other side. "It's Sirii, may I come in?"

Troll hobbled toward the portal and unlatched the bolt. An uneasy feeling settled at the pit of his stomach but he didn't know why. They had no enemies here? Not yet.

Sirii appeared a bit uneasy; sweaty and pale, like she had to go the bathroom _really_ bad. Her hair looked unkempt beneath her shawl. Her hands folded out in pleading as she nearly danced in place; furthering Troll's suspicion that she came to use the facilities.

"Good morning," Troll greeted.

Sirii blurted, " _Biente dias_ , _easta_ , I didn't mean to disturb your _fiesa mananii_. But I have no choice. You must come with me."

Sarah scurried toward the door, and said, "But Sirii, the shop?"

Sirii said, "In due time, _Madirii_. But first you must come with me. All of you."

Sirii led the five to the outskirts of the southwestern side of Al'ber Que, where she ushered them into a narrow interstice carved into the face of the wall (but not the same archway Troll and Star ventured through the day before).

Good. Now Troll knew of two hidden entrances into the city. But to his chagrin, this passageway didn't lead out into the desert, but rather, into the mountains. From outside, the tunnel appeared dark, but once inside, they found themselves in a twisting corridor. The sun shone down from above and illuminated gold-plated cave walls etched with carvings and glyphs.

What did the symbols mean? Perhaps, some sort of linear story? Possibly even the entire history of Al'ber Que.

Troll asked Sirii, "What is this place?"

Sirii replied, " _El Na'tirii Tawa_ , the place of voices."

Examining the gilded glyphs, Sarah asked, "What do all these carvings mean?"

Sirii said, " _Por favorii_ , my friends, trust me, all shall be explained soon." She led the five a bit further until the corridor funneled into an arched doorway, also etched in gold. Inside, laid a massive dome-like room with stalactites hanging from the cavernous ceiling. Large, elaborately colored tapestries painted the walls of the dome. The room appeared barren, save for a frayed, multi-colored rug in the center. Upon the rug, an elderly man knelt in meditation or prayer -- possibly both. The man's arms were long and sinuous. Emaciated, he appeared nothing more than a skeleton wrapped in skin. His closed eyes were sunken upon his slender, wrinkled face. His long, gray mane so tangled, Troll couldn't tell where the man's hair ended and his beard began. His dusky skin led Troll to believe him a native.

Sirii strode within ten paces of the old man, and then halted.

The old man opened his eyes and assessed his guests. A look in his dark-brown gape suggested he'd been patiently expecting their arrival.

Sirii smiled. Trembling in excitement, she said, "My friends, may I present Khariiff Azur Masada, the high watcher."

Troll scratched his beard, and asked, "A watcher, aye. And what pre-tell does he watch?"

"Time," Sirii replied. "Life. The cycles of the universe."

Troll nodded, and said, "Impressive."

"I'll say," Anne chirped.

" _Bienvenirii va patriates_ ," the man greeted with a toothless smile.

Sirii translated, "Khariiff welcomes you as friends."

Anne waved at Khariiff, and said, "Hi, Khariiff. I'm Anne. This is Sarah Danvers, Ms. Star, Mr. Troll, and the Dog. But ye already knew that, didn't ye?"

Khariiff nodded. He gestured for his guests to sit. The five, including Sirii, complied.

All this seemed so familiar. Not only that, but Khariiff sounded a little too much like chief. Troll's thoughts turned to the Wachati tribe.

Was that memory even true?

Khariiff spoke, Sirii translated, "Once, there was darkness and only darkness. And then came the light. And in that light was the world. Not this one, but a world long gone. But from that world sprang other worlds, numerous beyond counting, all existing at one time. The worlds were chaotic, all meshed together. And within that chaos, the darkness bore demons to wreak havoc on the worlds. The light returned, creating time, a way to separate the worlds into singular existences. And the demons were dispersed back into the darkness. The darkness grew angry, spiteful. The demons still existed but were no longer able to touch mankind. They could only act through influence. So the darkness plotted to find a way to finally walk alongside man once more. And one day, one time, one where -- it did. Once again the worlds began to merge, allowing the darkness to run rampant. But then, the light stepped forward once more, and from the light emerged the triumvirate. Three souls intertwined by destiny, who, would align like the stars in any and every world in which the darkness walked."

Troll spread his arms out toward his friends, and said, "But as ye can see, there are five of us."

Khariiff nodded and continued via his translator. "Yes. Two of the first, but there will be others. Many others. But all will fall by the waste-side, all but the triumvirate. All but the trinity."

Star asked, "How do you know all this?"

Sirii translated, "The words have been passed down from the mountains, where the voices can still be heard."

"What voices?" asked Troll.

"The voices of light," Sirii translated, "the voice of _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_ , the voice of time and worlds."

Troll, Star, and Sarah exchanged confounded frowns.

Anne stared at the ground.

Ears twitching, head tilted, the Dog peered at Anne.

Silence.

Troll said to Khariiff, "Please, go on."

Khariiff closed his eyes and craned his head upward.

Troll (and he presumed the others), waited a long time for Khariiff to continue, as if the watcher would suddenly say something profound; something that would shed even the faintest of lights upon the mystery shrouding Troll's life -- his past.

Nothing.

Blushing, thumbs twiddling, Sirii said, "That is all. Let us take our leave, _por favorii_."

Once again Troll, Star, and Sarah shared an uneasy glance.

Once again, Anne (who usually helpfully chimed in), sat quiet; isolated, as the Dog kept his golden-gaze locked on her.

Still seated, Troll asked, "To what end did ye bring us?"

Sirii replied, "I brought you here for discovery of who you are, because I believe I have found the triumvirate. I brought you here for trust and explanation. I brought you here for answers." Sirii bowed apologetically, and said, "But it seems Khariiff has said all that he's willing to at this time."

Glaring suspiciously at Sirii, Star said, "Then you tell."

Sirii sighed, and said, "I would, but I have no answers. Only faith and hope."

Glowering, Star said, "Then tells us about that."

Sirii replied, "I will, but now we must leave and resume our daily duties so that others don't become suspicious."

Troll asked, "What others?"

"She means spies," Anne chimed, "Traitors."

" _Si_ ," Sirii said. She gestured for them to follow her back the way they came.

All were silent and contemplative, as they plodded back toward the city.

Troll just couldn't get those haunting words out of his head, "Only the triumvirate, only the trinity, only the three. All others will fall by the waste-side."

****

Byron awoke in a start. Weary, Eyes heavy, He glanced around.

A soldier barked, "Get up slave!" He swiftly kicked Byron in the ribs a few times.

Byron winced but felt no pain. Was this actually happening? Was it even real? Did it even matter? Byron sat up. His head felt light, unattached.

"There's a good scab," the soldier said, "C'mon now, upsy-daisies."

Byron peered around again. Three of his "team mates" were missing. Their shackles lay listlessly in the dirt, still locked. But the people were gone. He tried to remember when or how that happened. But he couldn't. Too exhausted and his head ached like a son-of-a-bitch. The buzzing of black flies resonated within his brains.

"Come on now, I said up!" the soldier barked again.

Byron's mind was a whirlwind of hurt and confusion. He glanced behind him; just trying to get his bearings.

Byron's sole remaining "teammate" (an emaciated boy with long, shabby soot-colored hair), clutched the side of the tunnel. His back turned, he cried so softly it almost inaudible, save for his uncontrollable hitching and shuddering.

It reminded Byron of something. But another sharp kick to his side derailed his train of thought.

The soldier said, "Come on, scab, I'm tired of kicking ya and you don't even seem to notice it, so quit wasting my time and let's go."

Another soldier trotted toward them, and asked, "There a problem over here?"

"Naw, just another lazy slag," the first soldier replied. He tugged forcibly on the chains connecting to the shackles around Byron's wrists and ankles.

The second soldier asked, "What else is new?"

Byron allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and managed a wobbling stance.

"What about this one?" The second guard asked, nodding toward the weeping boy gripping the rock-wall.

"Totally unresponsive," the first replied.

"Good," the second said. He pulled a pistol, and buried the barrel into the back of the boy's head.

The first yelled, "No!"

Too late.

The second soldier splattered the cavern wall with the boy's brains. The report was deafening and the tunnel seemed to tremble in reverberation.

The first guard snatched the gun away from the second, and snarled, "You idiot! You can't fire that down here, you'll kill us all."

A tense moment elapsed where the two guards warily gazed upward to make sure the ceiling didn't cave in.

Byron prayed it would, but it didn't.

" _Never_ do that again," the first guard growled. "Now c'mon, we gotta relocate this guy."

"Why?"

"Orders. My advice, don't question 'em."
The second soldier nodded toward the boy's corpse, and asked, "What about that?"

"Leave it," the first replied.

"What, for the Swee--"

The first guard leapt, grasped the second by his armored shoulders, shook him violently, and yelled, "Don't say that name!" His posture stiffened as he glanced around in the gloom. In barely a whisper, he amended, "Never say that name."

Byron cackled and laughed. And before he knew what came over him, he began to sing.

****

Star stood before the large, silver-backed mirror in the room she shared with Troll. The looking glass _was_ in the main room, but Star dragged it into their quarters so she could have some privacy. Not that anyone else was home, yet.

Star turned this way and that; inspecting every angle and curve of her own reflection. She'd never had an occasion to dress up for. She never had _someone_ to dress up for. But now, she wished she could trade her "casuals" in for a pretty, new dress. Plenty were sold at Sirii's shop and at a dozen others in the _bazaar_. But alas, she didn't have the money for that. Troll did, but Star couldn't ask him. Not when he was the one she intended on surprising by wearing something _amazing_. When was the last time she wore a dress? As a child? Perhaps never.

She leaned in closer to the glass, and examined the subtle wrinkles forming beneath her oval eyes. The pores on her once youthful face desiccated. Sure, she still in her mid-twenties, give or take. But the past few months (give or take), seemed to have taken their toll. She removed her hat and switched around her hair. She had bathed, her clothes cleaned, but she desperately wanted something that would "wow" Troll.

Standing at the doorway, Sirii said, "You look beautiful, _Madirii_."

Star pivoted. Her hands dropped to holsters that weren't there. Once again her thoughts turned to Silverdale.

Sirii bowed, and said, " _M'pardonii_ , I did not mean to cause you to startle."

"I didn't hear you come in."

Blushing, twiddling her thumbs, Sirii said, "I knocked upon the main door, but no one answered. The door was unlocked so I thought I would stop by and wish you all well before you left for the citadel. Where are _Madirii_ Sarah and the _Madiriiette_?"

"You mean, they're not with you?"

"No, I let them leave early so they could prepare for the dinner."

"What's that?" Star asked, nodding at a long piece of cloth in Sirii's hand.

She replied, "I made this for you to wear." She held out an emerald-green gown made from the finest silk. Sirii smiled, and said, "I believe it would grace you far better."

"Really? You made it for _me_?"

Smiling wider, Sirii exposed her brilliantly straight teeth, and said, " _Si_. A _Madirii_ as beautiful as you deserves only the finest for such a grand occasion. I have never been to the citadel before. Will you tell me every detail?"

Star smiled back, and said, "It's a deal."

"Then, no compensation is necessary." Sirii handed the gown to Star, and said, "The dress is yours, _vot gratia_."

Star held the dress out in front of her before the mirror; turning it this way and that.

"What's this?" Star asked, pawing at the garb. "There's a big opening from neck-line to waist-line."

" _Si_ , it's called a Sur-dress. It's a traditional ceremonial dress."

"Oh, okay."

Twiddling her thumbs, Sirii said, " _Madirii_ , _por favorii_ , try it on, for I would love to see you in it."

Uncertain, Star asked, "Right here?"

"Of course"

Star motioned for Sirii to turn around, and asked, "Could you?"

Pencil-drawn eyebrows furrowed, she said, "But _Madirii_ , it was I who cleaned your wounds and dressed you."

Star sighed, and said, "I know, and I don't mean for you to take offense, it's just that I don't--"

Palms conceded, Sirii replied, "Say no more, _Madirii_. As you wish." She turned her back to Star, and said, "I have made dresses for _Madirii_ Sarah and the _Madiriiette_ , too. I was hoping to see them in it before they left. Perhaps, they have forgotten and are still in the _bazaar_."

"I don't know, they seemed pretty excited." Star quickly undressed and slipped on the gown. The silk was light and breezy; coupled with the open slots from shoulder to waist, she felt naked. Could she really go out in public like this?

"Where is _Easta_ Troll?"

Star replied, "He was ready a while ago, so I sent him on ahead. To be honest with you, I might have stood in front of this mirror all night had you not come. Thanks again for the dress."

Blushing, Sirii said, " _Dinada_ , you're welcome."

"But, now that I know Sarah and Anne aren't back yet, maybe I should wait for 'em."

"No, no, _Madirii_ , you should go. I will wait for them."

"No that's okay, really--"

Sirii shuffled toward Star, and said, " _Madirii_ , _por favorii_ , I understand your hesitation toward me. After all, it is strange that your friends were here so long before you and the _easta_ were found. But I assure you I am a friend to your friends."

Star sighed, and said, "It's not that." She ran a hand through her long, curly hair. Her shackle rattled. "It's just that we've been through a lot together. We look out for each other, you know?"

" _Si_. And I feel the same toward your friends."

"Really, what about the Dog?"

Sirii opened her mouth to say something, but didn't. She blushed, glanced down; a lock of hair fell from beneath her pink, silk shawl. "He may be a prophet, but he takes some getting used to."

"Yeah, I guess so." Star forced a chuckle. "But are you sure you want to wait for Sarah and Anne? I mean, I can do it, it's really no problem--"

Sirii clapped, and blurted, "Oh, _Madirii_ , you look so beautiful!"

"You think?" Star faced the mirror and stared at herself. She did look good. And yet, shame crept over her lithe shoulders. Where were Sarah and Anne? What happened to them? Should she forget the dinner, blow off Troll, and go looking for them. No-doubt, the Dog would help in the search. And yet at the same time, she'd been looking forward to this evening all day. Was that wrong of her? Suddenly she didn't feel so beautiful. She wanted to, but she just didn't.

"A bit of advice, _Madirii_."

Star turned to Sirii, and asked, "Hmm?" For the utmost of brevity, she was afraid of what might come forth from Sirii's lips.

Sirii glanced at Star's compass, and said, "Don't wear that trinket around your neck. It clashes with the dress."

****

The Dog sat perched atop the roof of their apartment for some time now. And even though he knew of Sarah and Anne's absence, until he overheard Star and Sirii's conversation, he hadn't been worried. Later now. The sun set and the stars were out. Star left for the dinner a while ago. Sirii paced anxiously about in the apartment below.

Despite how close Sirii had come to Sarah and Anne over these past many months, the Dog still never trusted her \-- not entirely. He always felt like she was hiding something. And even after the morning's revealing events, he still couldn't be sure she disclosed everything she knew. Or more to the point, everything she _thought_ she knew about the Dog and his friends.

Where were Sarah and Anne? He whined lowly and anxiously shuffled on his haunches. He knew they were in trouble. He felt it. He also knew that as Troll's closest friend and personal confidant, Troll would need him at the sultan's dinner. But who needed him more right now?

Distraught, the Dog whimpered again, and rested upon his fore-arms. Unsure of what to do, the Dog decided to wait a little more. Still, Sarah and Anne did not return. He should do something -- and now. Every moment he hesitated made tracking down the two way-ward girls all the more difficult. The Dog waited there, perched on the roof until the moon arose and the stars shone bright. Until no one returned. Until he could wait no longer.

****

Although, he'd never actually been to the citadel, Troll found it easily enough, as he'd passed it a number of times. And even if he hadn't, he'd still have no problem locating the palace-like structure centered just west of the real heart of Al'ber Que -- the _bazaar_.

The citadel had an odd construction to it. Three layered floors surmounted by a dome. A vaulted enclosure encapsulated the empire's belfry atop a large, cylindrical tower. Stone steps led up toward the front portico. Many _d'el guardii_ wearing Al'ber Quearian chest-armor and cloth pantaloons stood sentry among the fluted pillars and bi-levels of the citadel.

Fortunately Troll (like the rest of his party), was expected and quickly ushered inside.

A _teran-oht d'el guardii_ with thinning brown-hair and spectacles led Troll through the barrel-vaulted great hall. Pilasters and diagonal sunken panels carved the ashlar walls.

The _d'el guardii_ escorted Troll to the ballroom, where the rest of the sultan's guests congregated.

The ballroom appeared massive; decorated with marble flooring, pilasters, and coffers. Lavish cornices ornamented the ridges of the dome-like ceiling. The crowded dancehall echoed with the sounds of music and laughter. The complex reminded Troll of the place of voices (or as Sirii called it, _El Na'tirii Tawa_ ), and he felt more alone then he remembered feeling before \-- ever.

A sea of strange faces and chattering voices filled the cavernous room. At the other end stood a small platform where an orchestral band played waltzing tunes. To the left, tables of food had been set up. Huge tapestries lined the tubular walls.

Examining every piece of artwork, Troll ambled about the room.

One tapestry depicted a mother shielding her children from a dragon's flames with not but her slender arms. Another showed a vulture feeding portions of wolf-flesh to its young. When he'd thoroughly inspected each, Troll hobbled toward one of the tables where drinks and small portions of food were dispensed.

A buxom native woman with short, curly brown-hair offered Troll a fresh wedge of cheese and glass of wine.

Troll wasn't all that hungry or thirsty, but accepted them anyway.

"Thank ye," Troll said, forcing a smile, "and what a magnificent dinner this is."

The woman grinned a rotted smiled, pressed a hand to her breast, and said, "Oh, this is not the dinner _easta_. This is only the _appert'ivitta_."

" _Appert'ivitta_?" Troll asked, examining the wedge within his pudgy digits. "I thought it cheese."

The woman snorted in laughter, "No, no, _easta_ , you misunderstand, an _appert'ivitta_ is like...uh, how you say--"

"A snack?"

" _Si_ , _easta_."

Troll tossed the morsel and swallowed it in one bite. He thanked the woman again, and scanned the sultan's guests. He drained the contents of the chalice in his hand and set it on the table behind him.

"I am glad to see you up and about, _easta_ ," said an unfamiliar voice.

Troll pivoted.

A middle-aged man with short gray-hair around his balding egg-like head smiled at Troll.

Troll asked, "Do I know ye?"

"No, at least I don't see how you could. My name is Diego Conchiitii Alama, member of the Al'ber Querian guard." Diego didn't wear armor.

Probably an honorary guest.

Diego sported a flashy, white jacket and matching trousers.

Troll ran a hand down his scar, and said, "I see." He gestured for another slice of cheese and glass of wine.

Diego motioned for a glass of his own, and said, "I met your dog, and the _Madiriiettes_ many months ago. I went on numerous search parties with your Dog. I was there when we finally found you and your _Madirii_."

"How did ye find us?"

Diego scratched his beak-like nose, and said, "By the grace of the Goddess. We searched every day. Many of us from the _d'el guardii_ volunteered in exchange for the Dog aiding in patrols around the empire. Many of us, I included, lost hope in ever finding you two. But your dog never did. A few days ago, while on patrol we saw a group of _vulturii_ swarming in the sky. We investigated. And there you were."

Troll grumbled, "Nasty, disgusting, creatures, buzzards are. Almost as detestable as bats."

Face creased in a smile, Diego said, "Perhaps, but you do not understand. The _vulturii_ is the national symbol."

"Really?" Troll brushed back his hair. Beads and braids shucked and jived.

" _Si_ , _easta_ ," Diego replied. "Al'ber Que is our great and glorious Mother. The _vulturii_ is a symbol of motherhood because they are impeccable care-takers of their young."

Troll tippled from his chalice, and said, "I see. But tell me, my good man, don't ye think it highly unlikely that my woman and I could have survived out there that long before being found?"

Diego replied, "My friend, it was the greatest miracle these old eyes have ever seen. And it doesn't matter how you managed to survive, all that matters is that you did. You both did. Such gifts should not be received with uncertainty."

Troll replied, "Aye, perhaps ye are right my friend." He turned and set his chalice upon the table.

Facing the center of the room, Diego smiled, and said, "Simply breathtaking."

Troll turned.

There, emerging from the gathering crowd stood Star; dressed in a beautifully seductive emerald-green gown that matched her eyes. The garb had an open throat and slits on the sides; exposing her chocolate curves. Her long, curly blonde-hair cascaded down the small of her back and the sides of her face, concealing both her lash scars and brand. She stood on tip-toes, scanning the crowd.

Utterly breathtaking.

From opposite ends of the ball room, they saw each other, as if they the only two in the hall. Their eyes locked and neither could help but relinquish a big, dopey smile as they crossed the dance floor, and met in the middle.

Troll bumped into a random party goer, and when they turned to beg Troll's pardon, (without so much as even glancing at the patron), Troll handed the man his staff, and said, "Here, hold this."

Flabbergasted, the man took the massive wooden stick; nearly toppling over from the weight of it.

Troll hobbled toward his beloved until they stood mere feet apart.

"Well," Star finally asked, "how do I look?"

"Simply breathtaking, my dear," Troll said in awe, "simply breathtaking."

Blushing, she said, "Thank you," and sashayed toward him.

The band (comprised mostly of percussion, string, and wood-wind instruments), ceased their waltzing tempo and played something soft and slow.

Troll and Star gazed at each other.

The party patrons paired up with their special someone's for an intimate promenade.

Troll offered her his hand, and asked, "May I have this dance?"

An awkward grin painted Star's face. She rolled her eyes, and said, "You know I can't dance."

Guitars strummed softly and violins played around them; ensconcing the two lovers.

Troll smiled, and said, "Then, allow me the honor of educating thee in this matter."

Star opened her mouth to reply.

Before she could, Troll swept her up in his arms, and spun her round and round.

Star smiled brighter than Troll had ever seen. Her laugh sounded more like a child's than hers. Her golden curls whirled about, yet she didn't try to hide her face.

The string section rose to a melodious rhythm.

Wood-winds and percussion faded in.

Troll led as they danced.

1 – 2 & 3 and 1 – 2 & 3...

The music picked up, enveloped them.

1 – 2 & 3 and 1 – 2 & 3...

Troll held Star tightly.

She hugged back, as if the two afraid the other might slip through their fingers.

Everyone and everything else in the hall seemed to evaporate into the air.

Only Troll and Star remained.

1 – 2 & 3 and 1 – 2 & 3 and...

Troll twirled Star around and dipped her. They righted, gazes locked inches away.

The music rose to a crescendo.

Hearts pulsing in unison, lips pressed together, they shared a long, soft kiss.

1 – 2 & 3 and 1 – 2 & 3 and...

The music faded.

The dancers parted and clapped.

Passionately kissing, Troll and Star still embraced.

"Attention, esteemed guests of the venerated sultan," Shadeem Okuric Ossawa, chief of Al'ber Que's security, roared. "Dinner is about to be served, if you would follow me into the dining hall, I believe we can get started."

A merry murmuring buzzed throughout the departing guests as Troll and Star stood there holding each other. They did not part until the man (a bushy-browed native in his thirties), whom Troll had asked to hold his staff, awkwardly interrupted the two in order to return it.

He stammered something before quickly shuffling away, as if intimidated by the gentle giant.

Troll and Star exchanged a glance, and erupted in laughter.

"Shall we," Troll asked, gesturing to follow the others.

Star smiled, and said, "Aye, my dear, after ye."

Hand-in-hand they ambled behind the other guests, and into the bustling dining hall.

The dining hall seemed brilliantly white. Alabaster floors, pillars, and pilasters. Giant, glinting chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling.

An attendant in garish white clothes ushered Troll and Star toward an oblong table at the other end of the hall. A few natives in fine white garbs, probably Al'ber Quearian dignitaries, had already seated. At the far end of the table sat a large throne of oak.

No-doubt, the sultan's chair.

Upon the ashlar wall behind the throne, hung a huge banner depicting the black silhouette of a vulture; wings out-stretched upon a field of scarlet.

Star glanced at it and shuddered.

Troll said, "T'is they're national flag."

Star muttered, "Fucking vultures."

Troll and Star seated themselves to either side of the sultan's dining chair. Of course, this was met with a few cross-looks from the others at the head-table, though no one made any actual protests.

Shadeem stood next to a pillar, his arms folded behind him. His broad, smoothly-shaven face was unreadable. Cold, dark-brown gaze assessed the chattering crowd. He wore the same skinned clothing as the previous night.

After a few minutes, the guests found their chairs and simmered down.

Muscular arms swinging; long, wild hair flowing, Shadeem strode toward the center of the room and roared, "Greetings friends, and welcome. May I present to you his highness, the Sultan, Rome Cesaro!"

Beneath the Al'ber Quearian flag, a rectangular portion of the brick-work wall swung open.

A hidden door.

Cheers and applause thundered as the sultan strut into the room. He donned finely pressed clothes of ivory white. Buttons, badges, and medallions decorated his jacket. A red, velvet sash draped over his shoulder. Narrow, black boots polished to a shine. White gloves covered his burly hands. He appeared in his mid-fifties. Hair gray, short, and ruffled, as was the beard around his bulb-like head.

The sultan was flanked by a man and woman.

Probably body-guards.

Both appeared in their early twenties or late teens, and wore tight fitting garbs the color of rubies (the clothes even sparkled a bit). Both had facial features unusual to this continent. Tan-yellowish skin unlike that of the natives. Thin lips. Slanted eyes. Flat noses. Not much of a chin or forehead.

Small, crystal-like protrusions jut from his face and bald head, as if diamonds embedded into his flesh.

Crystals also ornamented the female's brow, like a crown of gems. Her jet-black hair (tied back in a ponytail), was so long it hung below her calves.

The sultan seated himself and the gathered assembly followed suit. The body-guards sat next to Troll and Star, respectively (the man sat next to Troll while the woman sat next to Star).

A slew of servers brought plates of food to the tables (starting with the sultans', of course).

The chatter arose again.

Troll's thoughts turned fondly toward Silverdale and dinner at the mayor's mansion.

The sultan stuffed a napkin into the throat of his shirt, and said, "You must be _Madirii_ Sarah's friends?"

"Right, ye are," Troll replied. "Allow me to introduce ourselves. I am Troll. And this ravishing creature is the lovely Ms. Myriam Star."

"I am honored to meet you both," the sultan greeted. "I am the Sultan, Rome Cesaro."

Troll said, "But of course, ye received quite the introduction."

The sultan glanced around, and asked, "Where is _Madirii_ Sarah?"

Star replied, "We humbly regret to inform you that the rest of our group was unable to attend, but Sarah was most remised at being unable to accept your most gracious invitation."

Troll couldn't have said it better himself.

The sultan frowned, bushy brows furrowed, bottom lip protruded, he said, "Well, I am most disheartened to hear that. I looked forward to seeing _Madirii_ Sarah again. May I ask what could possibly detain her?"

"Matters of a most personal nature," Troll replied. "Not everyone in your lovely city can afford such luxurious recreations."

The sultan removed his gloves, polished his silverware with a napkin, and said, "As unfortunate as it is true. But Al'ber Que is not mine, it is the peoples."

"Most honorable, indeed," Troll replied. "I would expect nothing less of the man, or woman," smiling, he glanced at Star, "in charge of such a thriving community."

Plates of salted pork, smashed taters n' gravy, fresh fruit, and veggies were placed before them, followed by chalices of wine.

Troll bent his head, folded his hands, and prayed, dear, God, thank ye for this bounty. Bless all those who dine tonight on scraps. Thank ye again for delivering us from the desert and reuniting our party. In ye'r name I pray. Amen.

The female body guard uttered something to her companion in their alien language.

The man nodded.

Probably something snide.

The sultan shoveled a fork-load of food into his mouth, and asked, "So, how do you find the empire?"

"Most accommodating, indeed," Troll replied.

Smiling, Star said, "It's the greatest city I've ever seen."

The sultan dabbed his fat lips with his napkin, and said, "Well, thank you, but I don't do it alone. This here is Task and her brother Tisk," the sultan said, nodding toward his body guards. "They are Al'ber Que's foreign relations officers; handling every _teran-oht_ and fitting them with a residence and occupation best suited for each _teran-oht's_ attributes. But of course, as _teran-ohts_ yourselves, you already know that."

"Of course," Troll replied.

Task's thin eyebrows arched, diamond-studded brow furrowed, she said something to Tisk in their foreign dialect.

Head tilted, Tisk's gaze darted between Troll and Star.

Surely, there no way they could know Troll and Star hadn't gone through processing. Way too many _teran-oht_ came every day. How could they possibly keep track of each and every one?

The sultan motioned toward the other end of table, and said, "Over there, is the people's chief of security, and head of the _d'el gaurdii_ , Shadeem Okuric Ossawa."

Troll performed his characteristic running of a hand, and said, "Ah, yes, I had the pleasure of making his acquaintance just last eve at the carnival."

The sultan clapped, and said, "Splendid." He pointed two tables over and one down, at a man in his mid-thirties with dirty-blond-hair and a round, crooked noise. The sultan said, "Over there is Grayson Dreary, head of economics and agriculture. Most those seated with him are his constituents."

The sultan directed their attention to another table over yonder. He pointed at a native man (around the same age as Grayson), with short, curly black-hair and neatly trimmed beard. The sultan said, "That there is Micah Phizza Satirii, irrigation engineer."

The sultan pointed to another native (also male, also around the same age as the previous parliament members), also with short, curly black-hair (but sported a neat mustache and goatee). The sultan burped, and said, "That's Franz Mirii Michoenne, waste manager."

Each member of Al'ber Que's inner-circle sat at a different table, and dressed to the nines.

Star said, "I like how they're not all seated at one table."

The sultan's posture straightened. Shoulders back in pride, he said, " _Si_ , we feel it sends a message of comradre throughout the empire."

"Indeed," Troll replied. "Speaking of the empire, how do ye think the people feel about following a tightly knit, male, dominated hierarchy in a place where women are so highly revered?"

"Yes," Star chimed, "do tell."

The sultan sighed, bearded cheeks puffed, he gently set his silverware down and said, "These are hard times, the people do what they have to."

Twirling her compass chain, Star asked, "And how do you feel about it? What with you being a native n' all."

The sultan sighed again, folded his burly hands, and said, "I feel as though a great disappointment to my for-mothers. But as I said, these are hard times, and we must all do what we must."

Troll said, "Aye."

"Of course," Star added.

After that, the sultan doled his attention out amongst the other people at his table.

Troll and Star ate. Every so often they glanced at each other and smiled.

Tisk and Task examined their every move.

After a while, the sultan and other members of parliament got up to schmooze the crowd.

Soon Troll and Star sat alone at the head table.

Elbow propped on the table top, Star twirled her compass chain in ennui.

Star appeared radiant even when bored.

Troll just couldn't stop staring at her.

Catching his gaze, Star asked, "What?"

Troll shrugged.

"No, really, what is it?"

Troll replied, "I just can't get over how beautiful ye look in that dress. I mean, ye always look beautiful, but--"

Star leaned over, and whispered into his ear, "How would you like to see how beautiful I look out of it?"

Troll stood and bellowed, "Thank ye all for ye'r hospitality. Good night and God bless."

With that, the two dashed out of the dining hall. Hand-in-hand, they raced through the deserted halls of the citadel. They got lost a couple times. They just laughed and trotted back the way they came until they found the exit.

The journey back to their apartment seemed infinite.

Late when Troll and Star returned from the dinner, yet still they found themselves all alone in the big, empty apartment. Still drunk from their dance, they made love. But not soft and sweet like their time in the desert. This was passionate and untamed. Afterwards, they laid there in the dark, holding each other in silence. The two could have stayed like that forever. Troll wanted to, anyway.

The front door creaked. The light pattering of footsteps. A soft sobbing.

Someone had entered the main quarters.

Troll and Star gazed into each other's eyes, and at the same time, said, "Sarah."

Troll brushed back Star's hair and kissed her.

Then the two got dressed (Star wore her usual duds), and crossed over into the main-living quarters.

The Dog crouched on his haunches in the center of the room.

Sarah knelt before him, squeezing him tightly as she blubbered.

The Dog squinted, lips puckered as if extremely uncomfortable being held.

Star trotted toward them, gently rested a hand on Sarah's trembling shoulder, and asked, "What's wrong?"

Sarah stood, slightly slouched. Tears and snot streamed down her red, puffy face. Her hands frantically kneaded the hem of her dress. She sniffled, and said, "Anne has gone missing!"

Troll hobbled toward her, and asked, "Are ye certain she did not wander off? After all, she's been known to do that?"

Sarah bawled, "No, not tonight, she was so excited about the dinner."

Troll asked, "Then what do ye think has befallen her?"

Sarah wailed, "She has been taken! Oh, God, I just know it. She has been taken and it's all my fault. I should have kept a keener watch on her and now...oh, God!" Sarah collapsed to her knees, shoulders quavered, hands pressed to her face as she sobbed.

Troll, Star, and the Dog exchanged an uneasy glance.

Troll cradled Sarah in his arms, and said, "Shh, hush, child."

Once again, Khariiff's words echo in Troll's mind, "All shall fall by the waste-side, all but the three."

"Come," Troll said to them all. "The walls in here have ears. Let us reconvene to a more private location. For, we have much to discuss."

The four climbed upon the roof and sat cross-legged in a small circle.

Star suggested they start by meditating.

Sarah seemed calmer now. Her breathing stabilized, and her lacrimation ceased.

After a while, Star asked, "So, where do we go from here?"

Troll cleared his throat, ran a hand down his scar and beard, and said, "I believe it's safe to say, that we all feel there is something odd a-foot in Silverdale."

Twirling her compass chain, Star replied, "You mean, Al'ber Que."

Troll exclaimed, "Exactly, it's just like Silverdale, a lot of inconsistencies. In fact, just as in Silverdale, I believe that many of the king's men are already here and have usurped the city's hierarchy."

"Aye, of course," Sarah said. "Many freely admit to have served the king."

Troll replied, "Aye, but I am talking about those still faithful."

"Mayhap, they're one and the same," Star replied. "Mayhap, them saying they're deserters is like a...what' cha call it?"

Troll proffered, "A rouse?"

"Yeah, right," Star said, "a rouse."

Sarah asked, "So, where does that leave us?"

Troll continued, "Well, if we assume that the same thing that was happening in Silverdale is happening here, then we can presume that what happened in Silverdale will happen here."

Sarah gulped, "Ye don't mean...invasion, do ye?"

Troll said, "I'm afraid so, and probably sooner than we expect. I suggest, since this time, we already know the outcome, that we take the offensive action. This place is perfect; easily hidden and easily defensible. I suggest we continue with our first plan and build an army. With enough able-bodied souls we can make Al'ber Que a turning point in the war."

Star slithered a hand under her hat, and through her hair. She asked, "Okay, how do we do that?"

Troll sighed, and said, "I have mulled over this in detail, and in order to acquire an army nearly the size to rival that of the king's, it unfortunately requires that we split up."

Sarah's mouth hung agape, vocal chords a-twitter.

Face unreadable, the Dog sat motionless.

Sarah quavered, "But we only just got back together! How can ye possibly suggest such a thing?"

Troll replied, "With heavy a heart, I assure thee."

Silence.

Star asked, "Okay, what's your plan?"

Troll talked long into the night, relaying his battle plans. Later still when all questions (mostly from Sarah), sated and each member understood the part they would play. Each individually, alone and broken from the others, except for Sarah, who would stay close to Troll.

Star asked, "And what about Sirii?"

Troll replied, "I shall watch her closely. If everything goes according to plan, then when ye return, she will already have full disclosure of everything we're doing."

Star asked, "And if not?" She took his hand, and asked, "What if everything doesn't go as planned, if one of us doesn't return?"

"Ye shall," Troll replied. "Ye shall all be just fine." He turned to the Dog and asked, "Right?"

The Dog tipped his hat.

Star said, "Then, it's settled."

"Aye, I suppose so," Sarah added. "When do we start?"

Star replied, "Well, now, of course."

Sarah's face paled, she asked, " _Now_?"

"Yes, right now," Star iterated.

"Aye," Troll added.

The others glanced at each other, and then arose.

Palm outstretched, Troll said, "Wait, There is one more thing."

"What?" Star asked as they all settled back to the ground.

Troll sighed, ran a hand down his scar, and said, "If everything here is happening just as it did in Silverdale then that means there might be something else here, too."

Brow furrowed, Sarah asked, "What?"

But a twinklin' told Troll that Star and the Dog already knew what he was about to say.

****

"Disturbing you, am I?" asked a pleasantly hollow voice.

The sultan lounged on the finest of pillows, smoking the finest tobacco out of his _hookah_ ; within the sanctity of his _pulprit_ (a small, personalized room used for meditation and prayer), when the Wraith materialized out of the shadows.

The sultan startled, cleared his throat, and said, "No, my lord. Never."

The Wraith chuckled, "But my dear, sultan, I think you lie. I think I disturb you greatly."

The sultan stammered, " _Si_ , Of course, my lord." He shrunk back from the eidolon figure looming over him, and said, "Whatever thy command." The Wraith eased back and the sultan sighed, wiped the sweat beaded upon his brow, and asked, "To what do I owe this auspicious visit?"

As a cloud, the Wraith drifted toward the sultan, and said, "They're here, Romey. The ones I warned you about."

"They're here, now, in Al'ber Que?"

"Yes, even at this very moment, they are together; conspiring against you."

Pillowy brows arched, bottom lip protruded, the sultan, asked, "Are you certain?"

The Wraith snarled, "Are you daft or merely insolent?"

Quivering, the sultan reared back, arm out in defense. He gulped, and said, "Neither, my lord, neither."

The Wraith cooed, "Good." Once again utilizing his pleasant voice, it said, "I have a job for your barbarian, Shadeem. It is a task that requires a warrior's skill."

"To what would you have me charge him with?"

"Kill that mutt of theirs."

"Mutt?" the sultan asked, bushy brows furrowed, mouth drawn tight.

"Shadeem will know who, just give him my orders."

Gulping, the sultan bowed, and said, "Consider it done, my lord."

The Wraith replied, "Don't be so cocky, it will be much more difficult than you think. For, more than you can imagine have tried, and all have failed."

The sultan's brows arched quizzically, mouth in an o-shape.

"Don't fret my dear, boy; I come bearing gifts of unimaginable power." The Wraith reached into its self. Taloned claws sank into its shadowy innards. The Wraith produced a large cutlass, and held it before the sultan.

Ensnared, the weapons' reflective sheen danced devilishly within the sultan's spangled gaped. Mouth ajar, he droned, "It's simply stunning."

The Wraith giggled, and said, "Go ahead, take it."

Kneeling, the sultan reached up and grasped hold of the blade. He nearly dropped it.

The Wraith steadied the sword, and said, "Careful, it's heavier than it looks."

Drooling, the sultan hefted the weapon, and asked, "Is this silver?"

Taloned-finger extended, the Wraith said, "Eureka!"

The sultan gazed up, and said, "I don't understand."

"Never mind. And these are for you." The Wraith once again reached into itself and produced a small, wooden chest made from the blackest oak. The box appeared ordinary, not marked in any distinguishable way.

The sultan asked, "What is it?"

"Open it."

Oh, so precariously, the sultan complied.

Black velvet lined the inside of the tiny receptacle. Six shiny objects protruded. The sultan picked one up. Brow furrowed, he said, "A bullet?"

"Yes, also silver."

"I don't understand."

"What's to understand?" asked the Wraith. "The blade is for the barbarian. The bullets are for you. They're to be used on the Dog, it's his Achilles' heel, as it were."

The sultan's bushy white-eyebrows arched into pillowy half-moons. He said, "I'm sorry my lord, such things you say. I have trouble understanding you."

The Wraith sighed, and said, "I know."

The sultan wafted his hand, and said, "In any case, I don't believe Shadeem will use this sword, no matter how beautiful..." he trailed off; his gaze glued to the glinting blade. As if never skipping a beat, the sultan continued, "For, he is a comchee warrior of Prusseria and will use no blade other than the sword handed down to him by his forefathers."

The Wraith drifted toward the sultan and loomed over him like a heavy, storm cloud. Glowing red-eyes and long, mangled fangs materialized under the Wraith's shadowy hood.

The sultan recoiled once more.

The Wraith said, "All the same, a gift from his master is not a thing to easily dismiss of. And besides, when the time comes, I believe he'll turn to my blade over his fathers." The Wraith railed his long, taloned fingers along the cutlass blade and chuckled.

The sultan said, "As you wish, my lord. But what shall I do?"

"Nothing," the Wraith replied. "Soon one of them will come to you."

The sultan arched back. Muscles tensed. Face flushed red. He asked, "How soon, my lord?"

The Wraith giggled, "Oh, that would spoil the fun now, wouldn't it?"

"And what shall I do when they come?"

The Wraith's glowing red-eyes narrowed, mangled teeth curled in a sinister smile. The Wraith rubbed his taloned-hands together, and said, "Indulge them."

****

Troll asked, "Are ye certain ye know what to do?"

Gaze averted, Sarah replied, "Aye." She kneaded slender hands so tightly into the hem of her dress, her fingers turned red.

"Then say it, recite that it is which I want ye to do."

"Please, sai," she pleaded, "I know what ye want me to do," she glared at him, "please don't make me say it."

Troll conceded, "Very well."

They stood alone in the _almost_ barren streets, but in a place like Al'ber Que, the streets were never completely deserted. Their Group now split. Fractured. Already Troll missed his love. Already he doubted himself.

They had all walked through town together toward the wall that protected Al'ber Que from the outside world. The interior gate was left open at night, but the exterior portcullis was pulled down and locked. They crept past the small, abandoned processing buildings and found a smaller door along the exterior wall. There, packed with extra clothing and rations, a hooded Star left the gates of Al'ber Que and trudged off into the desert on foot. No-doubt, the guards atop the wall saw her leaving the city (or rather, saw a cloaked figure), but as they were all "free", did not try to stop her.

Troll said, "I love ye, Myriam." The dance they shared earlier that very evening, the love they made, it all seemed so far away now, like a distant and faded memory.

"Aye," Star replied. She drew closer, and said, "I just wanted you to know that tonight was the best night of my entire life. Thank you."

"No, thank thee," he replied, "for allowing me into ye'r heart. I love thee so much, ye could never know."

"I love you to," she whispered back.

And then they kissed their last kiss.

Troll embraced her, and said, "Come back to me, my dove."

And then she was off.

The others headed southwest behind the slumbering (though still noisy), boroughs and through the hidden interstice in the wall, where pillars of steam spouted from giant, rock ant-hills, and rose high into the night's star-less sky. There, Troll and Sarah said goodbye to the Dog. From there, the Dog would work his way down one of those rock-tubes to whatever waited below.

Sarah rushed into the Dog's arms and tried to kiss him.

Perhaps, Sarah felt she deserved a romantic parting, as well.

The Dog drew back.

Sarah halted. She wrapped her arms around herself, face flushed red, and gaze diverted.

The Dog hugged her and she hugged back.

Sarah said, "Stay safe."

The Dog replied with a short ruff.

Troll took the Dog aside, and said, "Ye must go now, my friend. In our time together, I've tried to teach ye to be a man. But now, I call upon the beast once more. There is dark and bloody work for ye down there, one that requires not the skill of a man, but the ruthless cunning and instinct of an animal. But this is not to last. One day, very soon, I shall come to ye, and when I do, it shall be to tell ye that the time of the beast is over, and ye must resume being a man. Do ye understand?"

The Dog smiled, nodded, and shook Troll's hand. Then the Dog clambered up a large rock-tube and disappeared amidst the billowing steam.

Now, it was time for Troll and Sarah to also part ways.

"And ye are sure that ye can do this?" Troll asked again.

"Aye," Sarah replied, face drained of color, "If I must."

"Do it for Anne."

"Aye, I will," she said more assertively. "I would do anything for Anne."

Troll grasped her shoulders, and said, "Then ye must do this. Not just for Anne, but for all of us."

Sarah started to cry again and Troll dried the tears from her cheeks with his large, stubby fingers.

Troll wrapped his arms around her, and said, "Shh, be strong child, and take heart."

Forcing a smile, she sniffled, and said, "Aye, I will."

Her hugged her tighter, and whispered, "Good, then go child, and don't look back."

Head down, Sarah plodded toward the center of the empire.

Troll watched until her form receded into the night's shadows. He stood there for some time; praying for his friends and their individual quests.

He prayed that they'd all come back to him safely -- even Anne. But mostly -- he prayed for Star.

****

Byron's new "team" was soundly asleep. Down here, one had to learn to slumber without moving or making the tiniest of noises. Unless of course, you wanted _him_ to get you.

Did he want that _thing_ to get him? Byron didn't know. And the real hell of it was, his indifference seemed humorous, almost hilarious.

Byron chuckled in a hoarse and whispery voice as he dug clawed hands into the dirt. He pried a rock from the earth. A cache of beetles scurried about. Byron wheezed in laughter; ravenously nabbing the insects and shoveling them into his mouth. He chewed audibly; mouth open. He crunched down on their shells. His mouth exploded with an earthen flavor that wriggled with life.

No singing tonight. No screaming. Not yet. And the anticipation and deafening silence had Byron sitting on metaphorical pins and needles. He squatted on his aching haunches, cramming as much protein into his mouth as he could. Frantically whipping his head about as he peered around in the darkness.

"Tastes nice?" a gurgled voice asked. Unlike Byron's, the voice created no echo. Coming from right behind him, it asked, "Tastes sweet?"

Blood running cold, Byron trembled. Half-eaten beetles crawled out of his slack and open mouth.

"Wants to share sweeties?" the voice croaked. A shadow deeper than the darkness shuffled around to face Byron. It drew closer. The thing's hot, rancid breath moisturized Byron's skin. The creature opened its mammoth mouth impossibly wide. Rows of brilliant-white, razor-sharp teeth glittered in the darkness. A long, fat, prehensile tongue worked across Byron's face and beard as it lapped up the escaping insects.

" _Mmm_. Tastes nice. Tastes _sweet_."

Byron quavered, "Wh...what do ye want?"

"It needs to feed," the creature replied.

"Who...who are ye?"

"It knows a name, Brother Byron?"

A chill coursed its way down Byron's spine. The first sensation he felt in his back in what seemed like forever. How did it know his name?

The creature burped. A sultry, putrid wave hit Byron, splattering spittle and half-eaten regurgitated bugs all over his face and beard.

Byron wiped the slimy mess from his face. He peered around. Nothing. The shadow was gone. Byron glanced down at his hands. They weren't smeared in regurgitated bile, but blood and gore. He glanced around. Out of the darkness, blotchy shadows materialized -- his "teammates". Their forms twisted. Mutilated. Had he done that? Was this real? Byron didn't know anymore.

From within the darkness, a soft voice whispered, "Brother Byron."

Byron slowly turned toward the origin of the sound, and trained his vision upon a tunnel that led deep into blackness. Nothing more. Trembling, Byron backed into the wall, and asked, "Who's there?" How do ye know my name?"

From out of the darkness, a tumble weed rolled right into Byron's ankle. He picked it up. The thorns dug deep into his skin. For some reason, Byron felt the compulsion to rub the prickly shrub upon his face like a beloved pet. But when he brought the object up to eye level, he noticed it not a tumble weed, but his own head.

Byron screamed.

Emanating from somewhere deep in the darkness, a cackling voice filled the mine, but did not echo.

****

4

Oh _, despair, dear journal,_

For departure has befallen our five-some. Anne has been snatched away by some dark force; along with many others who came to Al'ber Que in seek of refuge. And I have set the Dog after her, and to solve these mysterious disappearances, as well as to save any others stricken by such a fate.

Similarly, I sent Sarah, a girl, into the arms of the sultan in order to get closer to him than she is comfortable with. I have also sent my one and only beloved into the wild on a fool's errand of her own.

What a great, little general I am, ordering my troops off to battle while I tend to things here.

Still God has yet to respond to my pleas for guidance and I'm left wondering if I've made the right decisions.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Star parading through the desert. And even now as I see her, I still wonder if I am doing the right thing. I am plagued with doubt and the more I pray for wisdom and guidance, the more I am left to stew in the solitude of my own self-doubts. I suddenly feel I will never see Star's face again, save for in memory.

Oh, God, please allow my love to return to me. I am so lonely without her.

Myriam, Sarah, Dog, Anne, where have ye gone? I know I sent ye out into the world, but alas, why did ye go? Why did ye take the word of such a blow-hard as myself? Alas, I may never know. And poor Sarah, the vile things I have sent her out to do. Things she is reluctant but still willing to do. She'll do them for Anne. She'd do anything for Anne and yet still, we have no assurance that she's even alive, or if the Dog will be successful at finding her if she is. Perchance, she just up and vanished like grains of sand in the desert wind. Oh Anne, what has happened to thee?

****

Sarah awoke to the chortling of phlegmy lungs. Unfortunately, she knew exactly where she was.

Late when Sarah arrived at the citadel, yet oddly enough, she had been expected. She asked to speak to the sultan, and before she knew it, was escorted to his personal chambers at the top of a tall spiral-staircase.

The sultan seemed wide awake and not at all confused by her sudden appearance at his chamber door.

Just as instructed, Sarah collapsed in tears. It wasn't hard. She bawled, "Oh, it's Anne. It's Anne. I can't find her anywhere!"

The sultan wrapped his burly arms around her, stroked her hair, and said, "There, there, _Madirii_ , don't weep."

Through sniffles and sobs, Sarah explained that her niece went missing from her bed that morning. Foolishly, without telling anyone what happened or where she was going, Sarah scoured the empire's streets alone, and thusly, had completely forgotten about the dinner. When Sarah returned utterly distraught, Troll and Star were already back, but still no sign of Anne.

Sarah told the sultan that she and her friends went out in search of the girl. Hours had passed since they were supposed to meet, but Troll and Star were now also missing (Sarah made no mention of the Dog).

"Shh, don't fret _Madirii_ ," the sultan said. His bearded cheeks puffed out in a frown. He continued, "We shall find your little Anne and all your friends first thing in the morning, I'll see to it personally."

Rheumy eyed, Sarah asked, "Really?"

"I guarantee it."

Sarah asked, "But what shall I do tonight?" Gaze averted, hands kneading the hem of her dress, she said, "I could not bear to stay in that apartment all alone."

The sultan scoffed, "I wouldn't hear of it, _por favorii_ , stay with me this night. Make my home, yours."

Sarah bit her bottom lip, and said, "I don't know."

"I insist."

Sarah bowed, and said, "That is most kind of ye, m'lord."

The sultan's cloud-like brows bobbed as he laughed. Burly palms out, he said, " _Madirii_ , _por favorii_ , please, don't call me that."

Sarah curtseyed, and said, "Aye, of course. Please, forgive my ignorance. What is the title here? Ye'r grace? Ye'r Highness?"

The sultan chuckled, and said, "Rome." He made a sweeping gesture, and said, "Make yourself comfortable, _por favorii_. I trust you are quite tired after your search."

Sarah batted her lashes, and said, "Aye."

Rome said, "You may rest a bit, if you like." He led her toward the large curtained-bed littered with the finest silk sheets and plushest of pillows. Floral decorations were carved into the oaken posts and headboard.

Sarah restrained a shudder, and said, "Do ye...do ye think ye could hold me a while? At least until I fall asleep?"

Leering at her, Rome smiled, and said, "It would be my honor, _Madirii_."

Rome's snoring returned her to the here-and-now. She shivered, utterly disgusted with herself. She hadn't done anything to warrant such a feeling. Not yet. But she felt dirty all the same.

Rome stirred, and cleared his aging, phlegmy lungs.

A sleepy half-smile plastered his hairy face, he said, "Good morning, _Madirii_."

Rome's rank breath nauseated her.

Perched at the edge of the bed, Sarah replied, "Morning."

"Sleep well?"

Sarah replied, "Mhmm." She nodded and brushed away red, wavy gnarls from her face.

The empire's bells rang, signaling morning prayer.

Rome excused himself to his _pulprit_.

Sarah sat there, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress, and wishing for another pair of clothes. Sarah perused the sultan's private chambers. Ashlar bricks of rich sanguine hues. Pilasters, floral cornices, and large extravagant tapestries decorated the vast room. Fine, thick rugs lay upon the stone flooring, allowing one to comfortably stroll about bare-foot, if one were so inclined.

The closest furnishing to the chamber door was an oaken table with a few chairs. Beneath the table, a brown frayed and faded rug. To the left, stood a large bureau and mirror. Further along the left-hand side, a beaded curtain hung from a stone archway that led into the sultan's _pulprit_. Across from that and at the opposite end of the room sat a simple writing desk and chair. Next to the desk, a wooden pantry jut out from the wall. No need for windows. At the far end (directly across from the chamber door), stood a stone archway from which fine, maroon draperies blew in the early morning breeze. Beyond the curtains lay a wide, ashlar balcony. The stone balusters and railing stood waist-high. The closest thing to the open archway was a small enclosure blocked by lattice-work where the sultan had his own private indoor-out-house.

When done with his morning prayers, Rome returned, clapped, and said, "Well then, shall we have breakfast?"

"I'd rather we start searching for Anne," Sarah replied.

"Understandable, _Madirii_ , but even you must agree that very little is accomplished upon a rumbling belly."

"Aye, I suppose."

"It's settled then, we shall have the finest breakfast in the land, you and I."

"I don't know," she said, inspecting herself, "I'm not really prepared to go out."

"Go out?" Rome's cloudy brow furrowed. His bearded face puffed out, matching his round nose. "Why, _Madirii_ , we are in the citadel and I am the sultan, there's no need to go out. Why, I shall summon whatever your heart desires."

"Can ye summon Anne?"

Sighing, Rome stroked his white beard, and said, "All in good time, _Madirii_."

Sarah crossed her arms, defiantly turned her head, and said, "I'm afraid I shant want but a morsel until my niece found."

Rome pouted, " _Madirii_ , _por favorii_ , allow me to indulge your appetite, however thin it may be."

"Very well." Sarah conceded a wan smile.

Rome clapped, and said, " _Excellente_! First, we feast, then _Madirii_ , our search shall commence."

Sarah curtseyed, and said, "As ye wish, m'lord."

Rome rubbed his bulbous stomach, licked his fat lips, and said, "It's settled then. Tell me, _Madirii_ , do you like eggs?"

At the very mention of eggs, Sarah's thoughts turned toward Anne and her stomach churned. Once again, disgust seeped into her heart.

Rome scrawled something on a piece of paper, and waddled toward the pantry next to his desk. He opened it. Inside was a small wooden crate supported by rope and pulley. He placed the paper in the crate and moved the pulley downward. Catching her glance, Rome said, "It's called a _sirvientii-mudo_ , or, dumb-waiter. I send my order down this little chute and within minutes our _fiesa_ shall be delivered to my chamber door."

Rome fetched some clothes out of the bureau and retreated to his _pulprit_ to change from silken pajamas into his usual dress garb.

Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, and continued scanning the surroundings she would call her home for the time being.

Room-service had arrived and placed upon the table well before Rome emerged from his _pulprit_.

Sarah sat at the table.

Should she wait, or just dig in? Rome did tell her to make herself comfortable.

Beads rattled as Rome exited the _pulprit_ and waddled toward the mirror. Flushed and sweaty, he examined himself, and said, "Have yourself a hearty _fiesa_ , and I shall have Shadeem aid in your search when you've readied."

Sarah asked, "Will ye not be joining us, m'lord?"

Fidgeting at his clothes, he replied, "Regrettably, I am still the sultan and as such, there are still many a thing that require my attention. In fact, I'll be too busy this day to even join you for _fiesa merendarii_." He turned toward her, and in a softer tone, amended, "Perhaps, we could meet back here for _fiesa noche_. Does that sound agreeable?"

Sarah replied, "Aye. Whatever pleases ye, m'lord."

Rome glared at her via the mirror's reflective surface as he finished buttoning his collar. He snorted and then scurried out in a hurry; slamming the door behind him.

What happened? What did she do? What didn't she do? She cried bitterly. Hating herself and Troll for asking her to do such a vile thing. She sat there a long time, staring at the platter of eggs, salted pork, toast, sausage, and grapes. She couldn't eat the sultan's food. She wouldn't. It repulsed her.

Sarah sauntered down the spiral-staircase toward the ground level of the citadel where Shadeem patiently waited in the foray.

Standing tall and statuesque, he asked, "Ready, _Madirii_?"

Gaze averted, she replied, "Aye."

The two walked in silence as they searched the streets, as (Sarah had been assured), the _d'el guardii_ probed every nook and cranny of the empire in search of Anne. After almost two hours of fruitless investigation, Sarah finally spoke.

She said, "Thank ye so much for doing this."

Shadeem replied, "Not at all, kind wench."

It reminded her of how Troll talked.

The barbarian known as Shadeem strode with a similar gait as the gentle giant. Barrel-like chest puffed out in pride, he proclaimed, "For, a possible abduction is not a thing to be taken lightly."

Sarah did her part to act worried and anxious. She didn't have to try too hard.

Shadeem reassured her that she could go about her business and he would inform her just as soon as Anne found. As, he promised it wouldn't take long for his men to find the child.

"Others have gone missing as well," Sarah blurted. "My friends. Two of them, and probably others, as well."

Shadeem opened his mouth to say something.

The empire's bells chimed, signaling yet another call for prayer.

Shadeem said, "Would you please excuse me. I fear I have another appointment I have almost forgotten about, and must be on my way."

Sarah brushed back her hair, and said, "It was my understanding that I would have ye'r services for the entire day."

Shadeem folded his arms behind him, smiled, and said, "Perhaps, but as cold-hearted as it may seem, we have a city to run and can't cease everything to search for one lost, little girl."

"Aye, of course, please forgive me."

Shadeem replied, "Nothing to forgive, I assure you."

Sarah curtseyed, and said, "But still, I appreciate ye'r time and services."

"Do not worry, we shall find the child. It shall not be long now. Now if you'll excuse me."

"Certainly," Sarah said, curtsying again.

Shadeem offered a neat, little bow, and took his leave. "A-Hoa!" he cried, thrusting his fist in the air.

Startled, Sarah flinched.

Shadeem strut through the crowded streets and down an alley.

Sarah waited until Shadeem had gone and then darted swiftly after.

She pushed around the corner and saw him ambling down the alleyway; moving away from her.

Shadeem stopped and whirled his head around.

Sarah (sensing he had sensed her), quickly dove back into the crowded street.

Heart beating wildly in her chest, she waited a moment. Did he see her? If so, what then? Troll never said anything about what she should do if captured. No, she was not cut out for this sort of thing at all.

When she peered back down the alley, Shadeem had already progressed to the other end.

She followed Shadeem through the back streets and narrows. Every once in a while he glanced back. And every time, Sarah managed to dart into the shadows just before being spotted.

She hoped.

Shadeem marched toward the southeastern wall, where a tall cylindrical tower stood. A watchtower. Shadeem approached and rapped his knuckles loudly upon a wooden door.

Sarah crouched behind a couple of large, wooden barrels and watched as a _d'el guardii_ opened the portal.

Shadeem scanned the perimeter and then stepped inside.

After a few moments, Sarah slipped out of the shadows. She crept toward the door and pressed her ear against the finished wood. Her heart galloped so fast she thought it would burst in her chest.

Rome, the sultan, said, "Your late."

"Yes, well I was dealing with your whelp," Shadeem replied. "Or had you forgotten?"

That remark stung Sarah far worse than she thought it would.

Feet shuffled. Nervous voices groaned in agitation. What was going on in there?

"These are the two men on main sentry?" asked the sultan. No response. "No need to feel nervous, _dans_. Just tell us what you saw, _por favorii_."

Silence.

Sarah doubted if she'd heard anything at all.

"We were on duty last night, o-dark till dawn on tower five," croaked a husky and aged voice.

Probably a smoker. Sarah didn't recognize the voice. But she knew by the lack of accent that the man speaking was teran-oht.

"That's right," another said. His voice broke slightly, like a teenager turning into a man that has not yet found his voice.

The sultan asked, "And?"

The old smoker coughed, and said, "And we saw someone leave the city walls."

Oh, no. Star. They saw her leave.

Shadeem asked, "Where did they go?"

The adolescent squeaked, "Into the desert."

Shadeem yelled, "Of course into the desert you dolt! Which direction did they go?"

Muffled grumbles and low chattering.

"Forget that for now," the sultan said. "How many were there?"

"We only saw one," the adolescent replied.

Calmly, the sultan asked, "Did you get a good look at them?"

The adolescent said, "No, we..."

Shadeem thundered, "You used the monocles, did you not?"

"Yes, but--"

Shadeem said, "Then you must have got a clear look at them."

"It was dark, I'm sorry."

"And they was walking away from us," the smoker added.

Shadeem asked, "What do you think?"

The sultan sighed, and replied, "I think we're done here."

Shadeem said, "Commander."

Who else was in there?

"No wait!" the adolescent squealed.

"Please don't!" the smoker cried.

The sounds of struggling. Heated voices. _Twang-twang_. And then nothing.

****

Star had been walking ever since she left Al'ber Que. Too wired to stop, and she wanted to have a sizeable distance between herself and the empire before dawn. She thought a lot during her trek, what else to do? Mostly, she ruminated about her last night in Al'ber Que. She considered their council on the roof and their departure from each other shortly there-after. She ran Troll's plan over and over in her mind. Would it work? Could it work? She hoped. Star had no doubt about Troll and the Dog completing their respective tasks. That only left Sarah, the weak link. Not that Sarah was feeble, but she had yet been untested.

And what about Star? Could she accomplish the mission assigned to her? Would it even be possible? What if she were simply unable to do it, try as she might. Would Troll manage to amass an army large enough to rally Furion's on his own? What if none of them could? She ran the plan over in her mind yet again, not just her role, but the others' as well. And just as the countless times before, she felt doubt settling over her like heavy, storm clouds. And that lingering uncertainty only continued to fuel her marching.

Often, Star's thoughts turned to Troll. The dance they shared. Their last night together. But then of course, she'd also shared a night with her love in the desert, as well. How could she forget when the encompassing sand only served to remind her over and over again every time her thoughts shifted to Troll? And that was quite often.

Around dawn, Star stopped upon the crest of a dune to look back in the direction she'd come. She couldn't see the empire of course; the city was hidden by the mountains that cradled it. Star wondered if any scout who happened to look in her direction could see her. She didn't know. She gazed out into the desert. Off in the distance, small, black dots inched toward Al'ber Que like ants. Refugees.

Odd that Star never heard of Al'ber Que before. After her country invaded, the slaves marched over the mountains and into the Mo'tave desert, yet in all that time (both as a child and as a slave), she never heard anyone speak of the empire. Maybe the other slaves didn't talk about it. And if the king's men couldn't actually see the city, they couldn't invade it. Possible. But still, the people of Krin were well aware of the surrounding baronies. And even though Troll told her that Al'ber Que had a recorded history dating back a century and a half, it seemed like the empire simply sprang out of the mountains overnight.

Standing there, she wondered if she should rest. After all, Troll advised her to only travel under the shroud of night. She didn't like that word. It reminded her too much of Commander Shroud. Suddenly, she was whisked back to another, darker time in the desert. The bloody image of her brother's smashed-in face. She revolted against the thought. Literally shook herself free from the disturbing reverie -- and plodded on.

Once again, she went over the plan, not just her role but the others' as well. Once again her doubts settled upon Sarah before spreading to the others; unraveling any and all hope of success before they'd ever really begun.

Once again her thoughts drifted to Troll and the time they shared, both in Al'ber Que and the desert. Over and over she did this dance in her head as she marched forever onward 1 – 2 & 3 and 1 – 2 & 3 and 1 -- 2 & 3 and...

The sun rose higher in the sky.

On she perambulated over all that had to be done. She cerebrated (inexplicably for the first time), of her childhood. She cogitated on those days before the invasion. She contemplated those years wandering alone in darkness. She thought about Troll and the Dog, about how she first met them and all they meant to her. Were they her heralds? She no longer knew. But none of that mattered now. She loved Troll and Troll loved her. She ruminated on Krin. It might be long gone now, yet still her love (Troll), would follow her home; till the ends of the earth if that's what it took -- just to protect her -- keep her safe.

She considered the Dog, and how, even though they'd scarcely shared but a word, he had become her most trusted ally (other than Troll, that is).

She thought of Sarah and Anne, and her heart went out to them. By George, (for no reason at all), she even thought of Byron. Up until now she'd written him off as dead or worse. But lately (since her departure), she leaned more toward worse.

Star pondered all these things seemingly at once. But she didn't want to. She couldn't help it. The beat of her ever-plodding feet only served to allow those caustic memories to drift subconsciously ever closer to the surface. Things were becoming clearer now, and all at once. As if a culmination was fast at hand.

So much to think of, so much to do, so little time.

After a while, Star came to a point in the desert where large, orange rocks protruded from the sand in unusual structures. Shade. She took off her pack and set it next to her as she rested her fanny in the sand. She propped her back against one of the porous formations. Surprised how comfortable it felt for a rock.

Sweat and dirt plastered her skin like church mortar. Her throat felt like a dry and rocky well. She tippled from her canteen. The cool water cut canyons into the desert of her esophagus. Her stomach churned ravenously, yet she ate sparingly from her rations.

She meditated a while; completely clearing her mind of everything.

And before she even knew it, fell right to sleep.

For the first hour or so, her slumber was dreamless. Peaceful. But as the sun raised high in the sky and the sands around her incipiently boiled, she dreamt of the desert.

****

Though Troll visited Sirii's shop before, he'd never seen it this busy. Like most _tiendiis_ in the _bazaar_ , Sirii's establishment appeared small, cramped; constructed from wooden beams and canvas. Shoppers filled the narrow aisles between racks of fabric samples. A flap hung from the ceiling, dividing Sirii's _tiendii_ in two: the shop, and the workroom, where Sirii made her glamorous garbs. No door at the front of the shop, only another flap (currently rolled up). Leathery mannequins displayed some of Sirii's finer designs; drawing customers in.

Where did all the linens come from? Troll would ask Sirii just as soon as she had a free moment.

Without the aid of Sarah or Anne, Sirii was swamped. People constantly badgered her.

An ornery, obese woman impatiently asked, "Ms., can you take my measurements?"

"How much is this dress, _Madirii_?" asked a young native.

"Can ya stitch my pants back together?" drawled a southerner with straw-like hair.

"Ms., I would really like you to take my measurements."

Sirii appeared exasperated. Dark rings hung under her almond-shaped eyes. Frizzy hair dangled from 'neath her rose-colored shawl. But as soon as she saw Troll, she smiled and sighed in relief.

" _Pardonii_ ," Sirii said, excusing herself and pushing through the crowd toward Troll.

The fat woman snorted, "Well I never!"

Troll didn't expect Sirii to hug him, but she did. Instantly he thought of Star.

Sirii asked, "Where is _Madirii_ Sarah?"

"So, ye haven't seen her either?"

She asked, "What do you mean...?" Sirii's almond eyes and thin brows grew wide. Slender jaw open and slack, she said, "Wait...she hasn't gone missing, too?"

Troll replied, "I wish I could say." And alas, he really did.

Sirii scanned Troll's face. "What is it?" she asked. "What is wrong?"

"Is it really that plain?"

" _Easta_ Troll, tell me what is troubling you, _por favorii_."

Troll inched closer, stooped down to Sirii's ear-level, and whispered, "Well, Sarah and Anne aren't the only ones missing."

Gape bulging, Sirii drew back in a gasp. Her bottom lip trembled slightly.

Troll continued, "I haven't seen Star or the Dog since earlier last evening. As ye know, we were invited to the citadel. Yet, only Star and I attended. The others were nowhere to be found. Now, Star is missing, as well."

Sirii covered her mouth, and said, "My Goddess!"

The old, portly woman waddled up, grabbed Sirii's sleeve, and said, "Ms., I really need you to take my measurements now. I'm in quite a hurry--"

"Not now!" Sirii snarled.

The old woman's gaze ballooned in a start. She shuffled away and out of the shop.

Sirii turned back to Troll, and in a rushed whisper, said, "I told you to be careful around here! I warned you!"

"Indeed ye did," Troll replied.

"I don't think I have to tell you--" Sirii focused her attention on a young, blond _teran-oht_ pawing at a billowy, pink gown. " _Mozarii_! _Mozarii_! You there, boy! Don't touch unless you have _dinerii_!"

Troll said, "Listen, I can see thee quite busy, I was wondering, perhaps we could meet up for dinner and discuss things."

Sirii replied, " _Si_ , of course. Meet me tonight after evening prayer at the place I took you and your friends yesterday morning. You remember where, _si_?"

"Aye," Troll bowed, and said, "Until tonight."

Hands folded as if in prayer, Sirii returned his bow.

Troll turned to leave and Sirii called after him.

" _Easta_ , try not to disappear yourself."

"And ye, as well." As soon as Troll hobbled away, the shoppers descended upon Sirii; demanding her undivided attention. Troll wished he could help the poor lass. After all, Troll could seam and stitch. Aye, so he could. Yet something told him he shouldn't bother himself with the _bazaar_ right now. Not God. God hadn't spoken to him since Silverdale. But why? Was it something he did? Something he didn't do? In such troublesome times, who could say for certain?

Totally absorbed in his own thoughts, Troll ambled out onto the crowded, sandstone streets of the _bazaar_.

A young, chubby, native girl in a yellow dress and shawl tugged at Troll's cloak.

His thoughts turned to the boy who had stabbed him. What was his name? God, that felt like so long ago, another life, even.

Via the aid of his staff, Troll bent as low to the girl as possible, and asked, "How may I be of assistance?"

"You are _Madiriiette_ Anne's, giant friend. Troll. _Si_?"

Troll replied, "Aye."

"Is it true? Has she been...taken?"

"I can honestly say nothing more than I know she is missing."

The girl sighed, nodded, and said, "Then it has begun."

The child scampered off before Troll could say or ask anything more.

"Aye," Troll muttered, "it certainly has."

****

The Dog clung to the stalactites hanging from the roof of a large cavern; watching the soldiers below. Many chambers labyrinthed the seemingly infinite mines. Some tunnels led so deep into the abyss, the Dog was afraid to search them.

This particular chamber seemed roughly a hundred meters by one-hundred meters wide, and fifty meters high. Several tunnel entrances lined the interior of the chamber, leading deeper underground. Small buildings had been constructed from where soldiers marched in and out of like ants. Their base of operations.

A massive iron door fashioned into the face of the southern rock-wall. Sunlight seeped through the cracks in the metallic obstruction. Below, work lights ran on generators (something the Dog hadn't seen in a long time), illuminating a few black train-cars. Rails led from the giant iron door, and broke down into smaller cart-tracks that ran throughout the mines.

Soldiers in heavy, black armor unloaded bushels of potatoes, rice, and flour from a box-car, and put the parcels into carts. This was where Al'ber Que's food supply came from -- Underneath the empire.

Well, that's one mystery solved.

From outside, the rock-tubes stood only about ten or twelve-feet off the ground. But the Dog crawled nearly a hundred-feet through the narrow channel until entering the mines below. Of course, the Dog first came down here during the pitch-black of night. The air sticky, hot, and stank of dirt, sweat, blood, and decay. Although the Dog possessed impeccable night-vision, he was blind during the bleakness of night. He sat there, waiting, attempting to zero in on Anne's location. Nothing. Not even her scent could rise above the putrid smell of suffering and death. He sensed slaves lingering all about, in all chambers and depths. He also sensed fear so palpable it made the Dog uneasy. The slaves down here were terrified. But not of their tormentors. Something else. Something the Dog couldn't sense.

When the sky far above the tube's opening turned from black to gray, soldiers incipiently strut through caverns and tunnels like prowling packs of wolves. Slaves were awoken to resume their toiling.

The Dog removed all his clothes save for his pants. He took off his belt of daggers, gauntlets, and anything else that might glitter or shine. The Dog rolled his hat, belt, gauntlets, shirt, and boots up in his jacket and left them where he entered the mines (marking his territory so that he could later find them). He rolled around in the rocky dirt, letting his sweat-soaked skin absorb the sooty earth and smells of the mines, rendering him virtually invisible. But even still, the Dog needed to be crafty down here.

The Dog picked a random soldier, locked on to his scent, and followed the unsuspecting guide around a tour of the mines (as far as the soldier's rounds led him, anyway).

That was how the Dog got here, clinging to the ceiling of the soldiers command-station, where the slaves' captors took quarters during night.

The Dog caught a familiar whiff and then sniffed at the air.

Byron? It couldn't be. The scent originated from a box-car. Was he inside? His senses said, no. But still, that was Byron's musky aroma.

Down below, the soldier he followed saluted another, and then trotted off down a random tunnel.

Hanging upside down, the Dog slowly climbed along the ceiling in pursuit. No hurry. He had his victim's scent locked. But still, what of Byron? Was he here? Was that even possible?

The Dog would have to come back later and investigate.

****

"Ye should stop talking," whispered Byron, "Mind ye'r work." Byron's gaze darted around.

Some sort of stringed-magic-lights hung from the tunnel walls.

Slaves slung mattocks into earth and rock; shoveling the debris into carts that ran along tracks.

Soldiers in heavy, black armor and helmets with snarling animals carved into their face-masks perused the aisles of slaves. They toted clubs, whips, swords, daggers, and pistols.

Leaning upon her mattock, the girl said, "Oh, okay." Bare-foot, wearing rags for clothing, the girl appeared around Anne's age.

For a moment, Byron thought it was Anne.

But this girl appeared older, taller, thinner, her eyes and voice different.

"I'm Quinn, by the way," she drawled.

Shoveling another load of rubble into the cart, Byron asked, "Just Quinn?"

"Far as I know," Quinn replied.

"Shh," one of their team mates (a tall, stringy, balding man), glowered. Beady, sunken gaze darting, he said, "Be quiet."

When Byron awoke that morning (just as he had the previous few days), he was already shackled to a new "team" and relocated to a different portion of the mines. He didn't recognize this part (nor had he the previous times), which caused him to despair at the realization of just how infinite the mines really were. But unlike any other day since Byron brought here, this day he found himself working alongside someone who was not only unafraid to be here, but also risked the attention of the guards by trying to talk to another slave.

And boy howdy, had she talked. She yammered on and on, and yet, seemed to say nothing at all.

The guards strolled on.

Odd. They usually noticed everything.

Batting her lashes, Quinn said, "You still haven't told me your name. I told you, mine, you're supposed to tell me yours, it's common courtesy."

Byron glanced cursorily around the crowded mine. All clear. He leaned against his shovel and exhaled a deep, reminiscent sigh. It had been a long time since Byron worried about such frivolities as common courtesies -- a whole 'nother life entirely.

Byron shoveled another pile into the cart, and muttered, "My name is Byron."

Quinn asked, "Just Byron?"

"Aye," he replied.

"Aye, I like that." She yelled, "Aye!"

Quinn's cry reverberated throughout the tunnel and Byron fell to the ground. Covering his ears with his hands, Byron glanced around.

Slaves toiled.

Slave-drivers punished them if they didn't.

No one other than Byron seemed to notice the girl.

Byron peered upward.

Quinn towered over him. Her face immersed in shadows thicker than pitch-black. She chuckled, "Oh, my, don't you look so sweet down there in the dirt."

A tremor of panicky fear rushed all throughout Byron's bones. He didn't remember anything that happened at night down in the mines. Once the soldiers left, his mind forcibly blocked it out. But something about Quinn looming over him, chuckling softly with those mad eyes reminded Byron of those forcibly-forgotten nights. He didn't remember. Not yet. Every time he tried, all he heard was the deafening crescendo of swarming flies and cracking whips. Eventually, he'd remember _everything_. It was inevitable. But that only terrified him all the more -- The waiting.

****

Troll spotted Sarah shuffling through the _bazaar_ from afar. Hobbling toward her, he called, "Hello there."

"Good day, Mr. Troll," Sarah greeted, gaze averted. "How fair thee on this oh, so, fine a day."

"Swell," Troll replied. "And ye?"

"Fine, as well."

But she didn't look fine. Her skin was a ghastly pallor. Dark rings blotted her sunken, red eyes. Sweat beaded her pale, freckly skin. Her long red-hair hung dull and lifeless.

Troll asked, "How goes the search for young Anne?"

"Still looking," She replied.

Troll shook his head, and said, "Alas, t'is a shame." He glanced around, and asked, "May I have a word with ye?"

"Certainly."

Troll and Sarah strolled down the bustling streets at a crawling pace. They had much to discuss but Troll felt prying and treacherous eyes upon him. In a place as crowded as Al'ber Que, one had to be careful about what one said. For, even in the brightness of day, lurked those waiting for the opportunity to pounce upon Troll and his friends. Troll knew this, but did Sarah?

Troll asked, "How goes it?"

Sarah walked on, head down.

"That bad?"

Voice hitching, she replied, "I'm not sure I can do this."

"Nonsense, my dear, you're doing splendidly."

Sarah grasped her belly, as if her stomachache ached, and said, "But it gives me a bad feeling inside."

"An unfortunate side-effect of treason, I'm afraid."

She peered up at him with sad-puppy-eyes, and asked, "Is that what we're doing?" Narrowed gaze darting among the ruck, she uttered, "Performing treason?"

Troll murmured, "I prefer to think of it as espionage, but let's not get side-tracked by semantics. What have ye learned of the sultan?"

Trembling, she glanced up at Troll. "I...no...nothing." Gaze averted, she kneaded the hem of her dress until her knuckles turned a ghastly white.

Troll ran a hand down his scar and beard, and said, "Well, keep at it. Ye'll have to get pretty close."

Sarah brushed back her hair, and said, "That's what's troubling me."

"Aye, t'is a troublesome business. Ye'd not be ye if'n ye felt otherwise."

Sarah snorted, "That's not very comforting."

Troll turned to her, and said, "Does the sultan believe me gone?"

"Aye," Sarah replied.

"Good. Keep it that way."

****

The desert. Heat. Blood. Brains. Bones. Panic. Shame. Shale. The duel.

" _One day you'll come back to me_ , _Myriam_ ," screamed a faceless stranger. " _They always come back to me_!"

The next thing Star knew, she was running and screaming. Back in the desert again, she collapsed to her knees and the blistering sand felt all too real. She hyperventilated. Face soaked in sweat, snot, and tears. She frantically felt her thighs, arms, breasts, face, hair, and hat. She _felt_ real. She glanced around in uncertainty. Where was she? How had she gotten there? This had to be a dream, it simply had to. Feverishly, she checked herself again; thighs, arms, breasts, face, hair, hat. Hat? That was the odd thing. She pawed at her back and found the reassurance of the knapsack and rolled-up poncho. The last thing she remembered was settling down to sleep. Now, she'd been screaming, running, and crying. And yet, somehow she spent the time to sling her pillow on her back and grab her hat before doing so. Was this a dream? She didn't know. She peered in the direction she _knew_ she came from and felt Troll's presence. She'd been running back there. That's what happened; terrified and still half-asleep she'd raced toward the direction of her love. This was no dream. Crazy -- granted, but real just the same.

"What the fuck," Star murmured. She looked toward the heavens, and screamed, "What the fuck is wrong with me?" But the heavens proffered no answers. Star erupted in chortling lacrimation as the desert's sun beat down upon her. She sobbed for a long time, until there no more tears within her to cry -- and then she cried some more.

No! Stop crying. She had to be strong, what would Troll think? She found this particularly peculiar: what would Troll think? Not what would Troll say or do, but what would he _think_? An image of Troll's worn, leather-bound journal popped in her mind. And that reminded Star of something she'd long forgotten out of spite. Wearily, she unslung the knapsack, placed it before her, and settled her fanny in the sand. Hands trembling, she dug to the bottom of the knapsack until she found it. The little book Troll gave her. She opened it. The bindings crinkled and creased.

She wanted to write something, anything, but knew not where to start. Perhaps, if she trapped the demons in her head upon yellowish-pages they would bedevil her no more. No matter. She had no pen. Yet still, Star sat there thinking about the way the words would be ordered, the way they would flow. But she couldn't contain her racing recollections into a linear story.

How did Troll write? Probably through practice.

Star closed her eyes and turned the words she wanted to say into visualizations. Desert. Heat. Blood. Bones. Brains. Pain. Shame. Furion. Shale.

" _One day you'll come back to me_! _They always come back to me_!"

No! Not that. Never that.

Star slowed her breathing, composed herself (but didn't shut her eyes again). She tried to meditate, but her thoughts were invaded by memories of Troll. She ruminated how visions of Troll plagued her meditations back in Silverdale, and somehow this memory seemed to put her at ease.

Something warm pulsated in Star's lap. At first she figured she merely pissed her pantaloons, but when she glanced down, all she found was the little, leather clad book with its blank, yellowish pages. She picked it up and gazed at the page before her. Something there, something she couldn't put her finger on. She brought the book closer to her face; tilting it to allow for the best light as she inspected the splotched page. She could've sworn she saw something moving -- something alive and hungry. But a lot of strange things were apparently happening this afternoon. She looked again and saw nothing but yellowish discolorations. She sighed, and (for reasons unknown to her), peered at the blotch on the page. Daring it to move, she stared until her eyes could stare no more, and then relaxed, but still she did not glance away. Daring -- nay, wishing the blot to move. She sat there for hours, and then, right when she was about to give up and make the long trek back to the foothills -- something happened.

****

Troll sat Indian-style on the ground, across from Sirii. The two colluded deep within _El Na'tirii Tawa_ , and shared a simple meal of bread, cheese, and meats. Khariiff remained deep in meditation upon his carpet in the center of the dome-like chamber.

Head down, Sirii said, "I can't believe the others are gone."

Troll performed his characteristic running of a hand down the left side of his face and beard, and asked, "How was ye'r day?"

"Busy, but profitable," she replied. Munching on a wedge of sharp cheddar, she said, "The _tiendii_ is still a complete mess, I'll have to go in early tomorrow to tidy up."

"Need a hand?"

Smiling her perfect teeth, she said, " _Si_. I would love the help. _Madiriis_ Sarah and Anne always have a place in my heart, but I fear if things continue, I shall have to find a new _dischaag_."

Troll replied, "Of course. That's completely understandable. But may I suggest taking on one of Anne's many friends? I've met a few. Polite children, they are, though I didn't catch their names. They seemed quite disheartened by Anne's disappearance."

" _Si_ , _Easta_ , we all are," Sirii said. She frowned, and twiddled her thumbs.

After his disheartening discourse with Sarah, Troll had nothing to do. But that wasn't true. He needed to infiltrate Al'ber Que's hierarchy. But Troll needed information. And Sarah needed time to get closer to the sultan.

He should be amassing an army. But Troll had no idea how to do that. He couldn't just go around enlisting people to fight the king, could he? Troll reflected on how successful his plans worked back in Silverdale. But what plans? Other than asking the Dog to let the town's men come for him (and the Dog could've refused), Troll hadn't plotted anything. God called the shots. Hell, it was God who told him that the town would come for the Dog. Other than keeping God's commands to himself (and the Dog), Troll hadn't masterminded anything. But this line of thinking only brought to the surface what really gnawed at him. Why had God stopped talking to him? It just didn't make sense. What part of the puzzle was this?

Troll sighed deeply. He ran a hand through his hair. Beads and braids shucked and jived. Troll said, "Tell me about ye'r family. Do ye have any?"

Sirii replied, " _Si_. I am the oldest of four children. My mother died giving birth to my youngest sister, Tirii. Tirii died from the red-fever at the age of ten. My brothers Kalic and Mahal marched off to war nearly five years ago. It is not customary for the men of Al'ber Que to go to war, but not unheard of. My father was heartbroken. He grew sick. Weak. Unable to work."

Sirii popped a wedge of cheese in her mouth, twiddled her thumbs, and said, "The population continued to rise. Work and rations grew slim. Prices and _taxe_ rose. After a while, people began to disappear. Still, prices and _taxe_ seem to grow every other day."

She scratched a pencil-drawn eyebrow, gulped, and said, "My father and I struggled for as long as we could; scrapping by. But in the end we could not offered the _tribune_."

"Aye, Anne mentioned something to that effect." Troll stroked his beard and added, "Please, elaborate."

"The _tribune_ is a quarter-annual _taxe_ natives pay so the _teran-oht_ can keep their homes."

"And the _teran-oht_ don't pay for housing, correct?"

Sirii replied, " _Si_."

"Why?"

She said, "Because they are not natives. The _tribune_ did not exist until after the first few seasons of arriving _teran-oht_. The _tribune_ was established as a means to help those in need, and is only paid by the natives. But now, there's more _teran-oht_ than natives, and _teran-oht_ can't become natives so they never have to pay the _tribune_."

"That's ludicrous."

Sirii nodded, and said, " _Si_. My father and I lost everything. Our _apartmentii_ was taken back by the city and given to a family of _teran-oht_. We would have lived at my _tiendii_ , but there is a law against that." Sirii frowned, cheeks puffed out, gaze glued to the ground.

"How did ye not lose the shop?"

"I'm sorry _Easta_ , I misspoke. We didn't lose everything. It came down to a choice, a place to live or a place to work. But we could not afford both."

"I see."

Sirii swept away the black bangs protruding from underneath her shawl. She sighed. Her brown-gape spangled with tears, yet she smiled proudly, and said, "We slept in the streets in the western borough. But at least we had _dinerii_ from _l'tiendii_ to buy food and clothes to keep us warm. Others have far less. One night my father awoke from a dream and came here. We've been staying here ever since."

"My dear, why did ye not tell me before that Khariiff was ye'r father?"

Sirii slipped another wedge of cheese into her mouth, shrugged, and said, "I didn't think it mattered, _easta_."

Sarah and Anne may have known Sirii for nearly a year now, but Troll didn't. Could he really trust her? She came to them in confidence and yet never introduced Khariiff to them properly. What other information did she possess that she thought "didn't matter"?

Troll leaned toward her, and asked, "My dear, do ye think me and my friends the trinity? Do ye believe us prophets?"

Sirii (mid-chew), covered her mouth with her hand, blushed, and said, " _Si_ , _easta_."

"And do ye believe men loyal to the king are here in the empire, at this very moment?"

Sirii's head dipped, as if struggling to answer. "Honestly, I don't know, _easta_ ," she replied, shrugging. "But I think it's possible."

Troll scratched his beard, glanced at Khariiff, and said, "Does ye'r father have any more information he'd like to share."

Sirii stared at Khariiff.

Khariiff opened his eyes and smiled at Troll.

Troll twirled his fingers around the chain of his medallion.

Exactly what did the old man know? Troll's thoughts turned to Silverdale and Roger Wilcox.

Khariiff laughed. Voice raspy and hoarse, he said something in his native tongue.

Sirii translated, "He says, what you are thinking will not work on him."

"Is that so?" Troll rubbed his scarred face and bearded chin. Perhaps, he would come back tomorrow when Sirii was at the shop and find out for himself.

****

Rome tossed a few grapes in his mouth, and asked, "Not hungry?"

No, Sarah was not hungry at all. In fact, she thought she might vomit.

Could the sultan really be responsible for the murders of two of his own _d'el guardii_? Why hadn't she told Troll about what she'd heard? Was it because of the hostility she felt toward him? Did any of it even matter in regards to finding Anne?

After parting from Troll's company, Sarah peregrinated the _bazaar_ ; dreading returning to the citadel.

The carillons clangored; calling for the afternoon's _tiempestii d'el ruega_.

Many native shoppers knelt in the streets and gave a few moments thanks to the Goddess. Native _bazaar'istes_ continued appeasing their _teran-oht_ customers.

Were they being forced by law to forego native observances? Perhaps, if the _bazaar'istes_ turned their back, the _teran-oht_ would rob them blind.

When Sarah did finally return, she plodded straight up the stairs, into the portico, and right in the front door. No one stopped or questioned her. She was the sultan's esteemed guest.

She raced to Rome's chambers, slammed the door shut behind, and collapsed in lacrimation.

What was she doing? She couldn't handle this.

A stirring ceased her blubbering.

Rome stood in the beaded archway of his _pulprit_. Glaring at her, he said, "I see you managed to keep our dinner-date after--" His gape widened, jaw agape, he asked, "Why, _Madirii_ , what is wrong?"

Sarah sniffled, "Nothing. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her palm, and said, "Nothing at all."

"Are you sure?"

The tenderness lurking in his gaze tore at her soul. Was it genuine? Could she even tell?

Obviously unable to think of anything else to say, Rome uttered, "You're late, foods cold."

Rome inhaled his food like it his last meal.

Sarah ate scarcely but a nibble. She thought she was hungry. But her stomach turned at the salty scent of taters and meat.

Rome dabbed a napkin at his fat lips, glanced at her, and said, "You seem most quiet, _Madirii_."

"I am troubled," she replied.

"Oh yes, for the girl, Alice," he said through a mouthful of roast pork.

Sarah shot Rome a sudden glare of hatred, and said, "Anne!" She slammed her fists upon the table hard enough to rattle the silverware.

" _Si_ , Anne, of course," Rome slurped apologetically. "I didn't mean to upset you, _Madirii_ , you must eat something, _por favorii_."

Sarah sat there bottling her rage while Rome stuffed his gullet.

After a time, she asked, "Any leads into these mysterious disappearances?"

Rome coughed.

She hoped he choked to death.

He sipped at his wine, dabbed his chin with a napkin, and said, "We're looking into it."

"I see such travesties haven't spoiled ye'r appetite."

Rome sighed. He reclined in his chair and folded his burly, hairy hands over his bulbous stomach. "I understand you're upset, _Madirii_. But please believe me when I tell you that I am doing everything within my power to uncover the treachery behind the disappearances of your friends."

"And to which I am eternally grateful," she replied.

"And yet, you could do so much more to show your appreciation."

"What do ye mean by that?"

Waving off the inquiry, he said, "Nothing, only that, in your duress, you might find it in your heart to reciprocate my hospitality with less distaste."

"Of course," Sarah replied, gaze diverted. "Pleases forgive me m'lord."

Rome resumed dinning.

Sarah just sat there unable to even look at him. She hated herself for what she was about to do. She hated Troll for asking her to do it. "Ye'r right," she said, standing and gliding lithely toward him. "I've been taking ye'r hospitality for granted. And I want to make it up to ye, sai."

"Oh, and what did you have in mind," he asked through a mouthful of smashed tatters n' gravy. She lightly took his hand, he allowed it.

She brought the appendage up to her lips and sucked the grease off his fingers. She held his palm to her cheek and starred longingly into his dark-brown eyes.

She couldn't do it. She just couldn't do this. Her thoughts turned to 'Ro. His hair. His hazel-eyes. The roughness of his hands. The stubble of his face tickling hers when they kissed.

"Come to bed and I shall show ye." Her voice sounded calm, eerily un-emotive.

He stood and she led him to his garish curtained-bed.

Sarah slipped off her dress; standing naked and exposed as she undressed him.

Rome blew out the lights and took her the only way a man of his age takes a woman of hers -- with earnest and vigor.

Rough, awkward, and painful. Nothing like the beautiful act Sarah envisioned in her mind's eye on the wedding night to her one, true love.

Sarah shut her eyes and let her thoughts sail away to a better place while Rome heaved and writhed his wrinkled and hairy body atop her. Sarah drifted back to Silverdale; hanging laundry with Anne as the cool, sweet breeze whipped the clothes around her ample, young body. In her mind's eye, she saw Mort leering at her. Grinning and drooling as he crept a gnarly, old hand into the crotch of his cloak and pleasured himself to her image over and over and over again. There in the dark, Sarah bit her tongue until the salty taste of blood swept into her mouth. It was all she could do to avoid screaming.

****

The Dog couldn't see. Too dark.

A child's singing echoed off the tunnel walls from somewhere in the depths of the mines.

" _Sweetie-man_ , _Sweetie-man_..."

The Dog's hair stood on-end. A warm buzzing sensation tingled at the base of his skull as his bowels loosened.

A few more voices joined in.

" _Come and catch me if you can_..."

One after another, others joined in song until it seemed like all the slaves, everywhere, were singing all at once in a deafening cacophony.

" _Hide and seek_ ,

" _Trick for treats_ ,

" _Give you something good to eat_..."

Over and over they sang this ominous verse.

" _Sweetie-man_ , _Sweetie-man_ ,

" _Come and catch me if you can_ ,

" _Hide and seek_ ,

" _Trick for treats_ ,

" _Give you something good to eat_..."

A swell of fear rose within the Dog. He sensed something else down there besides the slaves; something that terrified the Dog to his very core.

On all fours, the Dog sprinted through the pitch-black tunnels, hoping to escape that sinister nocturne. But no matter how fast he ran, those voices gave chase; nearly upon him. Running blind, the Dog slammed right into a wall, and fell on his ass. The Dog scurried to his feet. The singing abruptly halted.

A solitary voice broke the unbearable silence \-- Anne's. "... _Nice and sweet_ ," she amended in song. She sounded far away, her echo distorted. Feeling along the wall, Dog crawled back the direction he came. His heart beat like the hooves of a galloping stallion.

A shrill scream reverberated through the mines, shaking stalagmite and stalactite alike.

Dog ceased. Muscles tense. About to leap out of his own fur. The Dog waited there in the dark. Nothing. The Dog sniffed, but sensed nothing more than the earthy aroma of the mines. Would he be able to wash that smell off when he got out of here? If he got out of here.

" _La-la-la-la-la-la-la_..." Anne's voice. Further ahead. She sang in the same creepy tone the slaves employed, 'though her voice echoed not.

The Dog inched onward upon all fours.

"Come Puppy. Come and play in the dark."

The Dog froze, terror coursed through him. The voice sounded like Anne's but wasn't. It was off. Too gravelly. Almost gurgling.

" _La-la-la-la-la-la-la_..."

Another scream -- _screaming_. The shrieking stabbed at the Dog's hyper-sensitive hearing. He should investigate. But he couldn't. Too scared.

The skirling continued. Eating sounds. Munching. Smacking. Sucking. The snapping of bone. The lapping-up of hot liquids. The screamer's voice muffled, as if gargling on their own fluids.

The scent of fresh blood. Hot and salty.

Quivering, the Dog cowered between two large rocks. He'd never been so scared in his life. Was this even real? Could he trust his own haywire senses? Perhaps the thick walls and miles of mountainous bedrock were the cause for his loss of perspicacity.

A low raspy chuckling, almost inhuman.

From out of the darkness, a legion of voices sprang to life.

" _Dog is dead_. _Dog is dead_." They chimed in unison.

Terrified, the Dog tried to zero-in on the voices' origins. Nothing. Then he tried to lock-on to just one. Anyone. Nothing still. According to his senses, the Dog was all alone in the dark.

" _Dog is dead_. _Sold his soul_. _Sold his soul_."

That wasn't true? Was it?

The Dog remembered the time by the pond outside Silverdale, where he attempted to slit his own wrists, only to have them heal right before his eyes as so many wounds before. He remembered thinking what a curse immortality was. Had he really made some sort of deal for such...powers?

" _Dog is dead_. _Dog is dead_. _Sold his soul_. _Dog is dead_..."

The Dog slunk further to the ground, pressed his paws to his elongated ears, and whimpered and whined as the voices chanted on.

" _Sold his soul_. _Dog is dead_..."

And then, the Dog started to remember a thousand lifetimes of things he had _chosen_ to forget.

****

Troll awoke from a terrible nightmare. But, he couldn't remember it. He wiped the sweat plastered to his forehead and scanned the gloomy room he used to share with Star.

Troll focused his thoughts. What was the dream? He couldn't remember. Yet, he couldn't help feeling that whatever he couldn't recollect was of vital importance. Something like a warning. Then it hit him like church bricks.

" _Your Dog is dead_ ," a pleasantly hollow yet, vacant voice had said in the hut of the Mistress of the Trees. " _And your friend_ , _Ms. Myriam Star_ , _has already been found out_. _I assure you_ , _she will be long dead before ever you reach her_."

At the time, Troll believed the Wraith lied. But now he didn't know. For, as the shadow assured, " _The truth is far more_... _delicious_."

Troll sat there, pondering the nature of such a creature; an ageless evil. What was time to such a demon, anyway?

" _The truth is far more_... _delicious_."

Supposin' the Wraith hadn't lied. Supposin' what he said simply hadn't happened -- yet?

Troll swiftly moved to the edge of the bed, and swung his legs over the side. He stopped when the realization hit him. He had failed. Not yet. But he would. It was destiny. Keeping his trinity together was the best chance they had for standing against the king, against Furion, against the Wraith. And what's the first thing Troll did? Split them up. And now, there was no turning back. The others were gone.

Troll's heart _physically_ hurt; throbbing in erratic cadence. He felt cold, sweaty, and dizzy all at once.

How could he be so blind?

Please God, tell me what to do. Give me direction and guidance, not for me. But for the others.

Nothing.

Please.

Still nothing. Why?

Troll hung his head, and wept into his massive hands. "What have I done?"

Then, alone in the dark, and feeling as low as he possibly could, God finally spoke to him. God said only one word, but Troll's heart leapt in joyous trepidation at the Lord's sudden charge.

_Go_!

Troll sprang to his feet, gathered his things, and left the apartment without so much as a second glance. He hurried down to the almost deserted streets. He scanned the orangish-glow hovering over the city skyline. Which way? He looked left, then right, then straight ahead.

_Walk_!

So, Troll walked; his mind open, clear, and ready to receive the Lord's transmissions. When Troll reached the northern wall, God offered no other decrees, so Troll continued on. He found an emergency exit, let himself out, propped a small stone in the doorway so he could open it on the return trip, and headed into the mountains.

God said nothing other than those two little words, but Troll would walk until the Lord spoke to him again -- forever if that's what it took.

And despite the miles between them, Troll never felt so close to Star.

***

5

"Tell me a story, grandmere," said a very young Star.

She sat on the bed she shared with her brother, Mikhail, who lay next to her. Their bed consisted of blankets and pillows lain over a cushion of straw. The family's domicile had been constructed of stone, wood, and mud, much like any other Krinian home.

Grandmere sat down in an old wicker chair. Her thin fragile joints popped and creaked as she moved. She folded wrinkled and veiny hands upon her slender lap. She smiled, most of her teeth remained, 'though in poor condition. Her gray, curly hair tied up in a bun. Age dampened her vision, causing her too squint constantly. "Very well, what kind of story do you want to hear?" she asked.

"One with a lot of action," Mikhail slurred. He always had a bit of speech impediment.

"One with romance," Star added dreamily, twirling fingers through golden locks.

Mikhail said, "A great journey."

"A little sad," Star chimed.

"And a wittle scary." Mikhail hid the bottom half of his round face under a frayed and faded quilt.

Star continued, "You know, a great story."

Grandmere laughed, and said, "Well, I don't really know any stories like that. Star, honey, why don't you tell us a story. A great one."

"I don't know no stories," Star replied. "I'm just a little kid."

Grandmere leaned in close, patted Star lightly on the knee, and said, "Well, perhaps one day you will."

****

Birds chirped. The floral scent of flowers bloomed. The feel of dirt smeared across her young body. Star and Mikhail were in the garden. They _were_ picking radishes. Now they rolled around on the ground, grappling each other. What were they fighting about? She didn't know. Couldn't remember. She only knew the anger rising within her as she pressed Mikhail's back into the soil. He squirmed and cried beneath her. What was she doing?

Grandmere yelled, "My Myriam's Star! Just what do you think you're doing?" Grandmere glared at the two. Her hands on cocked hips, tapping her foot in annoyance.

Star jumped off her brother and backed away; head bent in shame.

Blubbering, Mikhail trotted into Grandmere's arms.

She always took his side.

Grandmere hunched over, hugged Mikhail. "Now what's all this about?" she tenderly asked Mikhail while'st glaring at Star.

"I...I..." But Star didn't know what to say. She couldn't remember how the argument started. She glanced at Mikhail, his face pressed into the hem of Grandmere's apron, the locks of his hair looking like dirty, blond cabbage.

"Come now, out with it," Grandmere huffed in annoyance. She pried Mikhail off her and stormed toward Star. She bent low, her face uncomfortably close to Star's. Her breath reeked of onion and the musky aroma possessed only by the elderly.

Star opened her mouth to say something, but what, she didn't know.

At the last moment, Star was saved by a town crier riding through the village on horseback, clamoring his decree, "They come! They come! Soldiers clad in armor as black as night! They come! They come! Foot soldiers of the king! They come from the seas on black boats! They come!"

****

Star shook her head. Granules of sand and beads of sweat sprinkled from her face and hair. She peered around. Desert. Daytime. Shimmering waves of heat rose from the desolate sand. Even through her pants the heat baked her fanny. She glanced down. There, in her lap rested the leather clad book Troll gave her. A faint glow emanated from the splotchy, yellow pages. The book itself seemed to heave up and down, as if breathing.

What happened? What was happening?

Her eyes grew heavy. Her thoughts seemed foggy, as if back in Silverdale.

Her head drooped, and she almost fell back asleep before forcing herself to wake.

No! Star screamed in her mind. No! I don't wanna go back! The voice within her sounded small and meek, ineffectual. No! No! I won't go back!

" _But Myriam_ ," a familiar voice echoed. " _You must come back to me_. _They always come back to me_."

No!

Star, the young Star -- the child; screamed as visions of sibling bludgeoning's danced through her head. The feel of her own fingers tearing through flesh vibrated in the hollows between her fingers. The aroma of fresh, salty blood sizzling on boiling sand. The heat, ardent enough to drive one into a frenzy coursed through her spine and into every tingling fiber of her being. An emotional flood-gate erupted within her mind, releasing tidal waves of memories. Unable to take it all in at once, she could only view the memories in fragments, as if gazing through a window. Only, the glass had been shattered into shards.

****

Pain like white-hot lightning. Pain. And nothing else. At first, she felt no anguish, only that long moment of disquiet and anticipation before the glowering brand kissed the side of Star's face. A hissing sound. A slight tingling sensation. But the tingle in Star's head soon escalated. She promised herself she wouldn't scream. But she did. Her skin crackled like frying grease.

Oh, God, she thought, that's my face.

After the battle, the survivors were rounded up in the center of their village. Her Grandmere was dead. Star saw the battered corpse after the soldiers pulled her out of the bunker along with other children. Where were her parents?

A soldier clad in heavy, black armor drew the branding iron away, and the soldier restraining Star pushed her to the ground.

The soldier waved the iron, and called, "Next!"

The side of Star's forehead burned with a pain she had never known before. She wanted to rub at the sore. She didn't. But the agony she experienced from receiving the mark didn't sting nearly as bad as having to watch her brother (next in line), receive his due and proper.

Mikhail screamed the entire time.

Anger boiled within Star and all she saw was red. She made neither motion nor gesture. The searing pain in her face forgotten, she rose to her feet, and glowered at her captures.

When they were finished with Mikhail, they tossed him aside and Star grasped hold of him as he wailed.

Two more soldiers marched toward them. One grabbed Star by the back of her hair and pulled her away.

Mikhail sat there, bawling.

The second soldier kicked Mikhail squarely in the face.

Mikhail went limp, falling backward as blood gushed from his mouth and nose.

The second soldier strode toward Star (still restrained), back-handed her across the face, and said, "Pick up your friend and get back in line. Now! Before I cave his skull in with the heel of my boot."

****

Star sobbed softly as she slogged through the desert. Her skin, clothes, and hair were coated with semi-coagulated blood and gore. The shooters looped over her sagging shoulder; the belt too big for her to wear about her waist. She studied the compass' face -- _again_. Impossible. The needle wavered indecisively to and fro, as if the instrument just as lost as she. And she _was_ lost. Figuratively and literally, body and soul. She had lost everything. Everyone.

Mikhail! Oh, God, Mikhail!

No!

Star snapped away from those violent reveries and found herself once again in the desert. But as the woman she'd become and not the child she'd been. The little leather book with its blank, yellowish pages stared mockingly up at her from her lap.

She shuddered. Her face felt moist with sweat, tears, and snot. She shut her eyes, and inhaled deeply. She listened to the wind drag granules of sand across the ever-changing desert floor. The heat rose in undulating waves. She slid a hand up underneath her hat and hair. Grains of sand scrapped across her face and fingertips. She pawed at the mark riding high upon the side of her forehead. Her thoughts turned to Troll.

Where was he? She needed him now more than ever to assuage her day-time night-terrors.

She glanced down at the book; staring into the yellowish pages as if captivated by them. As her eyes relaxed, her mind drifted away with the blowing wind. Once again, the splotches of discoloration incipiently took shape.

****

Like those before, and all those ever since, Star and Mikhail were shackled and forced to march with the other survivors. They walked for days, weeks, months, possibly even years. Star lost all concept of time.

Mikhail barely uttered a word since being kicked in the face. He lost four of his front teeth and his jaw set slightly askew, furthering his speech impediment. Often he rubbed his sore mandibular muscles. Most of the time, he wept.

They marched out of the valley of Krin and into the forests that led up to the Sie Mountains.

Star had never seen skies so purple and full of alien stars.

They trudged over the mountain peaks of snow and stone.

Although the slaves were feed, given water, and allowed to rest for short periods of time, many died during the trek.

With Mikhail's broken jaw, it pained him just to drink, so Star pre-chewed the bits of stale, moldy bread the soldiers doled out.

Star still hadn't seen her parents. The entire time, she kept expecting them to show up out of nowhere with an army of their own and free her and Mikhail -- everyone. But that never happened. And by the time the slaves made it over the mountains, and Star first saw the deserts beyond, she had given up hope -- in everything. And the moment she saw that endless abyss, an undisputable fact dawned upon her. She was no longer a child. She would be responsible for whether Mikhail lived or died.

Star had never seen sand before. She hated it. The ground underneath her feet constantly shifted, making walking seem foreign and awkward. Her thighs, calves, and feet ached all the time. The blistering heat beat down on them relentlessly as ardent undulating waves rose out of the sand; roasting the slaves from all angles. Flecks of grit and sand tore at her skin from the fierce desert cross-winds.

The nights were long and cold. The sweat and sand coating her skin, clothes, and hair froze. Even during their breaks, Star constantly wriggled her toes to keep them from going numb. She feverishly worked her hands over Mikhail's back and shoulders in an attempt to keep him warm. Mikhail's tears froze to his once round face like diamond studs. His protuberated jaw swelled a purplish-black. Skin hung loosely from his emaciated body. His ribs were clearly visible over his protruding stomach.

They marched on. Still the soldiers feed and watered the slaves. Still many died. Star always wondered why the soldiers took care of their human cargo. Then she saw the fields.

****

A phantasmagoria of memories cascaded over Star. Chewing Mikhail's rations of stale, moldy bread until it was nothing more than a thin, liquid paste. Then regurgitating it into his broken mouth like a bird feeding its young. Furion setting atop the highest precipice upon his midnight mare. _Scrickity-rickity_. The soldier' tyranny and how they beat the slaves and laughed. _Crickity-crack_. The routine whippings. _Screech-a-lack_. Worn down. Worn out. The digging. The shoveling. The hoeing. _Rickity-crack_. Her back ached and arched like Grandmere's. _Scree-scraw_. Sharpening. Hearing of the prophecy of man and beast joining forces to end the king's tyranny after one of Mikhail's many bludgeonings. He'd suffered many beatings during his slavery. His constant bawling fueled the soldier's despotism. Then he cried some more.

"Hush," Star said, hugging her brother tightly. "Don't make it worse." His face warped from his un-set jaw. His skin hung from his body in large, sweaty folds.

Detestation stirred within Star, souring her like gut-rot.

_Scrippity-crickety-clickity-scrap_.

She still hadn't seen her parents. Where were they? How long had she been here? How long would she be here? The heat. The toil. Her suffering. When would it all end? An emptiness grew within Star's soul, an indelible sensation of abandonment; poisoning her. The only thing that kept her going was the commitment she made to protect Mikhail -- and her anger. Her hatred spilled over as she lashed out against other slaves.

Once, after Mikhail received another battering, Star leapt for the closest slave; abandoning Mikhail to bleed alone in the sands. The slave had been minding their own business; working, when Star tackled him to the ground and pummeled her fists into the slave's face, over and over and over again. She didn't kill that slave. She stopped once to gaze up at Mikhail and saw the terror in his eyes. He was afraid of her. Hatred and disgust swirled within her. She never spoke of that incident, not to Troll, not to Shale, not to anyone. Nor had she ever told anyone the look on Mikhail's face. But she never forgot it. Those wide, bulging eyes pooled with dark crimson. His mouth working open and shut like a fish out of water.

Why, Star? Why?

She forgot about the echoing chirps whirling inside her head as she repeatedly slammed her fists into the slave's face.

_Scrickity-scrachity-clickity-clackity_.

Star screamed toward the heavens, "Fucking stop!" Tears leaked profusely from her eyes as the winds pelted granules of stone and sand into her face. Star skirled until her voice grew hoarse and raspy; until her throat felt like a deep, cavernous well; until she could scream no more. Then the heavy, invisible veil that held her, pulled her back in, tightening its grip. The hungry and barren book in her lap refused to release her.

Star's eyelids closed 'though she willed them to open. Her head and shoulders slouched, 'though she tried to force them up-right and erect. For the first time _ever_ she prayed that whatever malignant force restraining her, would release her. But it didn't.

Her soul crying out in anguish, Star went back under.

Seeing her parents for the first time in two years sent a terror coursing through Star. Mikhail was so malnourished and out-of-it, did he even see them?

Star jolted up her head; fighting with all her might. Willing her eyes to open. They almost did.

The rock in her hand, slick with gore as she bashed Mikhail's already battered face in over and over again.

No!

The scent of the un-born child festering within her mother's womb. She hadn't seen her parents in two years. Were they real? Was she dead? Was this Hell?

Star opened her mouth to scream, "No! Not that! Anything but that!" But nothing came out.

The glowing book spread-eagle in her lap reached out and dug invisible talons into her soul, and dragged her down deeper into the nightmare of her own past.

****

Star was a girl again. The horrors of the desert over, but still fresh in her mind like an open and suppurating wound. She stood in a dark room in her under garments, being eagerly eyed up and down by some scraggily stranger. How had she gotten here? Oh, that's right, after giving up on the compass, she settled for going in the direction she _thought_ Krin laid. The days were long and hot, the nights abysmally cold and infinitely longer. She slogged until sand turned into prairie, and trudged toward a shanty-town on the outskirts of the desert. The place looked like a bustling hamlet, unlike her quaint village of Krin. No one cared if she a lost and lonely orphan, a stranger in a foreign land. No one even gave her a second glance as they passed her on the streets; pleading for alms.

She briefly entertained grifting but quickly realized she had no idea how to do that. So she slept in the streets, siphoning water from horse troughs and stealing what she could. But that became incipiently dangerous, the sheriff grew wise to her (as she was no better at thievery than conning), and swore to cut off the offending hand next time he caught her so much as thinking about mischief.

Star asked, "But what am I to do about eating?"

The sheriff hooked his thumbs into the buckle cinctured around his bulbous belly, and said, "I dunno, I reckon ya could try whorin'."

And so she had. But the brothels turned her away, declaring her too young to be a working girl. So, Star went into business for herself. That was how she came to this dank room, standing in her knickers as some strange man hungrily leered at her. Her stomach grumbled. Either this, or chance losing a hand.

"I'm sorry," Star said, trembling. "I can't do this."

In a thick, drunken drawl, he sneered, "The hell ya can't."

Nothing.

He snarled, "You little bitch!" He lurched forward, grabbed her, and threw her to the plank-fissured flooring. Dust swirled around the stagnant and urine scented air.

She didn't scream.

He sat on top of her, holding her down as he un-did his pantaloons.

She fought and kicked but he easily over powered her.

Grinning, he said, "Aw, c'mon, you know ya like it, else ya'd be screaming."

Star relaxed.

"That's a girl." He drew closer. His breath reeked of whiskey and tobacco.

He closed her eyes with his fingers, and leaned in to kiss her. She bit the bottom of his lip; violently rocking her head back and forth until the flesh ripped away and the taste of blood rushed into her mouth. No matter, she had tasted blood before and would no-doubt again. He squealed and rolled on his back. Star rode him until she sat squarely on his chest.

_Scrickity-scrack-rickity-rack_.

In her mind she heard Furion, Shroud -- all of them, laughing at her, pointing at her, mocking her as they reveled in her anguish. Grunting, Star dug her thumbs into the man's eye sockets, and slammed the back of his head against the floor boards over and over again. She sunk her digits deeper into his skull as Furion laughed on and on and on and on and...

_Scree-scraw-scrack-a-lack_.

Oh, shit. The sheriff, he'd hang her for this. Wait. Did she even care? She thought she didn't. But if so, why was she still alive? Why had she persevered?

Standing there, shaking (but not crying), blood and gore coated her hands like gelatinous gloves, an idea popped into her racing mind. She could do this again. She could lure an unsuspecting rube into an inn, promising sex for money, and then kill and rob them. She might even be able to make a living at it. Standing there in that dark room, towering triumphantly over her victory, she plotted her next crime with an eerie hunger.

****

No! No! Stop it!

Star broke free again, she peered around but her vision blurred and her head muffled, as if still asleep, like her mind wanted to wake but her body simply refused. And that's exactly how she felt. Like the book thrumming voraciously in her lap had some sort of trance over her from which she could not revolt against. But her thoughts were so muddy, and as her head drooped again, her eyes fell upon the image dancing across the blank pages; lulling her back to sleep.

****

When Star wandered out of the desert and into rolling hills of prairies and Joshua trees, she was met with a surprise -- a small band of soldiers clad in heavy, black armor.

Malnourished and half-dead, Star had anticipated this ever since her escape.

The first rushed out after her. He meant to snatch her up and carry her off back into the desert -- to Furion.

Star dropped to a crouch and pulled a shooter looped over her shoulder. Empty. She tossed it and retrieved the other. She squeezed the trigger. Nothing. The soldier closed in. She cocked the hammer and squeezed again. This time the weapon sprang to life.

A hole exploded in the soldier's chest as a pink mist swirled in the air. More came. Four of them. Star took head-shots. Her aim was true. She would not go back -- not alive.

Only after the smoke and sand settled did Star realize she'd been screaming the whole time. Her cheeks moist with tear tracks that cut through the dirt smeared across her face.

She wiped the rheum away with the back of a fist clenched so tight, her fingernails drew blood in her palm. The granules of grit against her sunbaked epidermis cracked and peeled off her face. She blew the smoke from the barrel of her shooter, holstered it, and then retrieved the other. Out of bullets. What if more soldiers came?

She glanced down at the five men. She felt nothing. Nothing at all. Then she noticed it. The men were not clad in heavy, black armor. Two of them weren't even male. A woman, girl, two boys, and a man all dressed in simple farmer's clothes lay at her feet.

_Screechity-crack_.

Star trembled. Her stomach churned. She fell to her knees and clutched at her belly; dry heaving for several long moments.

_Scrickity-scrack_.

Star crawled toward the young girl, still breathing in long, wet gasps. She took the girl's hand and said, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." But she didn't cry. Not for this girl with pig-tails who probably never experienced a shred of _real_ hardship.

The girl shivered. Choking on her own blood, she said, "We...we was jus' tryin' to help ya." She spasmed violently, and flopped around on the dirt like a fish out of water. Then she stilled.

_Clickity-scrippity-crickity-crack_.

****

Star had it all planned out. In the day she lingered in the streets, pleading for alms and poorly trying to grift the locals, but she wouldn't dare come close to an actual crime, not with the sheriff watching her every move. A lot of drifters passed in and out of Shantytown, a lot of people no one would miss. Star already picked one out. She hadn't seen the guy's face. He always wore his hood up. He walked with his shoulders slightly hunched, dragging his lame, left leg. He used neither cane nor crutch to support himself. Star guessed him old and decrepit. In a way, it didn't feel like murder at all, more like hunting; trimming the weak from the herd. She followed in the shadows. Her prey led her to another random saloon. Star watched the man hobble through the double-swinging doors. She waited a few moments, and then crept after him, the shackles around her thin ankles rattled with each step.

Was she even allowed inside the bar?

She pressed her hands against the double-doors and pushed. The doors were surprisingly heavy and released a long, bowing creak as they opened. An amalgamation of stale booze, piss, vomit, blood, and body-odor swept her sinuses, causing her eyes to water and sting. Dozens of denizens and drifters packed the dimly light convenience.

Star scanned the perimeter. Her victim sat upon a stool along the edge of the bar. His hood still up, but she could tell it was him. The man slouched like a hunch-back even when seated.

Star strode through the besotted patrons and toward her prey. Despite the constant rattling of her shackles, no one paid her a lick of notice.

She sidled up between the man and the person sitting next to him. She brushed back her curly-blond hair (careful not to reveal her mark), rested her hands on cocked hips, and said, "Hey, big fella, care to buy a lady a drink?"

Without glancing up, he replied, "Sure enough little one, but as it so happens, I see none about. How's a nice glass of milk sound?" Barely lifting his head or arm, he downed a shot of whiskey. His hood still concealed the majority of his face.

Odd. Usually Star could guestimate a person's age solely by the sound of their voice. But the only thing she could tell about her victim was that he neither very young nor very old. For now, the stranger remained faceless.

Star asked, "How would it sound if I said I wanted to milk you?"

The whiskey spurted out of his mouth like water breaking through a dam.

No one cared.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and said, "Not interested."

Star coquettishly walked her index and forefinger up his arm and shoulder, and said, "Aw c'mon. I bet I can make you feel real good."

He jerked away his arm, and snorted, "I said, I'm not interested."

"Yeah, well I'm not much interested in you Mr. But a working girl's gotta eat, you know?"

The man ordered another shot, and drained it faster than the bartender had poured it.

Still, she saw nothing but the shadowy underline of his chin.

The man belched, stood, and then hobbled away.

Shackles rattling, Star trotted after him. She grabbed him by his jacket, and said, "Hey, I'm sorry. Look, I'm just really starving here, can you spare anything? Couple coins? Crust of bread? Anything?"

"No! Leave me alone!" He pulled away once more and hobbled out of the bar.

What an ass-hole. He deserved every bit of what he was gonna get.

The barflies pointed and guffawed.

_Scriickty-crickity-crack_.

Her anger rose. _Screeeekity-crack_. Biting her bottom lip, she trembled. _Screeeee-scraaaw-scrack_. Fists clenched so tight they drew blood. Her vision tunneled. Eyes boggled in their sockets with a surge of adrenaline.

On and on they pointed. On and on they laughed. Mocking her, and all she had ever done.

_Screeeeiiiiiiickiiiiity-craaaaaaack-scraaaaaaw-screeeskriieeeeeeek_.

Her head pounded like the king's war drums. An ear-splitting tintinnabulation reverberated within the hollows of her inner-ear. Her vision blurred, and then faded. Her body felt impossibly light.

The older Star opened her eyes. It took all her focus and will, and still she only managed opening them a crack. Sunlight flooded in, burning her pupils. Her head felt heavy and drowsy again.

No! No more! Please, stop before--

And then she went back under.

When Star opened her eyes, she found herself still standing there in the bar. Just moments ago, she could have sworn everybody was laughing and pointing at her. But now, no one even seemed to notice her. At all.

Shackles rattling around her ankles, she trotted out of the bar in search of her prey. It didn't take her long to track him down, he didn't walk too good.

Under the cover of night, and hiding in darkened alleyways, Star stalked the man to a dilapidated, stone inn. She waited outside, watching until a kerosene lamp turned on from a window. She lingered another few minutes to see if another window would light up. None did.

Bingo. Now she knew what room he stayed in. But she did not advance. From an ally across the street, she waited for that lamp to go out. A long time elapsed. Still the lantern stay lit.

What happened? Had he fallen asleep with the light on?

Glancing over her shoulder every so often, Star entered the hotel. Furion's light chirpings echoed somewhere in the back of her mind, growing louder and louder as she crept through the deserted lobby, down a darkened corridor, and toward her victim's room. Star pressed her ear against the door. Nothing. She psyched herself up, slowly turned the knob, and opened the door just a crack. So far, so good. Softly shutting the door behind her, Star stepped inside.

To her right sat an old card table. A quarter-full bottle of whiskey rested next to an empty shot-glass. The table looked sticky with alcohol rings.

To her left lay a bed, her victim sprawled out on his back. The man fully clothed, draped an arm over his still hooded face. His chest rose up and down ever so slightly. No snoring.

Was he awake?

Star inched toward him. She slide her feet along the floor to minimize the shackles' rattling. She stood there a moment at the foot of the bed.

Was she really going to go through with this?

_Scrickity-scrackity_.

Star climbed on the bed, and crawled over the man.

He shifted slightly. Nothing more.

_Scrickity-crack_.

She straddled him like a horse, settled in and slowly gyrated her hips.

_Crickity-scrackity_.

An intense hunger and desire burned within her still budding bodice.

Mumbling something in his sleep, the man shifted.

_Scree-scraw-scrack_.

Star moaned, and pressed her body against his.

Twitching, the man also moaned. His breath reeked of vomit and booze. He was out cold.

_Scrickity-crickity-clac_ k.

Star slid her hands down the man's stomach and toward his fly. _Scree-scraw-scrick_. She undid his zipper. _Screeeechty-clack_. Star worked one hand into his pants. With the other, she fetched a knife she had stolen and then hidden in her boot. _Scrippity-rickity-crack-a-lack_. Breathing heavily, hips gyrating faster, she brought the blade up high over her head. _Screeee-scraaaaaw-scraaack_.

"What the!" The man bolted up in a sit. "Get the hell off me!"

Star startled, momentarily losing focus.

The man grabbed her by the shoulders and tossed her to the ground. Star rolled across the floor. Her knife lay at the foot of the bed. She scrambled for it. The man hopped to his feet and stuffed his privates back inside his pantaloons. He kicked the knife away moments before Star could reach it. The blade clattered along the ground, and hit the corner. Star sprang to her feet, meaning to claw out his eyes. He thrust her aside again. Star crashed into the card table. She grasped the whiskey bottle by the neck. She pivoted. Pang. The bottle shattered in her hand. Holding a sling shot, he pulled back and aimed at her head.

Face still hidden, he said, "Don't even think about it, you little harlot."

How could he even see her under that thick cloth?

Star pivoted, snatched the sticky shot-glass. She growled and lobbed the object at the man.

Sling-shot pulled back, he stood at the ready. He followed the target through the air before taking his shot. The glass exploded into smithereens half the distance between Star and the man. Before he could cradle another steel bearing and take aim, Star charged. She crashed into the man, sending him back to the floor. She scratched at his hooded face. The man grasped her wrists. Holding her at bay, he rolled over and sat on her waist.

He asked, "What's that?" He spread her arms out and put his knees on them. With his weight off her, Star writhed. He settled back down, pinning her. He brought his hands up to her face. She bit at the air like a rabid dog.

"Stop it! I'm not going to hurt you, you crazy, little whelp."

Star growled and hissed as she struggled to get free. No use.

Reaching for her face, he asked, "What's your name?"

Star bit at him, praying she would draw blood. She didn't

"Stop that!" He thumped Star's body against the floor -- hard.

A pained whimper escaped Star's furious lips.

"I asked, what's your name?"

The man's body weight pressed further down upon her, crushing her.

"Star! Star!" she gasped. "My name is Star!"

"Good." He released some of the pressure, and said, "Nice to meet you Star. My name is Shale." He removed the hood obscuring his face. His hair was short, dirty-brown. His head and jaw were square-like. Fine stubble cropped his youthful face. His effeminately narrow eyebrows arched like dirty-brown rainbows.

Star guessed hum just shy of thirty -- give or take.

He continued, "Please believe me, despite your intentions, I have no desire to harm you. By-the-by, just what were _your_ intentions?"

Star growled and spat in his face.

He ignored the snotty residue running down the side of his cheek. Shale snorted, and then reached for her face again.

What were his intentions?

He brushed away the hair from the left side of her face. He ran a rough finger along her mark, and asked, "You a slave?"

"No," Star replied. "Not no more."

****

Star pulled back on Shale's slingshot and aimed at a cactus orchid. The whacking of the band as a small stone rocketed out of the cradle. She missed.

"Damn." She snarled. "I just can't seem to get the hang of this."

"That's okay," Shale said, handing her another pebble. "Here, try again."

Star had been traveling with Shale for several days now. After their initial skirmish in Shale's room at the inn, a swarm of emotion stirred within Star. Inexplicably, she broke down in tears, telling Shale all about her escape, the voices in her head, and her initial intentions of murdering him.

Shale tippled from his flask, and said, "I understand. I'm also a lonely wanderer with a fairly troubling past." Shale didn't say what was so troubling about his past, at least not yet. But he did know about the king. He constantly roamed from place to place in an effort to avoid shackles or worse. He told her he was going as far south as south went, and if she wanted to, she could go with him.

Star felt touched, it was the first time since losing her family, that anyone give a shit about her. So, she went. On the day they left Shantytown, Shale gave Star a gift, a small satchel to hold her effects.

He said, "Some people might get a little nervous when they see a girl walking around with shooters hanging from her shoulder."

Star took quite an interest in Shale's slingshot. She'd never seen such a weapon before. Now, he attempted to show her how to use it. It wasn't going well.

Shale said, "Okay, widen your stance. Pull back. Take a deep breath. And visualize yourself hitting the target."

Star imagined the orchid as Furion's hooded face. _Thwack_. The blossom exploded into leafy petals. "I did it!"

"Good job." Shale handed star a handful of pebbles. He hobbled toward the cactus.

Star asked, "What did happen to your leg?"

"I broke it, and it never got set right," he dismissively replied.

"How'd you break it?"

"Never mind that." He plucked an orchid from the cactus, careful not to prick his fingers. "Now, let's see if you can hit a moving target. You'll want to lead the target, meaning, try to figure out the object's path, determine where it will go, and aim for that."

Star rolled her eyes, and snorted, "Yeah, yeah. Just throw it."

Shale did.

Star pulled back and waited for her moment. Once more, the orchid morphed into Furion's face. Her aim was true.

Clapping, Shale said, "You're a natural, kid!"

"I oughta be," Star replied. "I've been sharpening for years."

Effeminate eyebrow arched, he asked, "What's that mean, sharpening?"

"Kind of an inside joke between slaves back at the fields. Basically, ya just think off all the working as a way to get stronger, sharper. But really ya don't."

"That doesn't sound like a very funny joke."

"It ain't," she replied. She tried to hand the slingshot back to Shale.

"That's all right," he said, waving off the weapon, "you hold on to it for a while. You just might need it."

****

Star rolled her eyes, and snorted, "This is stupid."

Shale said, "Come on, just try." They stood in the prairies, in the middle of no-where. Balloon-like shrubberies and Joshua trees dotted the rolling landscape. Shale was trying to teach her how to meditate. He was always trying to teach her something.

"Why do I need to know this crap, anyhow?" Star sat there cross-legged; facing Shale, who sat before her (though his bum-leg wouldn't allow him to sit Indian-style).

"Meditation is good for the mind, body, and soul," he replied. "It helps one become focused and centered."

"So?"

He grinned, and said, "So, humor me."

"Come on, I'm hungry, let's eat."

"In a bit, come on, try for me. You owe me." Shale pouted his thin, chapped lips.

Arms crossed, Star replied, "The hell I do!"

"What about the time you almost castrated me?"

"Oh come on, I barely knew you, I had no idea what ye'r intentions were."

Shale blurted, "My intentions, what about your intentions?" The pitch of Shale's voice rose slightly. Slender, arched brows furrowed. "You were gonna entice me so you could rob and murder me."

"Actually, I was gonna kill you first."

Shale cocked his head and glared at her through squinted eyes.

Star flailed her arms, huffed, and said, "All right, wha'd ya want me to do?"

"Just sit there," he replied.

"Do I have to close my eyes?"

"If it helps."

"Cause I ain't gonna close my eyes,"

"Fine. Whatever. Just stop talking,"

After a moment, Star said, "Okay, I'm sitting quiet, now what do I do?"

Eyes closed, Shale uttered, "Just concentrate."

"On what?"

Shale sighed, massaged the bridge of his nose, and said, "Everything. The air. The wind. The grass. The trees. The birds. Everything around you, and nothing at once."

"What?"

Shale shut his eyes, and said, "Shh, just sit there and be quiet."

Star gazed around, watched the wind blow across the prairie; the clouds rolled docilely overhead, and the birds fluttered about.

Shale said, "Okay, you know what, why don't you just try and shut your eyes just this one time?"

"You ain't gonna try and touch me or nothing, are ya?"

"No. I promise I'm not going to touch you."

"Why? Ain't ya into girls? Or you knocking boots with the boys?"

"Neither. Look--"

"What'cha mean neither?"

Shale sighed, ruffled his short dirty-brown hair, and said, "I mean I'm not attracted to men or women. And I'm not into children either, if that's what you're thinking."

"That's weird."

"Yeah, well you're black. I mean like, really black."

"So?"

"And you have green eyes and curly-blond hair."

"So?"

"So, that's weird."

"Yeah, well, your face is weird."

"Whatever. Look, where getting a little off topic here--"

"How come you ain't attracted to nobody? Ain't you got no balls or nothing?"

Shale massaged the bridge of his nose, and groaned, "Oy vay! It's, don't you have any balls? And yes, I do. You're grammar is atrocious. Didn't anyone ever teach you how to speak correctly?"

"Yeah, well you're awtroshes."

"That's, 'atrocious'."

Twirling her compass chain, Star snorted, "Yeah, whatever."

"And you don't even know what that word means."

"So?"

"So, you shouldn't use a word if you don't know what it means."

Hands on hips, Star rebutted, "I know you used it against me, so if'n it's slanderous 'nough for me, it must be more an apt for you, or don't ya know what that means; slanderous and apt and generally everything else I just said?"

"Can we please, just get back to trying to meditate?" Shale spoke in a blur. His face grew red. Panting, perspiration beaded his forehead.

Star swayed in laughter. "Relax man, I's just fucking with ya." She cleared her throat, settled in place, and closed her eyes.

After a moment Star giggled.

"Easy," Shale cautioned. "Now, take a deep breath."

She did.

Shale counted to three, and said, "Now, let it out slowly."

Star complied.

Shale counted to three again before instructing Star to take another, deep inhalation. Shale continued to coach her until she got the rhythm down.

"Now relax," he said in a soothing monotone. "Relax all your muscles, and open your mind -- open your mind -- open your mind..."

_Screeeeechity-crick_.

Open your mind.

_Scrachity-skrickity-scrack_.

Open your mind.

_Scree-scraw-scrap_.

A rush of memories flooded over her. Body weightless and abandoned, she revisited every thought, every feeling, every emotion of the last three years of her life seemingly all at once.

_Screeeeeee-scraaaaaaw-scrack_.

Someone else was there too, in her head; someone dark and dominant who had just awoken and turned an angry eye upon Star.

_Scrip-a-riiiiiiiickity-scaw_.

The voice of the eye overpowered her. Suddenly she was in the garden again, grappling with Mikhail. What were they fighting about? She couldn't remember. The next thing she knew, she was in the desert. Still wrestling with her brother, Star grasped a rock and bashed Mikhail in the forehead over and over again.

His bruised and broken jaw opened impossibly wide. His eyes filled with terror and tears.

Star screamed.

A soldier rushed her, meaning to snatch her up and return her to the fields.

Star leapt off her brother and slammed her forehead into the guard's face. Even though he wore a helmet and face-mask, Star felt an oily nose smash. The crunch of cartilage.

The soldier tumbled backward.

Growling, Star sprang upon him. She meant to rip him apart with her bare hands but he grabbed her wrists; holding her off.

"Star! Star! Snap out of it!"

Her vision cleared, and she realized the soldier was actually Shale.

Star scurried off, and towered over Shale. Somehow, standing there, looming over him invigorated her with a sense of empowerment.

He quivered on the ground, holding his nose as blood streamed down his square chin.

Star said, "Sorry 'bout that, but I told you this wasn't a good idea."

Shale stood, and snapped, "No you didn't! You said it was stupid."

Foot tapping, compass chain twirling, Star asked, "Well, there ya go. Now, what did you learn?"

"I can't believe you broke my nose." His voice muffled by the hands covering his face.

"I can set that straight for ya if you want. You know, so it don't end up lookin' like your leg."

Shale pulled his hands away and peered at the dark crimson covering his fingers and palms. All the color drained from his face. His eyes rolled back in his head. Then he fell over backward.

"Uh, Shale, you all right there?" Star laughed and said, "Tell me you didn't go fainting on me on account of a little blood?"

A shackle jingled as she prodded Shale's ribcage with the tip of her boot. Nothing. "Shale?" she asked again. Still nothing. "Damn, you _are_ weird."

****

"What is this thing you bring me, Shale?" asked Tahl, the undisputed master.

Star and Shale stood shoulder-to-shoulder before Tahl.

The first time Star gazed upon the town of Coffin Nail, it was pitch-black. No stars out tonight. No moon. Just darkness and nothing more. Coffin Nail appeared very similar to Shantytown. As far as she knew, it may have been the same damn town. Dilapidated slat-wooden structures dotted the hamlet's circular perimeter.

While the residents of Coffin Nail could see plainly in the dark (of that, Star was certain), their captives could not. Lanterns lined the dirt streets. In the center of town lay a big, open area, also well lit.

Once more, Star was a slave.

Star and Shale had camped early that evening due to a throbbing in his bum leg.

"Could mean a storm is coming," he said.

Star gazed around. They still traveled through prairies, but as they advanced the landscape grew greener, lusher. Off over the horizon, exotic trees stood tall and proud, and beyond that, purplish mountains. Overhead, the heavens looked clear and blue.

Star said, "I don't see a cloud in the sky."

Shale built a fire and Star went off to try and catch something for dinner. No use. The birds were quicker than cactus blossoms. No matter. When she returned, Shale had skinned and spitted a wild dog. Apparently, not only was he weird, but a scavenger, as well.

Soon after nightfall, and without warning, four spindly creatures emerged out of the shadows. The creatures appeared human-like. Completely bald, their pale skin glistened in the dark beneath the dirt smeared across their naked bodies. No private parts. Long, slender nails pierced through the tips of their claw-like hands and feet. Large, elongated ears sprouted from their ovoid heads. Their noses appeared flat, almost leaf-like, with cashew-shaped nostrils.

Star jumped to her feet, and drew back the slingshot. She switched her aim back and forth between the creatures, but they didn't move. They just stared at her with dead-black-eyes.

Shale sat there; face motionless, like he expected this.

One of the creatures (they appeared identical), tilted its head toward Shale and its eyes glistened iridescently.

Star aimed at the creature peering at him, and asked, "Shale?"

He clambered to his feet, and said, "It's okay. We have to go with them."

"What?"

"Trust me."

She wanted to trust him. And even though her innards curdled with trepidation, Star wasn't scared. Not yet.

Without smothering the campfire, the creatures led them off into the darkness.

Their weapons weren't taken and they had not been shackled, but Star knew what _this_ was.

The orangish-glow of Coffin Nail clearly visible from afar, the creatures escorted them into town. No gates. No borders. The hamlet appeared abandoned, but toward the center of town, roars and cheers rose high into the night's sky.

Star's heart galloped in her chest as they advanced toward the cacophonous throng. Other naked creatures dotted the crowd, as did other creatures; just as pale and human-like, but these ones had hair and wore clothing. Humans were there too, and while the creatures stood motionless and silent, the people eagerly cheered on the competition currently underway.

"Halt!" a thunderous voice called. And everyone halted. "Come forth, Shale."

The crowd turned toward them; peering at them.

Once again, Star felt like she was back in the fields.

_Scrickity-rickity_.

The assembly parted, creating an unobstructed aisle. Two humans stood in the center of an open arena. Both lurched over, fists up, breathing heavily, sweating profusely, and bleeding. They had been fighting.

Shale hobbled forth and the combatants stepped away from each other. Star followed. The four creatures followed her in turn. There, toward the edge of the crowd at the other end of the area, sat Tahl. The creature rose in the air like fog. He appeared ten feet tall. His large ovoid face was pale and veiny. Large, hulking body wrapped in the blackest of cloaks. His long hair looked even blacker. As a wisp of wind, Tal zipped across the open arena, and loomed over them. He rubbed hands larger than Star's torso, and said, "I asked you a question, Shale. What is this thing you bring me?"

Star marched toward Tahl, and said, "I'm not a thing!"

The humans in the crowd (including the combatants), pointed and laughed.

_Screeeeeeeee-scraaaaaaaaaaw-scrap_.

The creatures stood silent and still.

Tahl tilted its head toward the crowd at an impossible angle.

The ruck quieted.

Tahl continued, "You were expected nearly two moons ago to deliver your report, Shale. Instead, my childer find you with this calf. Explain yourself."

Shale bowed, fingers twitching, he said, "Your childer found me returning to you, master. I have brought you this girl to enter into the tournament. She fits the requirement."

What?

Face devoid of emotion, Tahl asked, "She was a slave?"

Shale quavered, "Yes, master."

"And you found her alone?"

"Yes, master."

Tahl leaned back, and said, "I am curious, how did one so young survive?"

"She is very strong-willed." Hands folded, chest puffed out in pride, Shale wore an awkward smile.

Star didn't appreciate them talking about her as if she weren't there. Anger bubbled up inside, but she steadied it. For now. First, she needed to find out what the hell was going on.

Tahl continued, "Perhaps. But she is too young to enter. Maybe we can find a better use for this calf. Is she of good-blood?"

One of the creatures behind Star grabbed her by her hair, and jerked back her head. The creature hissed. It unhinged its jaws, exposed long sharp fangs. Its breath stank of rot and death.

"Wait!" Shale called, palms out, "Please master, hear my words."

The creatures stilled and the throng silenced as Tahl contemplated the request.

"Very well," said Tahl. "But make them count."

The creature eased its grip on Star but did not release her.

Shale said, "This young calf escaped the fields on her own, and has killed many men since then."

Tahl asked, "Oh?"

Shale continued, "And if it would please you, I suggest a test of her skill."

After a moment's consideration, Tahl replied, "Very well."

The humans in the crowd exploded in applause.

The creature released Star. She whirled toward Shale, and growled, "What the fuck is going on?"

Shale whispered, "I'm trying to save your life." He snatched away her satchel and slingshot.

"Hey what are you--"

"This is un-armed combat. You can't use your weapons."

Tahl selected a random human from the roaring throng, and before she knew it, Star stood before him.

Scars riddled the man's muscle-bound body. The horse-shoe-like brand upon his left temple was clearly visible upon his shaved head and face. A ravenous hunger lurked beneath his dark, sunken eyes.

Tahl said, "Fight!"

Star squared off. The two circled each other, fists up. He threw a fast right-cross at her head. Star covered up, but the force of the blow sent her to the ground. He stomped at her with his massive boot. Star rolled away and sprang to her feet. He swung again. Star juked to the side. He threw an upper-cut. Star leaned back so far she tumbled over. She rolled away and scrambled to her feet. The man whirled toward the crowd. He raised his arms and the humans cheered.

_Scrickity-crick_.

Glaring at her opponent, Star growled. She roared, charged. He back handed her across the face, and Star went reeling to the ground.

The humans brayed in laughter.

_Scrikity-rickity-crack_.

Grunting in anger, Star pushed herself up. She charged again. Shackles rattled. Her opponent stepped to the side and tripped her with a leg-sweep.

Star collapsed face-first into the dirt. Pain swelled through the bridge of her nose and eye sockets.

Her opponent riled the crowd. Cheers. Jeers. Laughter. Even the creatures stared at her mockingly. Tahl sat on the edge of the crowd; rubbing his massive hands together.

_Screeeeeee-scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw-scraaaaaaaaackkkkkkkkk_.

Mikhail's battered face materialized in her mind and Star found herself back in the desert. The soldiers stood around cheering in laughter while a solitary guard strut triumphantly around her like a wolf circling in for the kill.

Anger burned within Star. She stood, sashayed toward her opponent. He pivoted. Shackles rattling, Star marched within paces of him, and halted. The man stepped forward.

Fists raised, he asked, "Want some more?"

Star kicked him squarely in the balls with all her might.

The humans sympathetically moaned, "Ooh!"

Holding his belly, the man dropped to his knees.

Star rammed the heel of her palm up into the man's nose; driving bone and cartilage into brain. The man's eyes rolled back in his head. Blood drizzled from his nose. Mouth hung agape, he fell backward in a slump. Dust swirled around his still warm corpse.

Chest heaving, heart palpitating, Star stood triumphantly over her kill. Her teeth clenched. Fists balled so tight they drew blood.

The humans clamored in applause.

Even the creatures seemed to look upon her with new-found respect.

Tahl sat there, rubbing his hands together. Curiosity burned behind his blood-red eyes. "Very well," he called, quieting the crowd. "She is acceptable."

The people blustered in approval.

Once more, a surge of empowerment coursed through her.

Tahl continued, "Shale, inform our young dueler of the rules. Make sure she is ready to enter the competition by tomorrow night. For now, the both of you are excused." Tahl turned his attention to the two combatants who had been dueling when Star first arrived, and said, "Continue."

The crowd roared, yet again.

Star marched toward the edge of the assembly, and toward Shale. She glared at him, strut right past him, and plodded back the way they came. There, before her stood a big, tall man; arms crossed. He dressed in brown rangers clothes. A ranger's hat hung low over his face, revealing only his smooth, square jawline. A star-shaped badge pinned upon his vest glittered in the torch light. The emblem appeared gold but wasn't. Star had seen real gold.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

Star balled her fists, and snarled, "I'm leaving."

"Negative. Duelers are not permitted to leave town."

"I ain't no dueler!"

Shale shuffled toward her, and called, "Star! Star! Wait!" He reached for her shoulder.

Star pulled away, and screamed, "Don't you fucking touch me!" She kicked Shale in the shin of his bum leg. He dropped to the ground. Star grabbed Shale's collar and slammed her fist into his face until her hand hurt.

Shale fell backward, fluttering his hands protectively over his face as he gurgled on his own blood.

Star spat on him, and said, "You're lucky I didn't fucking kill you."

****

Teeth barred, fists clenched, Star growled, "What the hell was that all about?"

Unlike the other contenders, Star was allowed to stay with Shale in his private quarters. He lived in a simple shack fashioned with a cot and five, large kegs connected via a series of tubes. The scent of barley and yeast hung in the stagnant air.

"You sell me out, you son of a bitch?" Star hissed.

"I told you, I just saved your life." Shale stood in front of a small mirror, inspecting his crooked nose. Dark crimson dried to his upper lip and stubbly chin.

Star roared, "Bull shit! You brought me here! You said it yourself."

"Yeah, I did. But it's not like you've never lied." He glanced at her via the mirror's reflective surface. His square face swollen and bruised.

Star asked, "So you lied to your master?"

"Yes."

"And he didn't know?"

Shale faced her, cocked a slender, effeminate brow, and said, "Oh, he knew. But the fact that I lied to spare you interested him. _You_ interest him."

"So what, you just go 'rounding up people or something?" Star asked, twirling her compass (the only thing not taken), and tapped her foot.

"No. I go out on scouting missions. Runaway slaves usually escape in groups. And then they stay in groups. I find them, and report back to my master."

Star asked, "Why slaves?"

"It's complicated."

"Fuck that!" Fist raised Star stormed toward Shale, and growled, "Tell me."

Hands covering his face, Shale backed away, and squealed, "I don't know! They don't tell me."

"Then why did you say it was complicated?"

"'Cause I've been doing this a long time and I still can't figure out their motives."

Star eased back, lowered her fist, and said, "I ain't fighting."

"You have to. They'll kill you if you don't."

"Big whoop. What do I care?"

"I care."

Star slammed a right-cross into his chin and Shale staggered backward. She roared, "Fuck you! You better start talkin' right here, right now. I wanna know just who the hell you are, and why you brought me here, or I'm gonna rip your fucking throat out!"

Working his jaw up and down, Shale rubbed the side of his face. He glared up at her, sighed, and said, "My name is Shelton Ashmore. I come from a small fishing village along the eastern coastline of this continent. A village called Shallow Bay. Ever heard of it?"

"No," Star replied. She stepped back from Shale, who sat on his cot. Star leaned against the wall.

Shale nipped from his flask. He offered it to Star, who spat in his general direction.

Shale continued, "My village was stricken with a strange plague. The first symptoms were fatigue, headaches, and sore throat. Those inflicted soon died, and then rose. They hid from the sunlight and fed on others. Soon Shallow Bay was infested."

Star sneered, "What happened? Someone like you lead them to your village?"

"No. It was Tahl."

"So where were you in all of this?"

Shale sighed, and replied, "I was the town physician. Feverishly investigating this mysterious plague. But it soon spun out of control. One night, the master came to me. He offered to spare me for my services."

"And you just accepted?"

Shale stood. He hobbled toward one of his many kegs. He spun a valve and held his flask up to the spigot. A hissing noise. A plume of rank smelling steam blossomed in the air. The liquid poured into Shale's flask. He turned the valve in the other direction; closing the contraption. He imbibed a hearty swig, and said, "Sometimes in life we come to a cross-road, where, despite which path we take, we always regret our decisions."

A shameful sting pierced at Star's heart. She hung her head, wanting to say something smug or hateful. But she had been robbed of her wit. She asked, "So what are those things?"

"Vampires," he replied, "The walking un-dead." Shale partook of another pull and offered the flask again, "Sure you don't want any?"

Wearily, Star sauntered toward him and accepted the flask. Should she really drink from it? Perhaps it poison. But then why would Shale tipple from it? She brought the container to her lips and slammed the liquid down, consuming four hearty swallows.

"Easy now," Shale said.

The alcohol stung her mouth and throat, filling her belly with a warm, fuzzy sensation. Her head felt faint for the utmost of brevity.

"Wait a few," Shale slurred. "It'll kick in."

Star handed back the flask.

Shale tippled and then capped it. He burped, and said, "First thing ya gotta know, don't kill your opponent."

"Why not?"

"They'll want to eat the loser. And vampires don't drink from the dead."

"What about tonight?"

"That was an exception, a test. Just don't do it tomorrow."

Arms crossed, Star asked, "And if I do?"

Shale gently massaged the bridge of his broken beak. Wincing, he said, "Trust me, that's a bad idea."

"What is this tournament?"

"Basically, former slaves are rounded up and forced to compete in un-armed combat. I mean, sometimes they use weapons, if the round gets too boring. But anyway, the loser of each match is eaten. The contest goes on until a dueler wins ten consecutive matches."

Star asked, "What happens then?"

Shale replied, "Well, no one has ever won before, but according to the master, the winner will be given a chance to ascend, to become one of them."

"And that's why you serve him, right? Hoping after all your scraping and bowing that he'll turn you into...one of them?"

Eyes half-open and blood-shot, Shale slurred, "Better'n death. But they won't turn me."

Twirling her compass chain, Star asked, "Why not?"

"I'm more useful human. Plus, along with the dead, they don't drink from the sick, the insane, or in my case, the drunken. Let alone, turn them."

"So, why do they let you drink?"

"Like I said, I'm useful." Shale staggered toward his cot.

Star's head felt muddled over in haze.

Shale continued, "Rule number three, they don't turn children. Which is why at first, Tahl said you were too young to compete, just in case you won."

"I thought you said no one has won?"

"Exactly why Tahl allowed you to enter, 'cause he doesn't think you can. I, however, believe differently." Eyelids drooping, Shale reclined on the cot.

"Anything else I should know?"

"Yeah, don't...don't...don't try to leave town...or...else..." Shale smacked the back of his head audibly against the wall.

Star asked, "Or else what?"

Shale chortled. He was out.

Star kicked his cot, and yelled, "Hey!"

Shale opened his eyes.

Fist balled, Star growled, "If you double-cross me, I'm gonna kill you -- slow."

"M'kay."

Star grabbed his collar and pulled him to the ground.

Shale's eyelids barely opened.

Towering over him, Star said, "And you sleep on the floor."

****

The whinnying of horses and the clomping of hooves awoke Star from a restless sleep. She peered around.

Shale laid face-up on the floor. Snoring, arm draped over his broken beak.

She'd rather be back in the fields.

Horses neighed. Humans chattered loudly. Star stood, stretched, yawned, and kicked Shale lightly in the ribs. Nothing.

Star trotted outside, the sunlight pained her eyes. When her vision adjusted she glanced around. The rundown buildings seemed all the more ravaged in daylight. To her chagrin, she noticed they had been taken back toward the North. Back toward the desert.

Just over yonder lay the open-air arena. Soldiers clad in heavy, black armor and helmets lingered around three large, black, iron cages. People wailed and moaned from within the portable prisons.

Slowly, Star backed away. She hit something solid, something that cast a long shadow.

"Good morning, young dueler," the sheriff said, arms crossed. A wide, artificial smile plastered his unnaturally smooth face. "I am glad that you did not try to leave."

Star said, "I ain't gonna fight."

"That would be most unfortunate."

Star glanced back at the soldiers.

The sheriff said, "Don't worry, they're not who you think they are. Although they bear the mark of the king, they are unfaithful to their master. They are deserters. Now they serve a new master. _The_ master."

Star asked, "Then why they still wearing their armor?"

"It's the perfect camouflage against those who still serve the king." The sheriff ambled toward the soldiers and the prisoner transport.

Unafraid, Star walked alongside.

"Okay men," the sheriff called, "Let's see what you've got today."

The soldiers unlocked the cells, pulled prisoners out, and forced them to the ground.

The sheriff paced back and forth, inspecting those presented to him.

Star's thoughts turned to Krin and how she too lined up for examination after the king's victory. Star forced the reverie away before it could materialize in her mind's eye.
The sheriff said, "Look upon me." The slaves did. "You have been brought to earn a chance at redemption. Unfortunately, not all of you shall be granted such a chance. You shall be taken to the bleeders to determine who here is of good-blood. Those chosen shall be given shelter and succor from this day forth in exchange for regular bleedings.

"Those of poor-blood will be given the chance to earn their freedom, to ascend, to become one of the childer. Only one can win such an honor. The others shall die. But at least here, you all have a fighting chance." The sheriff turned to one of the masked soldiers, and said, "You may take them away."

The soldiers escorted the prisoners off to the bleeders, leaving Star and the sheriff standing there alone as dust swirled about their feet.

A soft blubbering arose. There, huddled in the far corner of the last cage, was a small child.

"You there," the sheriff said, marching toward the cell. "Come out of there."

The child whimpered, clinging tightly to the black, iron bars.

The sheriff reached inside, his arm stretched to an impossible length as he grasped the child by the back of his tattered shirt.

"No! No!" The boy squealed. Short, tan-skinned, and unusually pudgy for a slave, the boy appeared around the age of eight.

The same age as when Star enslaved.

The sheriff held the boy out in front of him by the scruff of his neck. He feverishly inspected the boy. "Too young to enter. Too young to bleed. Unacceptable. Approving disposal."

"No!" Star yelled. "You can't kill him!"

"Illogical. The child serves no purpose."

"What if I took care of him?"

"Impossible. A slave cannot own a slave," the sheriff replied, artificial grin etched into his otherwise stoic face. "Unless proven of good-blood, all slaves are still slaves until declared winner of the tournament." The sheriff started away, the boy struggled in his grasp.

"Wait!" Star called. "I gotta...what'cha call it...not a deal?"

Shale called, "A proposition." He hobbled toward them and rubbed his temples.

"Yeah," Star said. "I gotta proposition for your master."

The sheriff slowly turned toward her. His eyes unreadable.

Star continued, "Tell Tahl, that if I win, instead of being turned, me and the boy go free."

The sheriff said, "So, you will fight."

Star gulped, gaze averted. What was she doing? She took a deep breath, and said, "If Tahl accepts my terms, then yes, I will fight."

"Intriguing," the sheriff replied. "I will inform the master of your proposal."

Star said, "Good, until then, the kid stays with me. If'n your master doesn't like it he can come for all three of us."

Shale's head shot up. Blood-shot eyes wide, mouth agape, he asked, "Uh, what?"

Star glared at Shale and he backed away.

The sheriff dropped the blubbering boy to the ground, and ambled off.

Star raced toward the boy and threw her arms around him. "There, there," she said. "You're safe now. I'm Star. What's your name?"

The boy gazed up at her. His crystal-blue eyes shimmered with tears. He quavered, "I...I don't know."

Staring into the boy's tan, round face, she couldn't help but see her brother there before her. She had failed in her oath to protect Mikhail. She would not fail again. She dried his rheumy eyes. A gape so blue they were almost clear, like diamonds.

"I know," she said. "We'll call you Diamond. Do you like that name?"

Sniffling, Diamond gazed up at her and smiled.

Diamonds were considered rare and extremely valuable in the fields. So desirable that some of the slaves risked their lives just to steal the precious stones. Star never did. No point. Especially if the soldiers found out. But if she had to, Star would steal this diamond away into the dead-of-night without a second thought.

****

"You ready for this kid?" Shale asked. Diamond clutched the hem of his jacket.

Star glared at Shale and ruffled Diamond's short, flat hair.

The cacophonous roaring of the crowd filled the sweat and blood scented air. The lambent torch-light cast an eerie-orangish glow over the open-air arena.

Tahl sat in his favorite chair, methodically rubbing his large hands together.

Not long after parting their company, the sheriff returned to inform Star that Tahl accepted her proposal on the stipulation that should she fail, she would be turned and her first feeding would be upon Diamond's flesh.

She spent most of that day mentally preparing for her first round in the tournament. As the day progressed, more and more humans roused themselves. Star felt anxiety gnawing away at her bowels. Shale suggested she try and meditate, but she still couldn't clear her mind without Furion slithering to the fore-front of her consciousness.

Clutching Star's shoulders, Shale said, "Remember what I told you, mortally wound, don't kill."

Star glanced at Diamond. What would his punishment be if she didn't adhere to the first rule?

"You can do this," Shale added.

Star turned and stepped toward the middle of the arena.

Her opponent stood tall and lanky. His mangy, dirty-blond hair was cropped along his oblong head. His face withered and wrinkled. His ribs were clearly visible along the side of his emaciated body. Rotten teeth hung loosely within his head. He appeared on the verge of starvation, yet a deep, wild hunger burned behind his dark and sunken eyes; much like her previous opponent.

Star's stomach balled up into tight knots. She could not afford to underestimate this man.

_Scrickity-rickity-cra_ \--

No! Star needed to keep focused. She must not kill this man.

They stepped forward, fists up.

Tahl said, "Fight!"

The man swung left. Star pivoted. He swung right. She whirled away. He punched wildly at her but Star was too fast. He was too tall and his arms too long. Star danced around, waiting for her opening. He stepped forward, swung so hard his balance faltered. Star closed in. Her opponent jabbed her in the nose. Vision filling with stars, Star reeled backward.

_Scree_ \--

No! She shook her head and it cleared a bit.

Her opponent rushed her. Star put up her dukes, covering her head as she suffered a barrage of punches. Star yelped and fell backward. She could not fight this man, not like this.

Star rolled to her feet and danced away. Her shackles rattled. Fists up. She needed a strategy and fast. She glanced around the ground for rocks to lob. Nothing. She glimpsed at Shale and Diamond along the side-line. Shale looked worried. Diamond covered his eyes with his hands. He didn't peak.

Her opponent bum rushed her. Star darted to the side, rolled to her feet. He pivoted, and threw rabbit-punches. Star skittered away.

"Hit him!" Shale roared over the crowd. "You gotta hit him!"

The man threw a hook. Star lurched back. He feinted left, then right, and then jabbed at her face. Star leaned away but his knuckles grazed her chin. She grabbed his extended arm, and pulled with all her might. He staggered and Star connected a right-cross to his face. Her hand exploded in pain. She danced away, holding her wrist, shaking it out.

"Stick and move!" Shale shouted. "Ya gotta stick and move!"

Star yelled, "Shut the fuck up!"

The man charged, swinging wildly at the air. Star waited until he was nearly upon her and then rolled into his sinuous legs. The man tumbled forward, and slammed his face into the ground, just as Star had the previous night. Star scurried away, dukes up, ready for anything. The man was slow to his feet, breathing heavily as a pink mist wafted out of his mouth. He wiped the blood away and glowered at Star. She could tell he was getting tired. Apparently, he had underestimated her. Throwing more jabs, he tottered toward her. Star waited for his arms to slow, then drove an uppercut into his chin. Her wrist flared in searing pain. The mob clamored. Her dominant hand sprained, she had to use her less powerful fist. Her opponent reeled backward briefly before backhanding her across the face. Star fell to the ground and rolled out of reach.

Shale called, "Kidney punch!"

"What?"

"Punch him in the fucking kidney!" Shale blurted.

Her attention on Shale, Star's opponent fell upon her. Star rolled on her back, drove her boots into his stomach, and pushed him backward. Holding her sprained hand, Star hopped to her feet. Her opponent advanced, and swung. Star whirled to a kneel, and rammed the elbow of her sprained arm directly into her opponent's kidney.

He yelped, "Ah! Ah!" Hissing through clenched teeth, he collapsed to the ground. He held at his side as he struggled to his feet. No use. He wailed. A wave of sympathy and disgust coursed through Star. All grew silent and still as the crowd waited to see if the man would be able to resume combat.

A cadre of vampires encircled the man as he writhed on the ground.

Heart racing, Star stepped back.

The vampires descended upon him.

A blood-curdling skirl filled the still night air before the throng erupted in applause.

Shale jumped up and down, pumping his fist in the air.

Diamond just stood there smiling, tears streamed down his chubby, tan face.

Tahl ceased rubbing his hands and stared at Star with interest lingering behind lifeless, crimson eyes.

****

Shale tippled from his flask, and said, "You got lucky out there tonight."

Later now, they had retired to Shale's shack.

Star asked, "That why you was rootin' for me the whole time?"

"Cheering for you doesn't change the fact that you got lucky -- real lucky," he replied.

Star had fought another match. She wanted to keep going, but rule number four stipulated no more than two matches per night for each dueler. Her second adversary was an older gent, portly with a large bushy-grey beard. Unlike her previous opponents, he fought erratically, as if he'd never battled anyone before. Afterward, Star found out he had arrived with Diamond and the others; his first day, his first match.

The throbbing in Star's right hand abated, leaving only a slight tingling sensation in its wake. She kept her distance, mostly utilizing kicks, and only striking with her left hand when given a clear shot at his head. At first, punching downward threw her off. She was used to hitting people taller than her.

When her opponent out of breath, Star leapt, and clawed at his eyes. He fell backward and Star pummeled her right elbow into his face until Tahl called for them to halt. Then her opponent was devoured alive.

Unable to go another round, Star left; having no interest in watching the other bouts. Diamond went with her, but Shale stayed behind a while longer. When he finally returned, Diamond was asleep on the cot, and sucking his thumb.

"So tell me," Star whispered, "just how in the hell did I get lucky?"

Shale said, "You're fighting style doesn't change. As you advance through the tournament, you're going to face opponents that actually know how to fight. And they've been watching you. Studying your movements."

"So? What am I supposed to do about that?"

"Let me train you. Let me teach you how to fight not with your anger, but with your head."

Arms crossed, foot tapping, Star scoffed, "Yeah, right, like _you_ know how to fight."

"I may have been a physician in another life--"

Star blurted, "And in this one, you're a back-stabbing drunk."

Shale paused, as if considering this. "Perhaps, but even back then, I was one heck of a bar-room brawler." Shale filled his flask from one of the kegs. An acerbic steam hissed out into the stagnant air. He took a hearty pull and sat upon a wooden crate containing barley. "You know how this happened?" Shale asked, nodding at his bum-leg.

"No," Star replied. "I asked you before, but you wouldn't tell me."

Shale leaned back, imbibed another swig, and said, "Well, now I am. You see, the mysterious plague inflicting Shallow Bay wasn't really that mysterious at all. It didn't take long for me and Thomas Blackwood, the town priest, to figure out what was happening. We rounded up a few of the un-infected and went off in search of the master. We found his lair, but he wasn't there. That night we returned to my home to discuss future hunting plans. Tahl was there, waiting for us. None of the other vampires were with him. He didn't need them. The others were frozen in fear and quickly slain. But I fought back. I didn't stand a chance. He broke my leg, and left me to die.

"My apprentice had already been turned, and my attempts at re-setting my own leg didn't turn out as well as I hoped. I remember thinking, I've set dozens of bones, this should be a piece of cake. But it wasn't." Shale drifted off, as if someplace else. He hiccupped, and said, "No matter how long, or dark, or cold the night may seem, come the 'morrow, the sun will always rise."

"What?"

"It's the last thing Father Blackmore said to me as I held him in my arms. The sun will always rise," he said, trailing off again.

"So what happened next?"

Shale continued, "I was wounded, but I could not relent in the hunt. I was the only human left. I found the fledglings' nest, that's what they call the new ones, and burned it to the ground, along with the rest of my village. Furious, Tahl came to me. Amused by my will, he offered me a choice, servitude or death."

Nodding, Star said, "And as this great fighter, you naturally choose servitude, right?"

"I had my reasons. I guess I thought that if I survived, I could continue the battle. But I never fought Tahl again."

"Uh-huh," Star sneered. "Okay, let's say I believe a single word that comes out of your mouth, and that's a big if, why should I trust you to train me?"

Shale hiccupped, and said, "Because you won't survive another round. You weren't even supposed to be allowed to fight, and already you've defeated two men and killed another. Tahl does not want you to win. I promise you, even right now, at this very moment, he's plotting to make sure that doesn't happen."

Star glanced at Diamond.

She didn't really give a shit if she died -- not anymore. But now she had Diamond to look after, and she swore with every fiber of her being that this time would be different. This time she would save him.

Star said, "One condition."

"Hmm?" Effeminate brows arched, Shale glanced up from his flask.

Star said, "If you wanna teach me, ya gotta do it sober."

****

"Are you insane?" Shale asked. "You can't go back out there."

Star glanced at her swollen wrist; three rounds down, seven to go.

Weeping, Diamond tugged at Star's rolled up sleeve, and said, "Please Star, don't go."

Shale didn't want her to fight. He told her she wasn't ready. She hadn't been thoroughly trained. Technically, after advancing two rounds the previous night, she didn't even have to fight. But she did.

Shale spent the day teaching her basic blocks and counters, as well as offering a few pointers at her natural ability to duck, dive, and basically avoid attacks.

Already Star felt stronger -- sharper.

Using her new skills, Star breezed past the first round. She defeated her opponent (a wild and haggard woman in her thirties), easily enough. The woman fought much like her last opponent, erratically. But what the woman lacked in experience, she more than compensated for in untamed rage. It reminded Star of the way she used to fight. Star stayed mostly on the defense; sustaining several hits and a few scratches to her arms and face. Star felt Furion's voice inside her. She leapt and the two grappled on the ground, scratching, clawing, and pulling at hair. Blinded by rage, Star slammed her sprained fist into her opponent's throat. Her hand flared with pain. Holding her throbbing appendage, Star danced away, and waited for her rival to stand. The woman flailed on the ground; gasping, throat swelling, and face turning blue. The vampires fell upon her before she could suffocate.

Clutching Star's shoulders, Shale said, "Your next opponent hasn't dueled in two nights." His hazel-eyes bulged with fear and excitement. His slender chin trembled slightly.

Rubbing her protuberated joint, Star asked, "So?"

"So?" Shale thrust out his arms in a gesture of hopelessness. His face turned red. In a rush, Shale said, "So, he's been resting up to fight a girl with a broken hand!"

Glaring at Shale, Star snorted, "Ain't broke."

Massaging the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index-finger, Shale paced nervously about. He inhaled deeply, and calmed himself. He turned back to Star and said, "Listen, I know you don't much like me right now."

Star glowered all the more.

Shale continued, "Let me put this into terms even you can understand. If you go back out there, you will die!"

Star scanned the cacophonous masses. Which one would it be? Only Tahl knew the rotation.

_Scree-scraw-scrap_.

She didn't care which one she would face. Human. Vampire. She could take 'em all. Might have to, in fact.

_Screeeeeech-rickity-screeeeeeeeeck_.

"No, I can do this," Star said. She ripped Shale's sleeve from his shirt, and wrapped her hand.

"I'm telling you, you need the rest," Shale pleaded. "I need to take a look at your hand--"

"You had plenty of chances to do that before," Star growled. "Now, I gotta do what I gotta do. One more round is one more done."

"If you win! If you lose, you're dead." Shale shuffled closer, and whispered, "And then where will Diamond be? You think I'm gonna take care of him? You saved him. You vouched for him. He's your responsibility and you have to do the right thing for him. And you do that by taking care of yourself. What you're planning to do is not only foolish, it's unnecessary. You've already won three matches in two nights and--"

"All right already!" Star yelled. "If it'll get ya to shut up, then I'll postpone until tomorrow."

"You know, you _are_ allotted two nights in between matches. I'm just saying it might be wise to--"

Hands on hips, foot tapping, Star said, "Don't press it."

They left the bustling arena and returned to Shale's shanty.

Diamond curled up on the cot and sucked his thumb.

It tore at Star's heart at all the things he had witnessed here in Coffin Nail. But Star didn't trust letting him out of her sight for a second (except during a match, of course). She sat down next to Diamond and stroked his hair. Then, just as she did for Mikhail back in the fields, she sang the only song she knew.

" _Tell me a story, of ol' long ago_ ,

' _Fore the shaking of mountains_ ,

_When the seas overflowed_ ,

_Take me back to the time_ ,

_When the world still a-new_ ,

_When we stood together_ ,

' _Neath a bright shining moon_ ,

_Tell me a fairytale_ ,

_That leads far from my door_ ,

_Spin off the years_ ,

_And return me safe home_."

When Diamond ceased his whimpering and fell asleep, Shale whispered, "You should probably let me take a look at your hand."

Star extended her middle-finger.

"Not that one, your other hand."

Star glared at him.

Shale snorted, rolled his eyes, and said, "Come on, there's no reason for you not to trust me. I just saved your life -- again."

Star eased Diamond off her, careful not to disturb him. She inched to the edge of the cot. Old, rusty springs creaked and moaned like an old man's joints. She leaned toward him, and said, "Yeah, well I reckon you savin' my life is a matter of personal opinion." Star flicked open the compass around her neck and gazed at its face.

Shale said, "You'll never see it again, you know."

"What?"

"Krin, it doesn't exist anymore."

"I'll see about that," Star said. Anger and rebuke rose within her.

Shale tippled from his flask, and muttered, "Not with a busted hand you want."

Star sighed and rolled her eyes. She could barely stand to look at Shale, but she did give him her hand.

Shale took hers in his and unwrapped the sleeve tied around her swollen appendage. He moved her wrist this way and that, pressing his fingers in random areas, and asking, "Does it hurt when I do this?"

Every time he re-positioned her hand, an arch of searing pain shot up her arm. "Ah, yeah, it hurts," she hissed.

Shale hobbled toward his brewing station and opened a wooden box.

Star snorted, "I don't think that's gonna solve our problems."

"Hush child. It's not what you think." He removed a small, glass jar and returned to sitting in front of Star. He opened the lid.

The scent of lavender and cream filled the room; combining with the hefty malodor of yeast and distilling liquors. With his index and middle finger, he scooped up a healthy swath of the clear cream and generously slathered it all over her protuberant joints. A slight burning sensation, and then a numbing.

Shale wiped the excess on the lip of the jar before capping it, and returning it to the box.

Star asked, "What else ya got in there?"

He replied, "Well, it might surprise you to know, that whiskey isn't the only thing I know how to make."

"By the way, thanks for staying dry today. Except for those swigs you took during my match."

Blushing, Shale rubbed the back of his neck, and said, "Oh, sorry. I didn't think you saw me."

"S'okay. Rough day."

"Ya got that right, kid." Shale retrieved his flask. He pointed at it, shrugged, and said, "Since the day is over."

"Go ahead," Star chuckled. Odd. She couldn't remember the last time she had done that.

Shale tippled, and then offered her the flask. She accepted. She imbibed, and gagged as the hot liquid burned her insides.

"Takes some getting used to, huh?"

"Yeah," Star coughed.

"Well, less time than you might think." Shale stared reminiscently at the flask; turning it this way and that. He took another swig and sighed.

Facing each other, they both leaned backward in satisfaction; Star on the cot, Shale on the crate.

Shale mumbled, "No matter how long, or dark, or cold the night may seem, come the 'morrow, the sun will always rise." His eyes looked glassy, distant, as if he someplace else.

Star said, "You know, this dueling thing?"

"Hmm?" Speech slurred, eyes red and glazed, Shale asked, "Yeah, what about it?" He handed her the flask.

She nipped, wiped her chin, and said, "I think I'm starting to like it."

****

"Use your head, Star!' Shale screamed over the braying gawkers who'd gathered to see if this night would be Star's last fight. Shale warned her that the duels would get harder as she progressed, and strongly urged her to wait the allotted two-day grace-period between matches. But she just didn't listen.

Star had been determined to fight two rounds that night. If she survived the first (still underway), she might reconsider the second.

When she awoke that afternoon, her hand felt better, looser, and much of the swelling disappeared. Shale was passed out on the floor, as usual. Hand draped over his face. Already an eagerness to resume training burned within her; an eagerness to duel. The thrill in her veins after a win. The roar of a crowd that didn't point and laugh. The acerbic scent of blood filling the air. Deciding to let Shale sleep a while longer, Star went out in search of Diamond. He wasn't on the cot.

She opened the door and daylight stung her face. Star hissed and covered her eyes against the sun's piercing rays.

My God, she thought, I'm already becoming one of them.

When Star's vision cleared, she found Diamond playing in the dirt. She stood there against the door frame, watching him. So innocent. So naïve. So much like Mikhail.

They played tag, chasing each other around Coffin Nail without a care in the world. Star almost felt like the child she had been back in Krin. Oh, how she longed to feel like that again. But, she just couldn't seem to free her spirit the way Diamond did. Star was no longer a child. She hadn't been one for a long time, and there was no returning to that puerile age of innocence. Even as she jaunted about town, the anxiety of matches to come ate away at her. Ensconced in her own memories, Star realized she had lost sight of Diamond.

Probably hiding.

Star trounced around town in search of the boy when she spotted something peculiar. There, amidst the other weather-ravaged buildings, stood an equally dilapidated structure, with a shiny, steel chain wrapped around the door's handles. Star tugged at the chain as she gazed at the boarded-up windows.

"May I be of assistance?" the sheriff asked.

Pivoting mid-air, Star jumped in a start.

He towered over her, the top portion of his face concealed in shadow and the brim of his ranger's hat. Arms crossed. He grinned an artificial and preternatural smile.

Damn, he was sneaky.

"Yeah," Star replied. "What y'all got in there?"

The sheriff said, "That information is classified."

Star waited for him to say or do something. Another threat. A stern talking-to. The wag of an admonishing finger. Something. But, the sheriff stood as still and stoic as a statue. With nothing new to learn or gain, Star returned to the shack, where both Shale and Diamond awaited her.

Shale spent the majority of the day teaching her how to think on her feet and switch fighting styles to match her opponent, as Shale would put it, to fight with her head.

She should have trained a little more before accepting another round.

Her first opponent was a tall, muscle-bound, black man with hazel-green eyes and teeth filed behind his scarred, snarling face. Star thought he might be from Krin, but his dark, bushy brows and beard suggested otherwise. Furthermore, if he was from Krin, Star would probably have recognized him. She didn't. Wherever he hailed from, one thing remained clear, this guy knew how to fight.

If Star's hand not broken before, it probably was now. Blood poured freely from seemingly everywhere upon her face. She staggered around as dark-crimson pooled around her eyes, restricting her vision. Her head pounded, ears clangoring. Tired. Out of breath. Despite her best efforts, aversions, and tactics, she hadn't even fazed her opponent. For the first time in a very long time, she felt like nothing more than a scared, weak, little girl.

_Scrickity-rickity-crack_.

Laughter rippled across the crowd.

Plodding feet rushed her. Grunt. Gasp.

Star ran; fleeing her opponent. She wiped the blood from her eyes, only to have more ooze in. She was blind.

Shale yelled, "For the love of God, girl. Don't run! Fight!"

Shackles clattering, Star raced around the side-lines, capriciously changing course every few wobbly steps. She felt dizzy, faint. But she could not give up. She would not give up.

_Scree-scraw-scrip-scrap_.

The guffawing grew. Star sensed them all pointing at her mockingly -- even Shale.

_Screeeeeeeeeee-scraaaaaaw-scraaaaaaaatcccccchhhhh_.

"Stop running and fight him!" Shale screamed.

"I can't," Star cried. "I can't even see him!"

"Use your head! Clear you mind! You gotta--"

_Bam_. Star's head rocked violently to the side. The ringing in her ears jumped up a few dozen notches. Another shot to her chin and Star tumbled backward. Blind, Star thrust her fist wildly in the air. Her opponent leapt, straddled her, and held her wrists together. A snap and then a numbing pain coursed through her right arm.

The mob brayed in laughter.

_Scriiiiiiiiiiipity-clickkkkkkkkkkity-craaaaaaaaaaaaack_.

Shale yelled, "Gouge his eyes! Roll over! Do something, girl! Think! Use your head!"

Filed teeth sunk deep into Star's shoulder. She screamed, desperately struggled to free her hands. No use.

The spectators cackled louder.

_Riiiiiiickkkkkkkkity-scriiiickkkittttttty-craaaaaaaaaaackkkkkkkkk_.

"Use your head, Star!" Shale shouted. "Use your head!"

Her opponent rocked his head violently like a rabid dog until he ripped free a chunk of stringy flesh.

Shoulder burning in agony, Star screamed.

"Use your head!"

Her opponent's weight shifted. He reared back, meaning to take another bite out of her. She struggled even more.

"Use your fucking head!"

_Screeeeeeee-scriiiiiiiip.scraaaaaaaaatchhhhhh_.

Her opponent's weight shifted again. She waited a split-second, and then met his face with her forehead with all her might.

"Ah!" he grunted. His grip loosened.

Star wrestled her hands free and scratched at his face.

He throttled her. Star choked. She searched his face until she found his eyes. Her head swooned as she strained for air. She rammed her thumbnails into his oculars. One more his grip slackened. Star gasped, and rolled over with all her might, straddling him in turn. She dug her thumbs deeper into his eyes sockets as he skirled. Star slammed his head into the ground as hard as she could until he stopped shrieking; until he stopped moving. And even then, she didn't cease.

A breeze rushed by her. Star dangled in the air, suspended by her neck, breath cut-off once more. She couldn't struggle. She had nothing left.

The crowd quieted.

Tahl hissed, "Insolent calf! You broke the first rule."

Star choked, "Go to Hell." She spat blood in his pale, emotionless mug.

Tahl pulled her closer, and worked his leaf-like nose over her blood-smeared face; sniffing her. He asked, "We never did find out if you were of good-blood, did we?" Tahl cleared the blood from her eyes. Finally she could see. Tahl turned her toward the spectators and their guffawing gapes.

Two creatures were drinking from Diamond; one suckling from either side of his throat.

Shale just stood there abashed, face down-cast, shoulders slouched; letting it happen.

Star strived to scream out in revolt, "N...no...no..."

As she watched in horror, Tahl sank his fangs into the gash in her shoulder. At first, Star felt nothing, like when she had been marked. Soon her entire body tingled. The precious fluids within her were being siphoned, drained. And then all went dark.

****

Star awoke in a start. Back at Shale's. He stood in the corner, nipping at his flask. The pain in her sprained wrist increased, now she could barely move her hand. Her head throbbed. Her throat felt like a dry and rocky well. Her left eye swollen shut. Her left shoulder stung and itched at the same time. It had been cleaned and patched. Blood soaked through the gauze. Shale's handy-work.

"What happened?" Star asked, holding her aching forehead. She sat up. "Am I...am I one of them?"

Shale tippled, and said, "No, you have to drink their blood after they drink yours."

"Are you sure?"

Shale shrugged, and took another drink.

"Where's Diamond?"

"Outside," Shale replied. "He's fine. He's playing."

"You let him go outside at night, with those things out there?"

"Don't worry," Shale nodded toward the drapes, and said, "Daytime."

"You...you just stood there," Star whimpered. "You just stood there, doing nothing."

With a heavy sigh, Shale replied, "I told you, I won't fight the master. Not anymore."

Glowering, Star asked, "And if I hadn't won? If I had died, would you just let them take Diamond? Would you just stand there watching while they tore him to pieces?"

Shale hung his head.

Star tottered to her feet. They felt like she hadn't used them in days. How long had she been out for?

Shale moved to steady her.

Star roared, "Fuck you!" She stumbled out of the shack and slammed the door behind her.

Diamond whirled around, peering at her with his big, blue-eyes. He trotted toward her.

"No, Diamond!" she said, palm outstretched. "It's okay. Everything's gonna be just fine. You just stay right where you are." She didn't want to leave him behind with Shale, but the sun was up and Diamond appeared fine. And Star needed to be alone.

Head swimming in pain and doubt, she marched. The next thing she knew, she was outside of town. No one tried to stop her from leaving. Where was the sheriff?

She plodded on and suddenly it all came crashing down upon her. In her mind's eyes, she saw Mikhail's face morph into Diamond's. The pain she felt, not just physically. What was she doing? She couldn't do this. She would not survive another fight. Sure, her suffering would end, but what of Diamond? Before Star knew it, she was running and crying. Tears blinded her un-swollen eye. Star ran until her sides hurt and she was out of breath, then she collapsed in the dirt and bawled until she drained all the poisonous tears within her.

Thunder rolled across the prairie.

A noxious odor like rotten eggs wrestled her sinuses.

Star wiped the tears from her good eye and peered around. Crumbling headstones jutted out from the mossy ground. Wooden-planks nailed into crosses served as fresher markers. A graveyard.

The skies clouded over with heavy, storm clouds. Lightning flashed off in the distance. Another clasp of thunder and the Joshua trees shook in terror.

Emanating from afar, a voice echoed in song, " _Yeah_ , _they come to me_ , _a rum-pum-pum-pum_."

Hand covering her mouth and nose, Star gazed around. Nothing but gathering storm clouds, thunder, and that pungent aroma.

" _They have such gifts to bring_ , _a rum-pum-pum-pum_." The voice sounded closer. Still nothing.

" _You've still a soul to sell_..." the voice crooned, seemingly behind her.

Star whipped her head around. Nothing.

"... _A rum-pum-pum-pum_ , _rum-pum-pum-pum_ , _rum-pum-pum-pum_..." the voice trailed off, fading back into the distance. Directly behind her, the voice amended, " _Me and my drum_."

Still on her knees, Star spun around. Losing her balance, she fell backward.

There, standing over her, loomed a tall stranger clad in queer clothes. His pants were white, as was his odd looking jacket. His shirt was as black as sack-cloth. A gold chain looped the inside of the jacket to a shirt pocket. His hat almost looked like a ranger's hat, but different, and also white. The man's face completely submersed in shadow. His bare feet smattered in tar. The nails of his un-soiled hands were long and dirty. He drawled, "Hello there, Myriam."

"My name isn't Myriam."

"Oh, well sure it is. My Myriam's Star, that's what your father called you, wasn't it?"

Star snorted, "You don't know me."

The stranger chuckled, and said, "On the contrary, I know you quite well. The things you have forgotten are forever burned in my memory. And the things you chose to ignore, I see with the utmost of clarity."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The stranger continued, "I'm talking about your unborn sibling. When Krin fell, your mother wasn't pregnant, but two years later, when you saw her again, she was clearly with child. Do you still know so little about such things?"

Chest heaving, nostrils flaring, Star breathed heavily; the anger and hatred inside her percolated to the brim. She let it.

The stranger steepled his sinuous fingers, and said, "I'm telling you that the father of that unborn child was not your father. Your mother had been raped. Many times, in fact. After all, she was quite fetching in her prime." The stranger ran his concealed gaze up and down Star's lithe figure, and said, "You look a lot like her, you know."

Teeth clenched, she growled, "Shut up." Vision blurred, she trembled with rage.

"I apologize if I'm angering you. I did not come today to make you upset, but it's the truth. Your mother was raped. And your father just watched. He liked watching. He got off on it."

"Shut up!" Star snatched a rock from the ground, meaning to brain the stranger with it. But he was gone. Vanished without a trace.

"I also know why you were fighting with your brother, Mikhail, that day in the garden."

Startled, she dropped the stone. Star pivoted.

The stranger stood directly behind her. Pacing, he drawled, "When your Grandmere asked, you couldn't remember, but I do. Would you like me to tell you why you were so infuriated with your dear, sweet brother that you were on the verge of killing him?"

The anger in Star's heart washed away and was replaced by a cold dread that tingled in her spine. For the utmost of brevity, Star could have sworn that she knew this man. Star said, "I wasn't gonna kill him." But her voice sounded meek; quavering with fear and uncertainty. "I would never hurt him. Not like that."

"Oh, but you were _so_ angry. You don't remember do you? You attacked him, because he picked a bigger turnip than you, and he was so proud."

Star scoffed, "That's stupid."

"Isn't it though? All that anger, all that hatred over nothing more than a simple turnip." The stranger in white passed a hand over the other, revealing a turnip. "The reason you couldn't remember, is because you couldn't believe what you had done over something so...trivial." He passed a hand back over the other and the turnip vanished. "So you chose to forget it."

"Who are you?"

"Who I am is not important. What I want _is_."

"What do you want?

The stranger replied, "To help you. To do what no one has ever done for you. I want to give everything back that your precious God has stolen." Thunder clapped again. He continued, "Your family, your life, your brother. Why, Diamond could be your new, baby brother -- everything He has taken away from you, I shall restore." Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. "And all I want from you in turn is just one, small favor."

Terrified of what the stranger might want, Star asked, "What?"

"Tahl and his childer have become too prolific, overpopulated. This was not the way things were meant to be."

"So?"

"Kill Tahl and I shall be forever in your debt."

Star asked, "How'm I supposed to do that? Those things are strong and fast."

The stranger replied, "And yet, still, they can be killed easily enough, even Tahl. And he's the one I want. Focus on him, the others will fall like a house of cards."

"Let's say I do this thing, how would I kill him?"

The stranger steepled his fingers, and drawled, "The devil, as they say, is in the details. But don't worry, I'll give you help. Very soon, one of mine will come to you."

"And if I don't do this?"

The stranger replied, "Then I'll find another way to persuade you to my side. It's only a matter of time before you realize only I can restore everything He has taken away from you." The man in white gazed toward the sky, his face still hidden. More lightning and Thunder thrashed above. The wind howled, briefly dissipating that egg-like stench. He peered down at Star.

Even though his face still concealed, Star felt him smiling at her.

He continued, "And I am very, very patient."

"Why me?" she asked.

"Why ask why? Analyzing every little decision is no way to go through such a short, fraught-filled life. Sometimes, one has to be spontaneous and take chances. Surely, you would agree."

What should she do? Where should she go? Which path?

In her mind, Star heard Shale say, "Sometimes in life we come to a cross-road, where, despite which path we take, we always regret our decisions."

Twirling the chain around her finger, Star took the compass in her hands, opened it, and studied the needle as it bobbed in-decisively to-and-fro.

"I know what you're thinking," the stranger chuckled. He folded his arms behind him, and paced back and forth.

Still she couldn't see his face.

"You're thinking, maybe, just maybe, you can steal Diamond away in the middle of the day. After all, no one stopped you from leaving town, did they? You're thinking, you can get away and then maybe, just maybe, that compass needle will steady and you'll finally be able to find your way home. But the hell of it is you're not just thinking that, you actually believe that. Now, I'll grant you, faith is a wonderful thing. But all too often, it is fleeting. All too often, the things we believe in aren't what they used to be."

Tears shimmered in Star's good eye. She trembled in a pain that radiated from her soul. Head lowered, she whimpered, "I just wanted to go home."

The stranger in white halted right in front of Star, and said, "You can believe in whatever you want, Myriam. But you should at least entertain the possibility that you'll never find what you're looking for. That you'll never see Krin again."

"No." Star sprang up. "No! You lie!"

But the stranger was gone.

Turning in circles, Star peered around. Nothing. What happened? Did that happen? What should she do? Star glanced at her compass, the needle forever moving. She gazed off into the distance. Could she just take off? Sure, but which way? "Mikhail," she said, thinking of Diamond. No. She couldn't leave. Not without Diamond. Whatever happened after would happen. But she wouldn't leave without him.

She turned back toward town. Star jumped in a startle.

The stranger in white stood there, rubbing his spot-less hands together. Long, dirty fingernails raked across each other, _a-sckrickity-scrack_. Face still shrouded in shadow. "So?" he drawled. "Do we have an accord?"

Thunder rumbled as the skies incipiently darkened.

Star stared off into the distance once more. Home. Someday. "Yeah," she replied. "We do."

****

Star asked Shale, "If I'm not fighting tonight, then what the hell are we doing here?" Her shoulder wound itched like a son-of-a-bitch. She would have scratched at it if her other hand didn't hurt so badly.

Clutching at Star's side, Diamond trembled in the very presence of the master and his minions.

After her encounter with the stranger in white, Star returned to town. The sheriff was waiting for her.

Star sneered, "Thought I wasn't allowed to leave?"

Arms crossed, wearing that artificial smile, he replied, "I calculated a ninety-six percent probability that you would come back."

"Whatever," she snorted.

Star returned to Shale's shack.

Diamond wanted to play.

Star wanted to train.

Shale wanted her to rest.

Despite her objections and hostility toward him, she knew he was right. The pain in her face and wrist told her so.

Star lay on the cot while Shale added ingredients to his noxious concoctions.

Star grumbled, "You know, I'm trying to sleep here? That shit you're making stinks something fierce."

"Yeah," he chuckled. Slightly drooling, gaze glazed over, he said, "A strong scent is a good indicator of a good, strong drink. You're not a smoker are you?"

"No," Star said after a moment's thought. "Why?"

"These fumes are highly flammable."

"What's that mean?"

"You light a match. Boom. We're all dead. Blown to smithereens."

The roar of the crowd as Tahl called upon the duelers brought Star back to the here-and-now. "So," she asked again, "Why are we here? It ain't safe for Diamond, especially if I ain't fighting."

Shale massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I keep telling you, you need to watch your future opponents."

The three perused the side-lines; awaiting the upcoming match.

Star felt the vampires watching her.

The humans only paid attention to her when she dueled.

The two combatants approached each other in the center of the arena.

One was a large brute, the other a skinny, dirty, scraper.

Shale pointed at the duelers, and said, "There, that's the one I was telling you about."

Star said, "He don't look so tough."

"I wasn't pointing at the big guy," Shale replied.

Star shrugged, and said, "Oh, well, he ain't so big neither."

"Yeah, well, he's already got eight wins. That's a record. After tonight he'll be at nine. He's your next opponent."

"If he wins," Star snorted.

Effeminate brows arched, Shale said, "Trust me, he's going to win."

The fight commenced. The duel didn't last long. They usually didn't. The mob cheered and jeered. The vampires watched Star's every movement. She knew that even Tahl's attention affixed on her.

Shale lost himself in the brutality, as he usually did. Constantly he pointed things out, possible weakness in her future opponent.

But Star couldn't help think about the stranger's words. "You'll never see Krin again." Shale actually told her that. But she didn't believe it. The stranger had advised her to accept the possibility of it. Now her heart filled with doubt. Somehow, the possibility of Krin's extinction seemed more real than Shale's assurances.

She watched as the smaller dueler tore his behemoth opponent to pieces, leaving him alive enough for the vampires to drain.

Her right hand un-usable. One eye welted shut. She had sustained massive head swelling and a hole in her shoulder. Could she defeat this man? She didn't know.

Suddenly, Krin never seemed so far away.

****

Shale said, "The problem is you don't use your legs enough." His hands slightly trembled.

Star knew he wanted a drink -- bad.

Not fighting the previous night allowed Star to get the rest she needed. Not long after the duelers and vamps retired, and the sun arose, Star and Shale resumed training.

During the day the duelers and bleeders all returned to their quarters, but the vampires, where did they go?

Arms crossed, Star replied, "I use my legs plenty."

A wry smile warped his stubbly slender face. "Sure, I see you do plenty of dancing and running, along with the occasional trip or kick. But did you ever consider trying to actually beat your opponent with just your legs?"

Twirling her compass chain, Star said, "Okay, I'm listening."

Shale lectured, "You see, you don't have to mortally wound your opponent. All you have to do is make sure they can't continue the fight. It's called submission. Remember the fight when you elbowed that guy in the kidney?"

"Sure, kidney-shot, right?"

"Yeah, well you could also squeeze your legs around the kidneys until your opponent submits. He won't be bleeding, but I guarantee the vampires will take him before he has a chance to get back up."

Star said, "Show me."

"Let's start from a grapple position." He put his hand on her right shoulder, but he didn't touch her left one, he just held his hand over it.

Star grabbed his shoulders in turn. A hot stabbing sensation coursed through her wrist, followed by a dull throbbing.

Shale continued, "Now, this is perfect for you because you're smaller than most of the other duelers. What I want you to do, is quickly hop up, supporting yourself on my shoulders."

Star did, 'though he had to help her so she didn't further sprain her wrist.

"Wrap your legs right here, around my waist. Hook your feet together behind me."

She did. Shackles clanked.

"Good, now squeeze."

She squeezed lightly at first. Star though of the first night she met Shale. Straddling him on the bed.

_Scrickity-crack_.

Gyrating her hips. The thrill of the hunt.

_Rickity-scrack_.

Star constricted her legs around Shale like a python.

"Okay, easy now." His face red and beaded with sweat. "That's enough."

_Scrickity-rickity-scratch_.

Star clenched her legs as tight as she could.

Shale gasped. His face burgeoned a beat-red-hue as he waffled to the ground.

_Screeeeeeee-scraaaaaw-scraaaaaaaaccccccccckkkkkkkkk_.

When Shale hit the dirt, Star's hand (still on his shoulder), flared in excruciation. Star returned to the here-and-now. "Sorry," she said, untangling her legs from around his writhing body.

Gasping, Shale lay there a moment. He sat up, wiped the sweat from his brow, and wheezed, "Good."

He continued by showing Star other ways to bring her opponent to the ground with her legs. He taught her sweeps and inside trips. He also instructed her on how to squeeze the body or head once her opponent was on the ground. Something he referred to as, scissoring.

Star took to it like a duck to water.

After less than an hour, Shale looked worn out. He bent over, holding his side and favoring his bum-leg. His face red and soaked with sweat.

"You all right?" she asked.

"Fine, fine," he said, waving her off, "Just out of shape." He hobbled toward his shack.

"Where you goin'?"

"I'm done," he called back.

"But what am I supposed to do?"

"You ever heard of shadow-boxing?"

"Sure."

"Yeah, well, do that."

Shale entered the shack and his stirring roused Diamond, who trotted outside to start the day.

Instead of training, Star and Diamond had a quick breakfast and played like children who weren't trapped in a sadistic town run by the walking un-dead.

Just before noon, the skies grew heavy and dark, and then it rained -- hard.

Harsh stinging droplets and hail pelted the two as they raced back through the deserted streets toward Shale's shanty. When they returned, Star found a surprise waiting for her. There, in the far corner by the brewing kegs, stood a figure shrouded in shadow.

Shale stood by a barrel on the other end, mixing his concoctions, as if completely oblivious to the creature's presence.

Star snatched up her satchel and quickly retrieved her slingshot. She stepped protectively in front of Diamond and aimed at the vampire.

Favoring his bum-leg, Shale whirled around. Gape wide, he asked, "What? What is it?"

"Easy, young dueler," the vampire said, emerging from the shadows. He wore a thick, black cloak over his black clothes. His pale skin glistened like bones in the moonlight. His jet-black hair short and combed. His blood-red eyes assessed Star without emotion. "I mean you no harm, young dueler."

Weapon trained on the abomination before her, Star asked Shale, "What the fuck is this thing doing here?"

Shrugging, Shale replied, "He said you were expecting him."

Diamond clutched at the back of Star's shirt, and moaned.

Star said, "It's okay, no one is going to hurt you." She glowered at the vampire, and asked, "Are they?"

"Of course not," the vampire replied. "I was sent by a mutual friend."

Effeminate brow arched, Shale asked, "Mutual friend?"

Star said, "Never mind."

The vampire continued, "My name is L'Raunt. I have come to help you defeat the so-called master."

Gaze bulging, mouth drawn tight, Shale blurted, "You can't say those things here!"

L'Raunt said, "Relax, Tahl's childer are all asleep at the moment, and I share no mental-bond with him. My thoughts and words are safe."

Star asked, "What do you mean mental-bond?"

L'Raunt explained, "All of Tahl's childer know what he knows, and like-wise, the other way 'round. They can get into each other's heads, sharing thoughts and memories."

Star asked, "But you don't?"

L'Raunt continued, "No. I am not a childe of Tahl. I am older by far. Tahl has only been around for a few centuries, but as a caitiff I walked the Earth when Uruk, the first city, was still being built."

"What's a caitiff?" Shale asked.

L'Raunt replied, "A clan-less vampire. A bastard, if you will." He turned to Star, and said, "The last of my kind, just as you."

Star lowered her weapon.

Diamond still trembled behind her.

L'Raunt asked Shale, "Have you told her why she is really here?"

Star asked, "What are you talking about?" She stomped toward L'Raunt; leaving Diamond standing there whimpering.

The vampire stared at her with crimson, emotionless eyes.

Star iterated, "Shale, what's he talking about?"

Shale sighed deeply and sat upon a crate. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he said, "Remember when I said that I went on scouting missions for Tahl, and that I never physically brought anyone here to Coffin Nail?"

Star said, "Yeah."

"And after we were found, I told you that it was never my intention to bring you here?"

"Yeah." But she already knew what he was going to say. The anger within her rose.

Shale continued, "Well, I..." He averted his gaze, and rubbed the back of his neck.

L'Raunt said, "He lied."

Star glared at Shale. Fists clenched, the pain in her wrist swelled and she welcomed it as her only true friend.

"There's more," Shale said. "I didn't just bring you here. I kept you here."

Star asked, "What do you mean?"

Shale continued, "You didn't find me in Shantytown. I found you. I watched you for days as you turned from grifter to thief to murderer. When the time was right, I presented myself, knowing you would pick me out because of my limp. I brought you here, but I knew you wouldn't fight. I needed something to keep you here. After you told me about your brother, I had it arranged that a young boy be brought here. You and Diamond are the first children to ever be brought to Coffin Nail, and it's all because of me."

Star shook in anger, bereft of words. How could he? After all this time. Exploiting the memory of her dead brother. If there was a word that even came close to defining Shale's betrayal, Star didn't know it. "Anything else ya wanna come clean about?" she snarled through clenched teeth.

L'Raunt nodded toward Shale, and said, "Your leg."

Star stepped combatively toward Shale, and growled, "What about your leg?"

Shale took a few long swallows from his flask, and said, "I didn't break it fighting the master." Unable to meet her stare, his head drooped. "I never fought the master. I broke it two years prior to the outbreak, falling down a flight of stairs when I was drunk."

Disgusted and blinded by rage, Star couldn't bear to look at Shale. She wanted to call him a dozen dirty names. But no. He wasn't even worth it. Infuriated, Star stormed out into the deluging rains. She cried as a flood of memories swept over her. How much of her past wasn't a complete lie? She fell to her knees in a pool of cold water.

_Ca-shank_. _Ca-shink-ca-shank_.

Odd, that wasn't Furion's voice. Star peered around. There, standing before her was the boarded-up weather-ravaged building she saw the previous day. Only now, the chain rattled loosely in the wind; unlocked.

Star crept toward the door. She glanced around. No one. Nothing. She unwrapped the chain from the handles and opened the door enough to peer inside. Dark. But darkness, she was used to. She slipped inside, and closed the doors behind her.

A flicking noise, much like a match, sprang to life. Star raised her dukes, prepared to fight. Pale, slender fingers coupled the flame with a lantern; illuminating the room in an orange-ish glow.

L'Raunt said, "Easy, young dueler."

"How the hell did you get here?"

"The storm covers the sun. But even so, as an elder, I can still move about in the daylight, though it weakens me."

"And Tahl?"

"Would perish at the faintest rays of the sun," L'Raunt replied.

"That how I'm supposed to kill him?"

"That's one way. Fire, beheading, or exsanguination work as well."

Star asked, "Exsang-a-what?"

L'Raunt said, "Draining his body of all its blood. But that is a method I do not recommend. You should know it is not only his childer that will defend him, but the humans as well. They fear the so-called master more than you. That is why I brought you here." L'Raunt waved the lantern around the room. Boxes and crates filled with bullets of all calibers sat in the center of the floor. Which ones fit her shooters? Guns, swords, daggers, and axes hung on the walls. Racks of bows and arrows. Armor. An armory. Star picked up a long, red, cylindrical stick and turned it over.

"Dynamite," L'Raunt said, "An explosive."

"How does it work?"

"Just light the wick, and run. But do not get them wet. They will be rendered useless."

Star put the stick down, and continued her mental inventory of weapons. She asked, "Where'd all this come from?"

"The losers, of course. Listen, I know you must hate Shale right now--"

Star snorted, "You have no idea."

L'Raunt continued, "But you must speak with him. He knows more about Tahl and his history then he is admitting. You must get him to tell you why he brought you here."

"I know why," Star snarled. "He's an evil son-of-a-bitch--"

"What are you doing in here?" The sheriff thrust the doors open. Wind and rain howled behind him. "You have not been granted access to this area."

Star whipped her head around.

L'Raunt was gone. The lantern left on a random box.

Hands swaying on holstered hips, the sheriff ambled in, and said, "An inquiry has been made. Respond."

Star darted to the side, grabbed a sword, and ran it through the sheriff's chest -- or tried to, anyway. The tip of the blade sunk no further than a few inches before striking something it could not penetrate, as if the sheriff's bones were made of stone.

Star backed away in trepidation as the sword clattered to the floor.

With that wide, artificial smile, the sheriff peered down at her.

"Well," Star said. "Ya just gonna stand there or ain't ya gonna knock me on my ass?"

"I am not permitted to harm a dueler," he replied without hesitation. "Tonight the tournament will continue despite the weather. This is your last night to rest before you must fight another round. I suggest you spend it preparing."

Star glanced around, not finding L'Raunt anywhere in the shadows.

The sheriff stood there motionless.

Star wiped away the wet hair plastered to her face, and then trotted out into the rain. She didn't want to go back to Shale's. No yet. But where else could she go? Nowhere. In the end, she took the sheriff's advice and returned to Shale's to prepare.

****

Late afternoon. The skies still covered with heavy, storm clouds and the rain continued to fall. Brewing his concoctions, Shale hunched over his kegs. The acerbic aroma of distilling liquors hung heavily in the air. Still infuriated by the very sight of Shale, Star hadn't said a word to him since returning.

Diamond sat on the floor, humming, and playing with a couple of sticks.

Star sat on the cot, and twirled the compass chain around her fingers. She needed to find out what Shale knew about all this. What he really knew. But could she even trust him not to lie to her?

The door blew open and L'Raunt entered like a wisp of wind. He moved so fast, he wasn't even wet. He gazed at Star with his lifeless red-eyes, and said, "Why have you not spoken to Shale yet?"

Diamond didn't whimper or quiver at L'Raunt's presence. Apparently he had grown accustomed to this particular creature of the night.

Star glared at the vampire, and said, "I got a better question, where the hell did you go back there when the sheriff found me?"

L'Raunt replied, "It is imperative that I am not seen by the servants of the so-called master. Tahl must not become aware of my presence."

Star rolled her eyes, and said, "Okay, Since I'm not talking to him, will you ask that piece-of-shit, Shale, why he brought me here?"

L'Raunt stared at Shale.

Shale turned from his brewing and sat down on a crate. He nipped at his flask and cleared his throat. He scratched at his thin, effeminate brow, and said, "I'm not really sure where to start."

L'Raunt said, "In the beginning, God created the first people. Among them were the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve."

Palm out, Star said, "Okay, you already lost me."

"Please, just listen." L'Raunt continued, "Cain, a son of Adam, murdered his brother Able. God sent three angels to Cain over a period of time. Each time, the angels would offer Cain God's forgiveness if Cain repented his sins. But he would not. Cain was proud of his sin, and he was cast from his family into the land of Nod, where he met Lilith, an elemental; a forest demon and goddess of the moon. She taught Cain to move like the wind and hide in the shadows. He became the first, the father of all vampires.

"Lonely, Cain created his childer, the elders, the thirteen. Each elder had their own childer in turn, creating thirteen different clans. The elders built the first cities and taught the people of Cain, the Canaanites, to farm, cultivate, and irrigate. Unlike the children of Seth, who relied on hunting and gathering.

"After a time, Cain went into a deep sleep for many centuries; leaving his childer with his commandments. His exact resting place unknown to the elders, it has been prophesized that Cain would one day return after the time of thin-blood and the coming of Gehenna."

Star asked, "Who's that?"

"Not who," Shale replied, "but what. And it's like judgment day for vampires."

Diamond nestled close to Star. He lay down and sucked his pudgy thumb as Star stroked his short, flat hair.

L'Raunt continued, "Time went on. Humans came into power while the thirteen clans hid in the shadows, secretly controlling the world. But the humans were reckless, violent, and destructive. After centuries, the humans finally fought the last wars. The skies clouded over in poisonous winter. Humans and live-stock withered in decay and disease."

Shale asked Star, "Remember how I told you vampires don't drink from the sick, lame, drunken, or insane? It's one of Cain's commandments."

Star replied, "I don't recollect you saying anything about insane, but yeah, I remember."

L'Raunt continued, "The time of thin-blood came and went, but Cain did not return. Gehenna did not come. Then this king and his Hellions arose.

"Tahl is a childe of the clan of Brujah, who advise their progeny to rise up against their elders. For, one of God's curses upon Cain was that his childer would continually rise up against their sires. That's why Cain went into hiding in the first place.

"Because Cain has not returned, Tahl has convinced his Brujah brethren that he is the vampire messiah, even though he is much younger than the others in his clan."

Star asked, "So, the other vampires, the ones that look like Tahl, are his fellow clansmen, and the bald, naked ones are his childer?"

"Yes," L'Raunt said. "Jealous of the king, Tahl wants to be the ruler of man and vampire. He began creating an army. The elders got together and called him to council. They urged Tahl to keep his tribes' numbers low and not to interfere with this king, that his reign would end in due time."

Star said, "When a man in the form of a beast and a beast in the form of a man join forces, then we shall know the king's end near."

Tippling, Shale replied, "That's the current prophecy, anyway."

L'Raunt continued, "The council was only supposed to be the thirteen elders and Tahl, but Tahl's brethren and childer ambushed the masters. They crucified the elders upon upside-down crosses, even Brujah, himself, whose clan had been named after him. Tahl slit their throats and drank from the pooling blood, declaring he the master."

Star asked, "So, are you like, the oldest vampire now?"

"Yes," L'Raunt replied. "And as a caitiff--"

"You mean a bastard," Star blurted.

L'Raunt continued, "As a bastard I share no mental link with Tahl. He does not yet know of my existence. He must not know I am the eldest. That is why I must stay out of sight."

Star asked, "I'm guessing that's also why you made a deal with the stranger in white, right?"

Effeminate eyebrows arched, Shale asked, "The who in the what, now?"

"Yes," L'Raunt replied.

A flare of anger flickered within Star, but she didn't know why. She glared at L'Raunt and said, "What are you gettin' out of it?"

"A merciful death," he replied without hesitation.

Star asked, "Then why don't ya waltz right up to Tahl and let him take ya out?"

"Because I have no wish to die in such a fashion," L'Raunt replied. "Tahl must pay for his crimes against his brethren, and he must be stopped. Overpopulation is damaging to our society, especially of one breed. Tahl is destructive and reckless, too much like a human to be the master."

"Hey," Shale said, tippling from his flask. "I take offense to that."

Star glanced down at Diamond. Her stoking his hair combined with the assuagement of sucking one's thumb and the monotone of L'Raunt's voice lulled Diamond gently to sleep. Star said, "I still don't get what any of this has to do with me."

Shale cleared his throat, and said, "Allow me." His eyes appeared red and glassy. Speech slurred, he weaved side to side in besotted cadence.

Anger flushed within her again.

_Scrickity-scrack_.

She steadied it. A little truth-juice might just be the way to get some real answers out of him.

Shale continued, "Among the many prophecies vampires have -- They're such prophetic people, aren't they? Anyway, see there's this prophecy that among the coming of Gehenna and the return of Cain, there would be this daughter of Eve who would be the decider of Gehenna. I guess basically, she's like the angel of judgment or some tripe like that."

Star glanced at L'Raunt. Had he taken offense? If so, he didn't express it. But then again, vampires didn't show emotion.

Shale continued, "Supposedly this daughter of Eve will have a birthmark in the shape of a crescent moon."

"Eerily similar to the mark of the king," L'Raunt said.

Star asked, "So?"

This was going nowhere.

Shale slurred, "So that's why Tahl only brings people bearing the mark of the king."

Star said, "I don't get it."

L'Raunt replied, "Tahl is looking for the daughter of Eve, the decider of Gehenna. He wants to turn her to his side."

"That's what this whole tournament is about," Shale said, sipping at his flask.

"Why the hell would he even care?" Star asked. "He got what he wanted. He is the master, right?"

"Yes," L'Raunt said. "But Tahl still fears the coming of Cain."

Shale blurted, "Told ya, prophetic people."

L'Raunt continued, "Tahl has violated all of Cain's commandments. The only thing that can protect him from Cain's wraith is the decider."

Annoyed, Star asked, "What the hell does that have to do with me?"

_Scrippity-scrap_.

Shale asked, "Do you think all former slaves hear Furion in their heads like you?"

"I guess I never really thought about it," she replied.

Shale said, "Well, they don't."

Gaze darting between them, Star asked, "Really, none of 'em?"

L'Raunt said, "I know much of this wizard known as, Furion. His ability to enter a person's mind is limited to range. Only if one is near him can he control them. But you are different. A connection exists between you and Furion, one that remains quite strong even at this distance."

Star's blood ran cold. Her shoulders slouched and her mouth hung agape. It seemed even though liberated from slavery, she would never be free from Furion.

L'Raunt continued, "And yet, where others have gone mad or simply fallen apart by Furion's voice, you use it for strength. It fuels you. It drives you. As a child, you survived the harshness of the desert; living where others would perish. As a girl, you killed men where others would be raped and then slain. In short, you are not a normal, little girl."

Shale leaned toward her, and asked, "Do you get it now? I brought and kept you here because I think you're special. I think you're the decider."

Star sat up straight, and said, "So you brought me here so Tahl could turn me if I win the tournament?"

"No," Shale replied. He suspiciously glanced around, and whispered, "I brought you here to kill him."

****

Just after Dawn, Star, Diamond, Shale, and L'Raunt snuck into the armory. Apparently L'Raunt had a copy of the key, 'though from whence he got it, Star did not ask.

Star spent the previous night quietly at rest. Shale went to watch the duels, but since her next opponent wouldn't be fighting (Star learned the guy contended one match, and then took a night off -- that was his routine), no need for her to go.

She regaled Diamond with tales of a simple childhood in Krin. Lying out on the bluffs with her family until the stars came out; just staring out at the ocean. Then she ran her fingers through his hair and sang to him until he fell asleep.

Before taking his leave, L'Raunt gave Star a small, metal tin. She unscrewed the top. A flowery aroma wafted out of the balm within. She applied a good lathering to her wrist, shoulder, and face.

Then she sat there, processing all she learned until Shale came home drunk.

He landed hard on the floor, snoring within moments.

L'Raunt said, "Grab only bullets and dynamite."

Star returned to the here-and-now. When she awoke this morning, she applied another slathering of L'Raunt's balm. Her wounds had all but healed. She could see through her left-eye again and the pain in her wrist and hand gone -- completely.

L'Raunt handed her a sack full of bullets, and said, "I believe these are the ones you're looking for."

Star pulled at a dusty sheet; revealing a weapon that looked like a small canon, she asked, "What's this?"

"Gatling-gun," L'Raunt replied. "I wouldn't worry about weapons you can't carry in a fight."

Shale stood by a rack full of firearms. Just the sight of him fiddling with a shotgun infuriated her. Did he even know how to use that thing? Star finally understood why Shale brought her here, but that only angered her more.

Diamond sat in the corner, playing with a rock. He seemed so out of it and all the time, like he refused to accept the world around him and live within his own head. It probably wasn't good for him.

She would have to break him out of his shell, and possibly soon. But right now she had more pressing matters to attend to.

L'Raunt said, "Quickly now."

Star spent a lot of time cerebrating what L'Raunt told her. She never believed in vampires. She always thought they were something grandmeres and grandperes told their grandchildren to give them a case of the willies. But she believed in them now. She trusted L'Raunt's recounting history of vampires and thusly mankind. The only problem was if vampires were real, did that mean God was too? She didn't know. She only knew she didn't believe in God. And until He presented Himself and cast her in a tournament to see if she was a chosen one, she supposed she never would.

L'Raunt suggested they start their little coupe by destroying the bleeding-houses and take-out any humans who got in their way. "Destroying their blood supply will rattle them, some might even panic. And when a vampire panics, they become vulnerable."

Then they would have to find the nest, the vampires' liar, and destroy that also. If they could find it.

When loaded up on weapons, ammo, and dynamite, L'Raunt whisked the sundries back to Shale's.

Given the key, Shale locked-up shop and the three strolled casually back to the shack. Star and Shale constantly peered over their shoulders. Nothing.

When they returned, L'Raunt was waiting for them.

L'Raunt said, "The best time to plant the explosives will be tonight, during your fight." He said to Shale, "You will have to set the explosives."

Star asked, "What's the point of blowing up the bleeding-house if no one's in it?"

L'Raunt replied, "They will be in it tomorrow."

Effeminate brow furrowed, Shale said, "Wait, why do I have to plant the dynamite tonight if I have to go back tomorrow to light it?"

"You won't be planting dynamite," L'Raunt said. "You'll be setting this." L'Raunt showed them a small object; dull-yellow, almost like a brick of cheese. On the face of the brick was a small display.

Star asked, "What is it?"

L'Raunt replied, "This is C-4, one of the many ancient marvels representing mankind's destructiveness."

Shale snorted, "Yeah, I get it." He rolled his hazel-eyes, flailed an arm, and said, "Humans are all a bunch of rabid dogs, right?"

"Technically apes," L'Raunt said. "But yes, you are."

Star asked, "How does it work?"

L'Raunt handed Shale the brick, and said, "The timer is already set for twelve hours. Just hide it someplace inside the bleeding-house where it won't be found. Turn it on. And walk away."

Star scoffed, "You sure that little brick of cheese is gonna blow up that whole building?"

L'Raunt replied, "I assure you, it will be more than sufficient."

Star asked, "Then what's the dynamite for?"

"For what comes after," L'Raunt said. "Tahl and his minions will come for you. That is when I will make my presence known. As the eldest, I am stronger than Tahl. We will take him by surprise, that is our advantage."

Compass chain twirling, Star asked, "But how do we kill him? Fire? Sunlight? Beheading?"

L'Raunt replied, "We will have to improvise. Our best chance at success, other than surprise, is to be spontaneous and unpredictable."

Shale lightly patted Star's knee, knee, and said, "Stick and move, just like I taught you."

Star asked, "Do you really think we can pull this off?"

L'Raunt said, "I believe Shale brought you here because he believes you can. I imagine that is why the stranger in white, as you call him, came to you as well."

Star asked, "Who is he really?"

"He is the dark voice inside us all," L'Raunt replied.

"Yeah," Shale chuckled, "that isn't creepy at all."

"What's his stake in all this?" Star asked.

L'Raunt said, "His motives are a mystery even to me. But do not get side-tracked young dueler. I have stayed longer than I should, and you must prepare. Remember, none of this will happen unless you win tonight."

****

Star suffered a swift jab to the side of her face. She fell backward, floundered in the thick mud. This was supposed to be simple. Where had she gone wrong?

The rain started just around dusk, as if the deluging storm meant for her.

She tried to meditate, clear her mind.

_Scrickity-rickity_.

Star shook her head. Enough of that.

Star and Shale stood in the open arena, shivering under the heavy rains for nearly an hour before Star's match came. During the wait, Shale cheered along with crowd. Star scanned the sea of faces, searching for her opponent. He wasn't there. At least, it didn't appear that way.

Diamond was left alone at Shale's shack. Star had strong reservations against leaving him by himself, but she couldn't just drag him out into the storm. What if he got sick? Who would help him, Shale?

Shale waited until Star's match began, then, just as planned, he slipped away from the bustling throng. Not even the vampires seemed to notice; all gazes on her.

Preparing herself to fight in the mud, Star removed her boots. Her skinny opponent wore his. But Krin got quite muddy at times, as a child, Star mastered to running, jumping, and sometimes even fighting upon slippery surfaces. She knew she had the upper hand going shoe-less. For a while, it seemed to work. Her opponent would strike. She evaded. Unbalanced, he waffled on his feet. Star slid in, delivering a few quick punches before skittering away. L'Raunt's magic balm had healed her wrist. Both fists at the ready. Able to see out of both eyes. She felt confidant. Shale's stick-and-move combination was working well. Then it all went wrong. Her opponent feinted left, then right. Then he pretended to lose his balance. Star went in, realizing too late it a trap. He jabbed. She turned her head to avoid taking a direct hit. The blow sent her flouncing to the ground. She crawled away. Mud sloshed. He grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her back. Star flipped over, prepared to fight from the ground. He dropped down on her. He planted one hand on the shoulder that was wounded, and held her down. He seemed surprisingly strong for someone so stringy. With his free hand, he slammed his fist into her face over and over. Star yelped. Sinuses filled with blood. She wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed with all her might. He garroted his hands around her throat. Star tightened her hold. No use. His hands were doing more damage than her legs. She pummeled her fist into his kidneys. His hands clenched around her neck.

_Scrickity-scrack_.

Her ears rang. Her vision fuzzed. Head light.

_Scree-scraw-scrap_.

Star's legs fell limply from her opponent's body.

_Screeee-scraaaaaaaaaw-sccraaaackkkkkkk_.

She drifted away, unbarred her mind, letting _him_ in.

Star opened her eyes. She was looking down on herself as her opponent strangled the life out of her. Her mother. Her father. Mikhail. Diamond. No! It would not end this way. Star returned to her body. She snarled. Her opponent's eyes grew wide with fear. With super-human strength, she reached up, and tore out his throat. He clutched at his gushing wound. Star pushed him backward. She scurried to her feet and backed away as the vampires fell upon him. She scanned the crowd for Shale. Nothing. He should have been back by now. Had her match not taken as long as she thought? Had something happened? She glanced to where Tahl usually sat. Nothing. The mob roared. Diamond. Star felt like a huge stone descended into the deepest pit of her stomach. Star raced back to Shale's shack; her mind a whirlwind of worst-case-scenarios.

When she got there, she threw her shoulder into the door, meaning to barrel into it. But right before her shoulder made contact, the door opened and Star tumbled to the floor. The door slammed shut behind her. Tahl towered over her. She scrambled to her bare-feet and backed away. Shale stood in the corner, his head low in shame. Where was Diamond?

Tahl stared at her with lifeless, crimson eyes. He stretched his long arm toward her. He uncurled his fingers and the brick of C-4 tumbled to the floor in a muted thud. Staring at Star, Tahl said, "You were wise to bring this to my attention, Shale."

Aghast, Star said, "What! Shale, how could you!"

"I...I'm sorry," he said. He couldn't even look at her.

_Screeeee-scraaaaaw-scraaaackkkkkk_.

Anger boiled within her. She leapt at Shale and grappled him to the floor. She wrapped her legs around his kidneys and squeezed with all her might; pummeling her fists into his face.

Tahl grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her away.

Star clung on, and just before Tahl pried her loose, she grabbed Shale's flask from around his belt and stuffed it into her pocket. At least she could rob him of that.

Tahl held Star up close to his expressionless face, and hissed, "Treacherous girl, did you really think you could harm me. You are an insect. Nothing more. Easily squashed and forgotten."

Star choked, "Where's Diamond?" Her hands grasped Tahl's as her legs kicked wildly in the air.

Tahl asked, "Ah, yes, the little, suckling ham. He is a plump one, indeed. I allowed you to keep him -- for a time. But now I have decided to confiscate him."

Star gurgled, "Where...is...he?"

Tahl replied, "In my liar. Where he shall remain for me to dine upon my heart's content. His blood is quite tasty. A rare delicacy. But as for you, I strip you of the right to compete in the tournament. You will never ascend. Never become one of the brethren. From this day forth, you shall be remanded to the bleeding-house, to live out the rest of your pathetic, insect-life until you are bled of your last drop." Tahl pulled her closer. He opened his mouth impossibly wide and sank his fangs into her shoulder, literally opening old wounds. Star kicked at the air. Her head felt fuzzy and faint. Diamond. Mikhail. She had failed. Where was L'Raunt?

Tahl removed his fangs and pulled Star away. "Who is L'Raunt?" he asked. His face snarled with anger and confusion.

She thought vampires didn't show emotion.

Meekly, Star said, "Tell me what I want to know first."

Tahl thrust Star to the floor. The cracking of her skull against the fissured flooring echoed.

Tahl turned to Shale, and asked, "Who is L'Raunt?" The vampire's eyes shimmered with anger and fear.

Shale screamed as Tahl turned his vengeance upon him. Thrashing noises. Whooshing and blooping sounds as Shale's kegs tumbled over. The noxious aroma of the distillery filled the cramped, shack air.

Shale's words echoed within her head, "You're not a smoker are you? Boom! Blown to smithereens."

If only she had a match, just one.

The fermenting liquor washed across the floor boards, and drenched Star in that flammable liquid.

And then she passed out.

****

Star awoke slowly, as if struggling through dense fog. Her head pounded and swam. Nauseated and weak, she peered around. The orange-ish glow ensconcing her stabbed painfully at her pupils. Thirsty, dehydrated. Her tongue scraped across the inside of her mouth like sand across the hard-pan floor. She sat up. The room spun. Star leaned over to vomit but nothing came out. The spasms of dry heaving tied triple-knots in her stomach. The mud caked to her bare feet dried and flaked in clumps.

When her head and stomach settled, she gazed around. She was in a large open building, like a barn. Windows boarded. Kerosene lanterns hung from the cobweb-infested rafters above. Humans lay about on the straw-littered floor. They all looked pale and emaciated. Purple rings around loose skin hung below their eyes. Blue-ish veins twisted and brachiated beneath pellucid skin. Fang marks dotted their bodies. The blood and tissue below had swollen, making the sores look like large, spider bites. These were the bleeders; those chosen of good-blood to be fed upon until they died of exsanguination. The bleeders weren't shackled, jailed, or anything like that. They had become too languid from constant bleedings to do anything more than linger about, or wail and moan in agony.

Six vampires kept constant sentry over the bleeders; five fledgling, and one brethren. The brethren wore all black clothes, like the others. Short, golden-blond hair cropped neatly on his slender head. He stared at Star with lifeless, crimson eyes. In a blur he stood before Star. "Good evening, young bleeder," he said. "I trust you'll find your stay here most comfortable."

Holding her aching head, Star croaked, "How long have I been out?"

"Hours," the vampire said without emotion. "It is late afternoon. Soon the others will come for the nightly feeding."

Star swallowed. The insides of her throat scraped together.

The brethren said, "But first I think I shall sample you myself. I have heard your blood has a distinct aftertaste."

_Vampires don't drink from the drunk_.

The vampire grabbed Star by the neck and drew her close.

"Wait," She squeaked. "Please. Water."

The vampire stared at her with his expressionless eyes. "Very well, let it not be said that I am not hospitable." He dropped Star and whisked toward a barrel at the other end of the room.

Star rolled to her knees, and turned her back to the vampire. Her head swam. The veins in her temples throbbed with an erratic cadence. She quickly fetched Shale's flask from out of her britches; surprised to find it still there. She unscrewed the cap and slammed the entire contents. Her throat burned. Her stomach churned as the fiery liquid stung her belly. Her head swooned. She felt she would sick up, but managed to hold it.

The vampire returned, and offered her a small, wooden cup.

Waving him off, Star shook her head, and said, "No, thanks." She heaved. Whiskey-flavored vomit rushed into her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out.

The vampire asked, "What is wrong, young bleeder?"

Star swallowed the puke, glared up at him, and said, "Nothing. Just that you and all your kind make me fucking sick."

The vampire stared at her a moment, grabbed her by the neck, and hoisted her off the floor. He reared his head back, exposed elongated fangs, and drove them into her jugular.

Star felt the familiar siphoning sensation.

The vampire gagged mid-gulp and thrust Star to the floor. He stepped back, covered his mouth with his forearm, and coughed wetly. He glared at her with hatred shimmering behind his crimson eyes. "Insolent girl, we are not allowed to drink from the drunk, it doesn't mean we can't." He hissed, fangs unhinging impossibly wide. Swoosh. His head tumbled off his body. L'Raunt stood there, sword in hand. The fledglings charged. L'Raunt cut them all down before Star could even blink. Damn, he was fast. Possibly faster than the so-called master.

Whimpering in horror, the bleeders recoiled.

L'Raunt helped Star to her feet and handed her the brick of C-4 along with the timer display.

Star asked, "How'd you get it back?"

"I didn't," he replied. "There was more than just one."

Star's body buzzed. Her head swam in a pleasant way. The liquor had already kicked in. "Shale, that coward, that traitor," she said. "Tahl knows about you."

"Yes," L'Raunt replied. "But do not judge Shale too harshly. He is a coward but he has not betrayed us yet. Tahl does not know I am his elder."

Star asked, "How?"

"Because you are not a childe or brethren, Tahl can only read your thoughts when he drinks from you. But you passed out. And Tahl will not drink from Shale. His blood is mostly alcohol."

Star scoffed, "And here, all along, I thought he was nothing more than a blind-stinking-drunk."

L'Raunt said, "Everything serves a purpose." He handed over her shooters, fully loaded, and her satchel of bullets, bearings (along with her slingshot), and dynamite, and of course, her boots. He said, "And now you must serve yours. The sun will soon set and Tahl will know what we have done here. Tell me young Star, are you ready?"

"For what?"

L'Raunt smiled, and said, "For war." He held out his hand and uncurled his fingers. In his palm rested a small rectangular piece of metal; half-inch thick, with a small line running horizontally about a third from the top. On one end of the object, where the line carved through the metal, a small hinge.

"What the hell is that?" Star asked.

L'Raunt replied, "A butane lighter, a small device used for starting fire." He opened the invention with a quick flicking motion. He ran his thumb down a small wheel and a flame arose. He continued, "The ancients called it a zippo. Use it to light the dynamite. Far more reliable than a match."

Star pocketed the zippo and glanced at the bleeders (still wailing on the ground). She said, "We have to do something. Try to help these people."

L'Raunt stared at her with his crimson, lifeless eyes, face devoid of emotion or expression. He waved his hand out, as if presenting the bleeders as a gift, and said, "You are welcome to try."

Star turned to the bleeders, and called, "Come on you guys. You're free. Let's go."

The bleeders lay there moaning in anguish.

"Can't," one said.

"Too weak," another replied in a raspy voice.

"Please," another said, clinging to the bottom of Star's pants, "Kill me."

L'Raunt reached into the satchel around his shoulder and held a stick of dynamite out to Star. "Do what must be done, young Star."

Star peered at the stick. She almost took it, and halted. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't. I don't know why. But I just can't."

L'Raunt fetched a lantern hanging from the rafters. The palm of his hand sizzled against the hot glass and metal, yet he seemed not to feel it. He offered the lantern and dynamite to the bleeder still clinging to Star.

Eyes wide, obviously hesitant to trust the vampire, the bleeder released Star and stared up at L'Raunt.

Star didn't think the man would take them. But he did.

L'Raunt backed away, and said, "A light against the darkness." He turned to Star, and said, "Come, there is nothing more we can do."

Star glanced around. She didn't see an exit. How would they escape? Pressing a hand to her temples, she stumbled. Downing Shale's acrid concoctions didn't seem like such a good idea anymore.

L'Raunt offered his hand. She took it. Before she knew what happened, L'Raunt whisked her outside. "Brace yourself," he said, smothering her to the ground.

_Boom_.

The bleeding-house exploded. Timber and metal rocketed into the air before crashing down over the town.

Funny, she expected a bunch of fire. But no. None. Just an ear-rattling explosion and concussive blast, from which she had been mostly shielded by L'Raunt, who appeared un-fazed.

When the dust settled and L'Raunt released her, she peered up. Dusk. The sun sank behind the horizon.

Off in the distance, humans loyal to the so-called master roared. The rush of stamping feet resounded. They were coming, surrounding them from all sides. Soon the vampires would attack, as well.

L'Raunt drew his sword.

Star fumbled her hands into her satchel and looped the guns across her shoulder. She pulled the already loaded shooters and cocked the hammers.

"No, young Star. Use the dynamite first. When they draw in closer, use one gun, and reload with your other hand. You must move like the wind."

Star un-cocked the guns and holstered them. She slung her satchel across her chest for easy access. She grabbed a stick of dynamite and retrieved the zippo from her pocket.

"Patience, young Star."

Star almost heard Furion's voice. But her head felt muffled, dizzy.

Led by the sheriff, the humans beleaguered them from all sides.

L'Raunt cried, "Now!"

Star lit the stick and hurled it directly at the sheriff.

He halted, eyes wide, artificial smile wiped from his hairless face.

_Boom_.

The crowd scattered. L'Raunt cut down anyone foolish enough to still come after them. Surprisingly, it seemed like the humans were undaunted, and attacked.

Through heavy eyes and strained appendages, Star lit and threw stick after stick of dynamite into the rabble.

_Boom_. _Ka-boom_. _Boom_.

Bodies and dust clotted the air.

The ache in Star's ears escalated until she heard nothing but a faint ringing. Her head pounded all the more. The air grew heavy, hard to breath. She couldn't see. Star lit another stick. She tottered backward, tripped, and dropped the explosive. She crawled frantically along the ground. Where was it? She couldn't hear it, but she sensed the hissing as the fuse burned down. The dust clung to her eyes. She blinked. Grains of sand dug deep into the soft ocular tissue. Time was running out.

L'Raunt appeared and kicked at something. A small crackling, orange-light rocketed off.

The air seemed to vibrate. More dust and bodies.

The blast forced Star to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. Stunned, she laid there a moment. She checked to make sure the compass still around her neck. It was. She felt inside her satchel. Only a few sticks left. But where had the zippo gone? When did she drop it? She leapt to the ground, and covered her mouth with her shirt until the dust settled.

L'Raunt stood there, blade in hand.

Star rose to her feet. She still felt unbalanced, woozy. Soused. How did Shale go around like this all day?

"Is that it?" Star yelled over the ringing in her ears, it was all she could hear.

Three humans, bent over in cover, darted across the street in front of Star. Without fore-thought, Star drew. She imagined Furion's head on each body, and fired thrice. The shooter bobbed in recoil within her weak grip, but she didn't miss a single shot.

The ringing in Star's ears subsided. Silence.

L'Raunt approached her, and said, "Very good, young Star."

The crunch of sand under heel. L'Raunt pivoted and was smacked away. He flew across the street and crashed into a pile of rubble.

Star thought it Tahl, but a sliver of sunlight still stretched bright across the horizon. She whirled around.

The sheriff stood there. Most of his clothes and flesh had been blown away. Metallic bones, pinions, pumps, and gears lay beneath. Half of his face scorched off, revealing an iron skull. His silvery teeth glittered in the waning sunlight. A lifeless, bright-red (but entirely different from that of the vampires'), eye zeroed in on her. "Warning," the sheriff said. His voice sounded cracked and distorted. In human. "Warning. Warning. Massive damage to internal piston heads 5, 6, and--"

Star unloaded the remains of the pistol's chamber into the sheriff's face.

His head rocked back in a hissing sound. _Kwa-tang_. _Kwa-pang_. _Ka-pwow_. The bullets ricocheted off his cranium in sparks.

Star squeezed the trigger until the chamber spun empty.

The sheriff stared at Star. Half is face in that artificial smile, the other half a metallic and emotionless skull. In a warbled voice he said, "Overriding protocol 17. Initiating emergency measure alpha -- subvert the human threat."

Star stood there. What should she do?

"Run!" L'Raunt yelled, crawling out of the rubble. He reached out, arm trembling. "Run to the armory!"

He said more, but Star didn't hear him. She was already sprinting toward the armory. She glanced at the sheriff. He just stood there watching her. A couple of humans rushed. She aimed and fired. Nothing. She fell to a crouch, and braced herself. She tried to reload but the men toppled over her. The bullets rolled to the dirt. Star drew the other shooter. Once again, she pictured her enemies wearing Furion's face. She never missed. She sprang to her feet and raced toward the armory.

The last blip of sunlight dissolved and the sky turned velvet.

Star glanced back. The sheriff hot on her ass; pursued her with long, wide strides on machine-like limbs. He gained ground, nearly upon her. Star sprinted forward with all her might. The armory stood just ahead. The chain lay listlessly next to the door. She was within feet when she caught her left foot on something solid, but with a slight give. The sheriff pounced. Star fell to the ground, knocking the wind out of her again. The sheriff sailed over her and crashed into the armory doors.

Star rolled on her back. A human clasped onto her ankle. Black blood oozed down his face. Star mule-kicked him in the teeth. He tumbled backward, and the moment he sat up, Star blew his brains out the back of his head.

The clattering of metal. The splintering of wood. Something grabbed Star by her hair and forced her to her feet. The sheriff. He positioned his mechanical hands around her head and shoulder; meaning to snap her neck.

The sky turned dark blue.

A harsh, black, wind plowed into the two. L'Raunt

Star scrambled to her feet and raced into the armory.

Outside, L'Raunt struggled with the indestructible machine that guised itself as the local sheriff.

The skies darkened.

Star scanned the shadowy armory for something \-- anything. A glistening caught the peripheral of her vision. There, in the corner sat the mini-canon, the Gatling-gun. Uncovered. A belt of long bullets trailed into the belly of the machine. Apparently, L'Raunt had loaded it for her. The sheriff and the vampire thrashed outside. The sheriff grabbed L'Raunt by his hair and flung him out into the street. Star scurried toward the mini-canon. How did it work? She fumbled in the gloom for some sort of trigger. The sheriff stepped into the door way, red-eye shining in the dark. Star felt what she hoped was a trigger. The sheriff trained his red-eye upon her. She squeezed the trigger. Nothing. The sheriff marched toward her. She groped about, fingers blindly searching for some sort of safety release. The sheriff came closer. Metallic feet pounded against the wooden floor. The room seemed to vibrate in step.

Star felt a lever alongside the weapon, almost where the multi-barrel met the gun's body. She pulled back, but it wouldn't give. The sheriff reached out. Star roared, prying with all her might. The lever released. She squeezed the trigger. The mini-canon sprang to life. Barrels rotated as round-after-round burst out. The recoil sent Star flying backward. But the gun didn't stop. It hopped about on the ground as the bullet-line fed it. _Blam-blam-blam-blam_. Sparks flew. Heat and the scent of burning gun powder filled the air. The bullets tore through the sheriff like pistol rounds on a human. The sheriff lurched forward; being blown apart. Star curled up in a ball, covered her ears, and shut her eyes.

****

"So, what happened to you back there?" Star asked L'Raunt. Neither had said a word since the sheriff was blown to pieces.

They quickly stocked back up on supplies and walked toward the center of town, where they now stood, back-to-back.

Star expected the vampires to besiege them as soon as the sun set. But that didn't happen. Star built a large bonfire from the rubble of the evening's explosions while L'Raunt stood sentry.

Later now. The moon sat high in the sky and the stars were out in full force -- perfect vampire weather. All silent except the crackling of the bonfire and the chirping of crickets.

Standing back-to-back, L'Raunt asked, "What do you mean? I saved your life."

"But, you were all like, run!" Star chuckled. Her head cleared. The effects of the alcohol passed and she felt a bit like her old self again. "And you were all tremblin' and shit."

"Battling in the sun weakened me," L'Raunt replied. "You did well on your own. And I did prepare the Gatling for you."

"Preparation wasn't what I need," Star snorted. "It was directions."

A long moment of silence elapsed. For some reason, a swell of empathy for the vampire L'Raunt blanketed over Star. "Are you still weak?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied

Star swallowed. She could already feel the siphoning sensation of being drank from. "Well," she said, pulling her shirt collar away from her neck with her index-finger. "I reckon ya could take a nip from me. It's not like you would be the first or nothing."

"No."

"Why not," Star huffed. "What, my blood ain't good 'nough for ya?"

L'Raunt smiled at her, and said, "Conserve your strength, young warrior. You will need it. The battle is far from over."

After a while, Star sat down next to the fire, one hand rested on a holster, the other twirling the compass chain. She asked, "Why do you want to die?"

L'Raunt gazed at her with his emotionless crimson eyes.

Star said, "You said you made a deal with the stranger in white, in exchange for a merciful death. Why do you want to die?"

"Immortality is so boring," L'Raunt replied. "Without the risk of each day being your last, all the thrill is drained out of living. I didn't become a vampire by choice you know. And of all the things I miss about being human, most of them are long forgotten, but I still remember the feeling of waking each morning to the prospect of a new day full of wonder and awe. Now, there are no more unrevealed mysteries to me. Now, there is nothing to look forward to but the grave."

Deep in thought, Star hung her head. Was she wasting her mortality on anger and vengeance? Did it even matter? Star couldn't recall the last time she awoke with a sense of bewilderment. Those things had been taken from her just as L'Raunt's humanity had been stripped from him. Now, all she knew was hate, anger, and despair. Once again, she felt like another member of the walking-undead. Star stared at the shackles around her thin ankles. Would she ever be able to let the past go?

As if reading her thoughts, L'Raunt appeared before her in a blur. He bent down and reached for the shackles.

Pulling away, Star asked, "What are you doing?"

"Something that should have been done a long time ago." He produced a small, irregular-looking key and unlocked the shackles. They fell listlessly to the ground and Star suddenly felt naked and exposed.

L'Raunt picked up the shackles, and was about to pitch them into the fire.

Star said, "No, wait!"

L'Raunt halted.

"Can I keep those?"

L'Raunt handed back the metallic cuffs.

Star wrapped one around each wrist and clamped them shut. Instantly a swale of relief becalmed her.

L'Raunt asked, "Why did you do that?"

Star stared up at him, and said, "Like you said, this battle ain't over yet."

L'Raunt returned to his post and peered out into the night.

Star sat before the fire, motionless, and contemplative. Time went by. No vampires. No humans loyal to the so-called master. Nothing. Restlessly, Star stirred, and said, "Damn, I can't stand this waiting shit. Where the hell are they?"

"Patience, Tahl is clever. Stay on guard."

They hadn't seen a single human since night-fall. Unless L'Raunt killed fifty or so men on his own, there should have been more attackers.

Star fidgeted with her gun, her compass, her hair. Unease crept over her like a thick quilt.

"What is wrong?" L'Raunt asked. "You seem on-edge."

"It's just...I can't stop thinking about Diamond. Where he is? What happened to him?"

Staring off into the distance, L'Raunt said, "Don't fret so."

It angered Star that he wouldn't look at her when he spoke to her. Yet at the same time, she knew he was just standing guard.

L'Raunt continued, "The boy is still alive."

"How do you know?"

L'Raunt turned to her, his face expressionless, "Because you are still alive. Tahl has underestimated you. That is why he has not attacked. He is planning his next move. Shale's insistence that you are the decider has Tahl worried. He is afraid. He is afraid of _you_. And right now, Diamond is his only bargaining chip."

Star sat there, pondering L'Raunt's words. She certainly didn't feel special. She was no decider. She just wanted to live, free from Furion, free from -- everything. And she swore to make sure she emancipated her brother along with her -- this time.

Rustling. The plodding of weary feet. Heavy breathing.

Star jumped up, guns drawn, and aimed in the direction L'Raunt gazed.

Sword sheathed, the vampire stood there.

Shale emerged from the shadows, and shambled into the orange-ish glow of the bonfire's light. His clothes tattered. Mud and dried blood caked his body. He collapsed before Star. His arms out, as if pleading.

Probably for whiskey. Maybe drinking his stash was a good idea after all.

Star glared down at him. Arms crossed, foot tapping, she asked, "What's wrong, vein-tappers wouldn't make you one of 'em?" She kicked Shale in the ribs.

He rolled over on his back. Groaning, conceding his palms, he gasped, "I..."

Snarling, Star kicked him again, and asked, "What? You got some sort of excuse?"

Holding his sides, Shale yelped.

_Scrippity-rickity-crack_.

Star straddled him like she did back in Shantytown. She grabbed him by the throat, raised a menacing fist, and said, "That's the last time you double-cross me!"

_Screeeee-scraaaaaw-scraaaacccckkkkk_.

Shale's gape grew wide. He waved his hands over his face. "Wait! I fff--"

Star slammed her fist into his nose. She reared back, meaning to pummel him again.

L'Raunt said, "Halt."

Star ceased mid-strike. Fist in air, she turned to L'Raunt.

"Let him speak," the vampire said.

Star released Shale, and stepped away. "So," she asked, arms crossed, foot tapping, "what'cha gotta say for yourself?"

Favoring his bum-leg, Shale struggled to his feet. He cupped a hand over his gushing nose and mouth. He glared at Star, and said, "I found him. Diamond. I found him."

Star buried a pistol barrel into Shale's forehead.

He raised his hands to the sky.

"You better not be lying to me again," Star snarled.

Shale asked, "Where do you think I've been all day?"

Star rolled her eyes, and said, "Oh, I don't know, selling us out again."

"I didn't sell you out." He smacked the gun away from his face.

Star let him.

Scowling, Shale said, "The sheriff saw us coming back from the armory, I had to tell Tahl something." Blood spurted as he spoke.

"Yeah," Star said, "And what you said got Diamond took and me sent to the bleeders."

Shale said, "And then I followed the fledglings back, just before dawn. I found it Star. I found the nest."

Star holstered her side-arm, and said, "Show me."

****

Pinching her nose, Star asked, "What's that smell?" The taste of rotten eggs danced on the tip of her tongue.

"Methane gas," L'Raunt replied.

Mouth covered with his sleeve, Shale asked, "Is it dangerous?"

"Out here, no." L'Raunt nodded toward the mouth of a dark and forbidding cave, and said, "Down there, perhaps."

Foot tapping, Star asked Shale, "Thought you said you followed 'em?"

"Yeah, I did. But I wasn't about to go down there. Not alone."

Shale led Star to the cemetery where she first met the mysterious stranger in white.

Star constantly peered over her shoulder the entire trek.

L'Raunt seemed to sense no danger. His sword sheathed at his belt, 'though he kept one hand on the hilt at all times. "Curious," L'Raunt said, entering the twisted wrought-iron gate around the cemetery. "I wouldn't think they'd nest on sacred ground."

Shale said, "Well, this particular graveyard hasn't been hollowed for many years." Hands trembling, Shale gulped. He appeared sweaty and flushed.

He must've wanted a drink pretty damn badly.

As if reading her thoughts, Shale turned to her, and said, "Okay, I brought you here. Now give it back. I know you took it."

Star fetched the flask out of her pocket and held it out to him.

He snatched it. Gaze wide, mouth quivering, he shook the flask. Frowning, he muttered, "What...it's empty."

Star shrugged, and said, "Sorry, I just needed it more than you."

Shale's lips curled in disgust. He crossed his arms, stepped backward, and said, "Well I'm not going down there. Not without a drink first. I can't. I just can't."

Mouth covered, Star snorted, "Suck it up, Shale."

Shale quavered, "No, you don't understand. I can't do it. Small dark places. I...I just can't. Not with _them_ down there."

Star shrugged again, and said, "Okay, then you stay here." She turned to L'Raunt, and asked, "Ready?"

L'Raunt unsheathed his sword and advanced toward the mouth of the cave like a man strolling down the street.

Star dug through her knapsack until she found a neckerchief. She tied it snuggly around her face; covering her mouth and nose. She glanced back at Shale.

"Good luck," he said.

Then Star followed L'Raunt down into the darkness. Pitch-black. She couldn't see. She grabbed L'Raunt's cloak and let him guide her like a dog leading a blind man. Her heart raced in her chest. The tempo beating in her temples increased. Her shuffling feet stirred rocks and dirt that echoed off the cavernous walls. That rotten egg smell swelled in the narrow tunnels. The air grew thicker, denser, and more noxious. Almost like those acrid concoctions Shale brewed. A strange thought occurred to her.

"L'Raunt?" Her muffled whisper reverberated through the cave. "This gas, is it explosive?"

"Highly," L'Raunt said. "Hush, young warrior. No more questions."

How did he know where he was going? No-doubt, he saw perfectly in the absence of light. But how did he navigate the twists and turns of the caves. Had he been here before? Could he sense the other vampires? If he shared no connection to the so-called master, then no, probably not. But perhaps he could smell Diamond.

The gas grew thicker. Star pressed her free hand against her mouth and nose to keep that fetid odor from seeping through the 'neckerchief's fabric.

They went deeper, traveling for what felt like a long time. Star doubted she'd be able to find her way back if something happened to L'Raunt.

Hissing. The shifting of rock and dirt.

Star's heart raced wildly in her chest. In her mind's eye, she saw corpses rising form the earthen rubble. Duelers. King's men. The man she murdered in Shantytown. The family she gunned down. All of them festered, suppurating. Worms and beetles trundled through tunnels of rotting flesh and bone. Cataract-white eyes glared at her in the dark. She felt them shuffling toward her. Their jaws masticated in anticipation. But the most decayed of all were Mikhail, her mother, and her father, Heinrik. Everyone she had ever killed now came for her. Drag her into the grave and devour her flesh while'st she screamed alone in the dark.

"What is this?" Tahl asked. His voice echoed and boomed.

They must've been in a larger cavern.

"It is I, L'Raunt," he called, "Unacknowledged childe of Bartram, the Bloody."

Tahl snorted, "A caitiff? And you come bearing this young calf as a peace-offering?"

The corpses stilled. Their cataract-white eyes leered hungrily at Star. Gore dripped from Mikhail's crooked jaw like saliva.

_Scree-scaw-scrack_.

"No," said L'Raunt. "I, your elder, have come with the decider of Gehenna!"

"Impossible!" Tahl replied. "She is nothing but an insolent girl."

"And yet, you are afraid."

Tahl snarled, "I fear nothing!"

Shuffling anxiously about, the corpses hissed through the hollows in their skulls. Dirt and moldering flesh fell from their bodies like settling dust.

"Watch how you speak to your master, caitiff--"

L'Raunt roared, "I am eldest!"

Tahl chuckled, "Then, in the words of Euriel, the angel; that forever shall childe rise up to slay sire."

Hissing. Snarling. The racing of bare feet. The copses surrounded her. Their festering mouths unhinged, cataract-white eyes rolled back in their exposed skulls.

Petrified, Star shuddered. "No, no, no."

Mikhail charged, pounced.

Star landed forcibly on her back. Her elbow struck a rock, knocking her hand away from her mouth. She grunted; inhaling a mouthful of gas. The corpses reached for her. Star rolled away, and backed against the wall of her tomb. She peered around in the darkness. Totally blind. But in her mind, she saw them coming for her; crawling over each other just to get at her supple flesh.

_Swoosh_. _Swoosh_.

The thudding of colliding bodies. Struggling. L'Raunt yelled in pain. Smacking, sucking sounds.

Oh, no. They got him. They were eating him alive. Tearing him to pieces. Ripping out his guts.

Voice muffled beneath her hand and 'neckerchief, Star called, "L'Raunt?"

"As for you," Tahl said.

A child whimpered.

"Mikhail? Mikhail is that you? I can't see you Mikhail, where are you?" Star reached out, hands blindly searching the dark as the vampires hissed in amusement. Though her mouth still protected by the 'chief's thin fabric, Star felt woozy.

A rush of cold air. Mikhail found her. He forced Star to her back again.

Sharp rocks jabbed her ribs and spine.

Skeletal hands reached out.

Star tried to force them back.

Teeth gnashing, Mikhail pressed in.

A large hand coiled firmly around Star's neck, hoisting her off the ground. And once again, all she saw was darkness.

Where had the corpses gone? Where was Mikhail?

Tahl said, "You two calves deserve each other."

A child struggled and cried. He sounded close. Possibly suspended by Tahl's other arm.

Tahl snarled, "First I will drain this succulent, little ham, And you will hear it all in horrid detail. Down here in the dark, your mind will show you things more horrible than your eyes could ever see. I'm sure it already has. And then, when the ham is dead, I shall drain you as well."

Star fought. Her legs kicked in the air. Faint, dizzy.

An eerie orange-ish light filled the cave.

Star could see.

The corpses of those she murdered were but a figment of her imagination.

Tahl held Star by the neck in one hand, Diamond by the other.

Vampires bounced in anticipation.

Tahl's unhinged mouth hovered inches from Diamond's quivering neck.

Diamond's eyes wide with fear.

What remained of L'Raunt lay on the rocky ground. Fledglings still gnawed at the caitiff's carcass.

Tahl hissed in annoyance.

"No," Shale said. Holding a kerosene lantern, he shambled into the chamber.

"You fool!" Tahl said. "You can't bring that down here."

Shale quavered, "Let them go."

Vampires closed in on him.

Shale swung the lantern close to the wall, threatening to shatter the thin glass separating the flame from the explosive gas ensconcing them.

Shale waved the lantern around, and said, "That's right, get back!" He said to Tahl, "Now let them go."

Tahl released Star and Diamond. They fell to the ground in a heap. Star scrambled toward Diamond and held him.

He coughed, and said, "I don't feel so good."

Star tied her neckerchief around his face and pressed her hand over his mouth. Taking shallow breaths, Star crept toward Shale.

Shale stepped away from the chamber entrance, and said, "Run children."

Star grabbed Diamond's wrist and trotted down the tunnel. The orange light bouncing off the cavern walls illuminated her way. Star thought she wouldn't be able to find her way back. But now that she could see, she realized that despite the twists and turns, the tunnel didn't fork.

Shale and Tahl's voices echoed from below.

Tahl asked, "What do you think you are doing, Shale?"

"I'm putting an end to this," he replied.

Dizzy, vision fuzzy, Star darted around a corner. The lantern light grew fainter.

"You fool," Tahl snarled. "You couldn't stop me in your piss-water village, what makes you think you can stop me now?"

Diamond tripped. He collapsed in a yelp.

Star pried him to his feet. Faint, weak. They had to get out of there.

The tunnel incipiently darkened. But there, up ahead, a faint, bluish light. Nearly out, and the dawn was breaking.

Below, Tahl and Shale's voices grew fainter, but still audible.

Shale said, "No matter how long, or cold, or dark they night may seem, come the 'morrow, the sun will always rise."

Hissing. Snarling.

Star knew they were closing in on Shale.

"Step away from the tunnel, Shale. Step away and I shall allow you to return to your wretched, pathetic, drunken, insect life."

"No, not this time."

The opening lay up ahead, expanding with each awkward step. Almost there.

Shale roared, "Come the 'morrow, the sun will always rise. Do you hear me! The sun will always ri--"

_Boom_.

The tunnel shook, caving in. A blinding light and intense heat chased after Star. She picked up Diamond and sprinted toward the faint blue-light. She leapt, rolling away from the cave as soon as she hit dirt. Fire and rock exploded out of the entrance before imploding; sinking into the ground. The Earth quaked for several long minutes as Star held onto Diamond.

When the temblors ceased and the dust settled, Star gazed around. Nothing. They were the only ones left. Star stood and brushed herself off.

Diamond whimpered and wiped at his runny nose.

Star asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Diamond sniffled as Star helped him to his feet, "I think so."

Smiling, she sighed, and said, "We did it. We made it." Then she hugged Diamond.

The ground beneath them erupted and the two flew backward, away from each other.

Tahl rocketed out of the rubble. His skin and clothes charred to a still-sizzling crisp. Hair burned off. His crimson eyes trembled in anger.

Charging, Star roared, "No!"

Tahl smacked her away.

Star went reeling, and slammed back-first into a head-stone.

Tahl snatched Diamond by the neck.

The stranger in white emerged from behind Tahl. He wrapped the chain of his pocket-watch around Tahl's neck and pulled back.

Gagging, Tahl flung Diamond into the rusted cemetery fence.

Diamond bawled.

Star raced to his side and held him.

The stranger reared back further, grinding the chain-links deep into Tahl's thick neck. Dark splotches blossomed on the vampire's throat as black blood oozed out.

"You should have known your place, Tahl," The stranger growled.

The first rays of sunshine peeked over the horizon.

Digging the chain deeper into the vampire's neck, the stranger directed Tahl toward the east.

The sun hit Tahl's face. He screamed as his skin ignited. The sun rose higher into the sky and Tahl combusted into flames.

Diamond cried.

Star covered his eyes and turned him away from the burning vampire.

Tahl shrieked as skin and tissue melted away. He exploded in a violent burst.

Nothing remained but the chirping of birds.

Star glanced up.

The Stranger dusted off his hands and strolled toward her. His face forever shrouded 'neath the shadow of his strange, white hat.

He drawled, "Very good, Myriam, you impressed even me. Despite all hardships, you held up your end of the bargain. And as I am a man of my word, now I shall uphold mine." He chuckled.

Star knew he was grinning at her.

The stranger continued, "But first, one thing remains. You must forsake all gods and declare me as your own. After all, only I can return to you all that He has taken."

Quivering, Diamond hid his chubby, tan face in Star's shirt.

Star stood. Head held high, chest puffed out, she said, "No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said no."

The stranger rubbed his impeccably clean hands, and said, "But you have to, it's part of the deal."

"The deal's off. You broke it. I was supposed to kill Tahl. That was the agreement we made. But you killed him. The way I see it, you don't owe me nothing. Just like I don't owe you squat. We're square."

Chuckling, the stranger replied, "But you drove him out into the sun. I merely restrained him from killing you and Diamond. As your personal savior, I think a bit of gratitude is warranted. And I really think you oughta do it on your knees." The stranger's aura darkened.

Star knew he was dead-serious. "You didn't save us, Shale did." Star took Diamond's hand and led him away from the cemetery.

The stranger growled and called after them, "You can't leave! No one refuses _me_! One day when you have nothing left but regret, you will come back to me, Myriam, Oh, yes, they always come back to me!"

Star smiled at Diamond. He smiled back.

For all his lies, all his betrayals, Shale had taught Star one indisputable fact: No matter how long, or dark, or cold the night may seem, come the 'morrow, the sun will always rise.

The stranger in white roared, "You _will_ come back to me! They _always_ come back to me!"

Feeling refreshed; alive for the first time in a long time, Star and Diamond strode off into the rising sun.

****

Star, the older Star, awoke in a gasp, as if she hadn't taken a breath in years. She swatted the glowing book out of her lap and doubled over. She heaved for several long minutes. Her stomach twisted and binded into knots, but nothing came out. Salty tears stung her sand-smeared face. How long had she been under? Memories like freshly opened wounds pained her soul. Holding herself, she cried for a long time.

She glanced at the book. Its blank pages fluttered and flapped in the sand-littered breeze.

Star could take no more of these visceral reveries. Yet, despite all her reservations, she crawled back toward the book.

No! No more! She couldn't bear it.

But she couldn't help it. Like magnetism, she was drawn to the book. She nestled her fanny into the blistering sands; sitting Indian-style. She pulled the tome into her lap and stared at the dancing splotches of discoloration until her head swooned. Star's eyes grew heavy. And then, she went back under.

****

Star and Diamond went back to Coffin Nail. They had to. They needed to stock up on supplies before venturing out into the wilderness.

Star half-expected a few humans to be waiting for them. But no. With the so-called master dead, any lingering ties to his human subordinates were severed. But just in case, they hit the armory first. Then they cautiously made their way to the food house. The town seemed deathly quiet. Almost surreal.

Star found the sheriff's ranger's hat rolling around in the dust, and claimed it as her own.

Diamond sustained a rather nasty cut on his leg from when Tahl flung him into the wrought-iron gate.

Star retrieved a few medical supplies from Shale's shack, dressed and treated the wound as best she could. Ironically, she found herself pinning for Shale's medical expertise. But he was gone, along with so many others.

Star felt conflicted about Shale. He lied to her on numerous occasions. Often, it seemed he had betrayed her. He was a coward, a drunk, and yet, Star knew she was a better, stronger person for meeting him. He taught her to fight, to hope, to believe. And yet, she treated him with such hostility. Only now did she see the error of her ways. Only now did she realize that in the game of war, there were no rules. Now she would never get to thank him for all his advice and tutelage. She could never apologize.

"No! God, please make it stop!" Star pulled away from the book once more. Her heart ached. She knew what came next. How could she not when she lived it herself? The tome vibrated its radiant glow. Within the recesses of her mind, Star heard the leathery object hiss and growl like a hungry vampire. It would not let go.

In time, the fang marks receded. But the scars forever remained. The gash on Diamond's thigh festered, grew black, and stank of rot. At first, Diamond experienced mild jaw spams, which made eating difficult. His skin hung in sweaty folds. Diamond constantly suffered violent spasms in his chest, neck, back, and stomach.

Mikhail. She was losing him all over again. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

At first Star thought his ailments might be attributed to prolonged exposure to the noxious gas in Tahl's lair.

Still they ventured south. Going as far south as it went.

Diamond continued to deteriorate before her very eyes. He ran a constant fever, causing excessive sweating. He drooled, and had trouble swallowing, even if all he swallowed was spit. His leg incipiently worsened. The veins around the wound turned swollen and black. Unable to travel on his own, they camped in the rolling hills for three days and nights while Star attempted to nurse him back to health. Diamond couldn't eat, couldn't even cry. And on the fourth day, when it became painfully clear that Diamond was never going to recover, Star put him out of his misery.

She sang to him.

" _Tell me a story_ , _of ol' long ago_ ,

' _Fore the shaking of mountains_ ,

_When the seas overflowed_ ,

_Take me back to the time_ ,

_When the world still a-new_ ,

_When we stood together_ ,

' _Neath a bright shining moon_ ,

_Tell me a fairytale_ ,

_That leads far from my door_ ,

_Spin off the years_...

Star's voice hitched as she uttered the final lyric.

... _And return me safe home_."

She stroked his hair.

Moaning, Diamond shut his eyes. Had he the strength, Diamond might have sucked his thumb.

Star sobbed, "I'm sorry, Mikhail." Then she put a bullet into the back of his head.

Diamond went limp.

Star continued stroking his hair as snot and hot, salty tears streamed down her face.

She buried his body at dusk.

She sat there as night fell. With nothing left, part of her hoped some surviving vampires would track her down and it would finally all be over. No vampires came. None left. She sat there until dawn; thinking about all she endured. Where would she go now? What would she do? Her initial plan was to go as far south as it went, but without Diamond or Shale, it all seemed pointless.

Star headed north, back into the desert. She carried plenty of supplies, but ate sparingly of her rations. Everything had been taken from her. She had no reason to go on.

Often she checked her compass, but the needle never settled. She was lost -- again. She reached into herself and tapped into _him_. Using the connection between her and the Lord of Black, Star wandered back to the fields. But when she got there, nothing remained. No man-dug canyons. No soldier's quarters. No slaves. Nothing.

The wind arose, pelting her in a wave of sand. When the sand cleared, she was no longer the child she had been, but the woman she had become.

Star glanced around. The book lay abandoned in the swirling sands.

"Why'd you go back?" a voice asked.

Star turned.

Emerging from the sand and shimmering heat, came her father. He looked blurry, like a faded memory. His face distorted. "To the fields," he asked, "why'd you go back?"

"I don't know," Star said, blotting her eyes on her sleeves. "I guess it's because I've been running and hiding ever since I escaped, I was just tired of it."

"My Myriam's Star, I know you better than that."

"But it's true. I have been running. I have been hiding."

He said, "Yes, but that's not why you went back, is it?"

"No," she replied. "I went back to the fields because...because...because I didn't want to live anymore." Her voice broke. Tears stung her dirty face. Star doubled over, heart heavy and weak. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry that I couldn't save Mikhail, Shale, any of you. The only one I could save was myself. I was so weak. So stupid. I'm sorry I let you down, father."

Her father hushed her and dried her tears. He said, "My Myriam's Star, you did no such thing. You were just a girl. I should have been the one protecting you. But I couldn't."

Star said, "But I don't blame you for that."

"And that's why you shouldn't blame yourself."

Star blubbered, "You just don't get it. All that shit Shale and L'Raunt told me, about being special, about being some great chosen one. I believed it. I believed it all so much and I still couldn't save Diamond. I couldn't save anyone. I was so prideful. What did I have to be proud about, huh? You tell me!"

Silence.

Star's heart so cold and strained it drove her to her knees. She bawled, "The stranger was right. I was mad at Mikhail because he picked a bigger turnip than me. God, I'm so fucking stupid. Have I not made a single right decision in my whole miserable life?

Nothing.

Star's tears slowed, as did her breathing. She sniffled, and said, "It should have been me that died. Not Mikhail. Not you. Not anyone."

He asked, "Do you still want to die?"

Star thought about it. Did she?

She sniffled, "No."

Her father said, "Because you have him, your man? He loves you."

"Yes."

"And you love him too?"

"Yes." Star glanced at the book, its pages turned in the desert breeze. "But why would Troll give me that?"

"Because he didn't know," her father replied. "Whatever evil lingering within that book was dormant, sleeping, when he found it. He couldn't possibly have known about it. If he did, he never would have given it to you."

Star peered toward Al'ber Que. Her longing to return to Troll pained her heart and soul like a dull, rusty blade.

Her father said, "You must do this task he has sent you on. Not for me, your mother, Mikhail, Diamond, or anyone else who has passed. Our suffering is over. We are at peace. You must do this for yourself. You must do it for everyone who can't, who isn't strong enough."

"But what if I can't?"

"You can. I believe in you."

Star doubled over, clutching at her chest as she wrestled with all the torment and anger she felt.

"One more thing, burn that cursed book," he said, vanishing into the wind. His words hung in the air, "I'm so, so proud of you, my beautiful Myriam's Star."

Crying, Star held herself. When done, she felt better than she had in a long, long time. She lit a few matches and tossed them into the pages of the open book. In the back of her mind, she heard the book skirling in agony. She watched the billowing flames until nothing remained but char and ash.

Star removed her hat, and stuffed it into her satchel. She pulled her hair back and tied it in a pony-tail; proudly displaying her mark. Determined, headstrong, Star marched off to accomplish the impossible.

No more running. No more hiding.

****

6

Troll hobbled on as the sun began its slow and steady ascent. He did not pray, he did not sing. He merely strolled along with his staff; his mind open and waiting. The earthen path he traversed upon slowly rose and it wasn't long before he found himself clambering up the rocky terrain.

Sometime before noon, Troll gazed back in the direction from which he'd come. Al'ber Que appeared completely hidden amongst the mountainous country. Would anyone in the empire be able to see him?

Troll continued on the winding path, following it further up into the mountains. Cooler up here. The breeze smelled sweeter, refreshing. Upward he climbed as the path narrowed into a skinny, stony staircase. Below, the mountainous terrain was not whole. The stony shelf he ambled across was made of smaller rocky islands supported several hundred feet above the ground by sedimentary pillars. It gave Troll the sensation of being no more than a tiny insect scuttling across a plateau of mushroom tops.

Troll's stomach rumbled. Tired and sweaty. Lost and uncertain, constantly doubting the direction he headed in. How would he know if he made a wrong turn? God hadn't said a single word to him since leaving Al'ber Que in those small hours just before dawn. Yet still, he climbed the mountainside, not knowing where he went or even what he should be looking for. Surely, he wasn't searching for an army. Why would God bring him all the way out into the wilderness for that when an entire army waited in Al'ber Que?

Troll tippled from his canteen and pressed onward. He had much time to think on his trek; almost too much time. He perambulated over Star and the Dog and all he'd set them out to accomplish. His circling doubts nagged and gnawed at him. Had he done the right thing? If so, God certainly hadn't said.

He tried to recall his past, the life he lived before meeting the Dog. But he couldn't, as if nothing there. Troll thought harder, forcing himself to remember a memory (any memory at all). Nothing. As if Troll merely awoke into this life one morning. Or did it only seem that way because after meeting the Dog and Star, Troll's life took a capricious and purposeful turn?

He recalled his differing memories after first waking in the Wachati's camp. Those memories, though dubious, once seemed so clear. Now, they were hazy, like a fading dream. Perhaps, his adventures with the tribesmen were nothing more than a vivid reverie.

Would this journey shed any light about his past, present, and future? Were there answers to be found out here in the great unknown? He didn't know. He hoped so, but the shadow of doubt weighed heavily upon his broad shoulders.

****

Sarah sat on the edge of Rome's curtained-bed. She felt dirty, violated. A malignant disgust swirled within her. Trembling, crying, she held herself, 'though it comforted her not. She was the one that sickened her.

After finishing, Rome hurriedly dressed and shuffled out without so much as a word or glance.

Left all alone in the sultan's chambers, Sarah hadn't a clue as to what to do. Not much point in joining Shadeem in the search for Anne, she knew they wouldn't find her. That, and Shadeem seemed to grow irritated with having to escort her all over the city. Sarah wasn't used to this sort of thing. From where she came from, women worked from sunrise to sunset and even longer still on certain occasions. But here, as the sultan's personal guest, Sarah had very little to do. Anything she could possibly want and more, she need only ask for.

After waiting to make sure Rome would not return, Sarah searched his plush living quarters. There appeared nothing out of the ordinary. But how would she know? She crept toward Rome's _pulprit_ and gently drew back the beaded curtain. Wearily, she peered inside before collecting enough of her wits to actually enter the sultan's adytum. The _pulprit_ appeared humble in contrast to the rest of the sultan's chambers. Nothing furnished the sand-colored ashlar room but a rug (used for prayer), a few throw pillows in case the sultan just wanted to relax someplace isolated, a silver platter with the finest of tobaccos, and a smoking device (something Rome referred to as a hookah). Sarah glanced around; careful not to touch or move anything from its original placement. Sarah didn't know how observant Rome was, but she wasn't taking any chances. She cursorily scanned the room and still found nothing unusual. But once again, how would she know? Sarah exhaled a long, lonesome sigh, and shook her head. How could Troll have charged her with this task? Of all people, Sarah didn't have a single surreptitious bone in her body. She had no idea what she was supposed do or looking for other than what she already was doing. Completely discouraged, Sarah left the sanctity of Rome's _pulprit_ and re-entered the main chamber.

She was about to leave and go...well, that was the thing. She didn't know where to go. But, she didn't want to skulk around the sultan's chambers all day; just waiting for him to return so he could...

Sarah stopped mid-stride. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

There, to her right, hung an eerie looking tapestry painted on a piece of sack-cloth about two-foot-wide and six-feet-long. The tapestry portrayed a ship caught in the middle of a maelstrom. And even though Sarah had never actually seen a ship or the sea, she knew perfectly well what she was looking at. Gazing at the tiny men in the canvas, Sarah crept closer. Even though the figures nothing more than dark, elongated brush marks, Sarah knew they the ship's crew. The men (and possibly even women and children), scattered all about the deck. Some of those brush-stroke men had abandoned the vessel, and hovered in the air like blotchy storm clouds. Some treaded the torrential waves ensconcing them. Sarah felt a swell of pity for those brushed-mark souls. She knew they were all goners. Sarah peered at the bow of the ship and read its name -- The Sultan.

How fitting. Sarah shuddered, as if actually able to feel the cold winds thrashing in the tapestry. A sense of foreboding coursed through her. Arms crossed, she turned away from the painting.

Startled, Sarah released a slight, " _Eep_." Her muscles clenched, as if she one of those poor brush-stroke souls freezing in the icy, ocean waters. There, across the room, propped against a pillow upon the sultan's bed, sat Maddy the rag doll.

What the...? How the...?

Sarah was so frightened by Maddy's dead-black doll's eyes and crimson-stitched smile; she couldn't even finish her own racing thoughts.

"Maddy?" she asked, inching toward the bed. "Maddy, how did ye get here?" She stood there, arms crossed, clutching at her thin waist-line. For a moment, Sarah actually believed the doll would answer. But as she stood there, waiting at the foot of the bed, she felt rather stupid.

"Look at me, Maddy," Sarah said, sighing in relief, "talkin' to ye as if--"

_Ka-bang_.

A loud clatter arose from inside the pulprit. Screaming, Sarah raced out of the sultan's chambers, out into the hall, tottered down the spiral staircase into the crowded lobby below; her heart a flutter. She backed into a corner and pressed a hand against her heaving chest.

What happened up there?

Shadeem strolled through the people scurrying about.

Odd. He was supposed to be out looking for Anne.

Creeping along the side of the wall, Sarah followed. No one even glanced at her. She trailed Shadeem to a large, decorative double-door. The parliamentary meeting room. Usually, the meeting room was closed off to anyone except a member of parliament. But Sarah learned that every once in a while, parliament met with elected public representatives to discuss social issues. This was not one of those times. And technically, Shadeem was not a member of parliament.

Outside, the carillon clangored, informing the denizens of Al'ber Que it _tiempestii d'el ruega_.

Sarah tip-toed toward the door and pressed her ear against it. But she couldn't hear anything. Sarah glanced back. The hallway had cleared. Everyone made it to their scheduled appointments. She was alone. The door unlocked, she opened it a crack and peered inside.

The massive room was fashioned in dark-stained oak. Toward the rear of the chamber (close to the door Sarah stood at), rows of wooden benches sat for the rare occasions when the public was allowed inside.

In front of the benches and centered in the room, stood a small, wooden podium where a selected public representative would address the council. Now, it stood barren. Ahead of the podium, a miniature, decorative wooden-wall separated the public from parliament. In front of that another, higher wall. The members of parliament sat behind it, facing the benches. The seats were set upon a stage behind the second wall so that parliament could look down on the public from a seated position.

The sultan sat at the middle of the dais; the Al'ber Quearian flag pinned to the wall behind him.

Sarah had met each member of parliament a few times. She knew each by face and name, but nothing about them as people.

Grayson Dreary currently held the floor's attention, "...in summation, I think raising the _tribune_ is a bad idea." He combed pudgy digits through his short, dirty-blond hair, and said, "Especially since it's been less than a moon since the last hike in _taxe_." Grayson's round, crooked nose wagged as he spoke.

Sarah knew the _teran-oht_ as head of economics and agriculture. What she didn't know is what that meant. Al'ber Que had no agriculture. And the empire's economic system was falling apart at the seams, like an old, tattered dress.

Burly hands folded, the sultan said, "It is regrettable, but unfortunately the last _tribune_ adjustment just wasn't nearly enough to suit the city's fiscal needs."

Grayson asked, "What does that even mean? As to what fiscal needs do ya speak of?"

Micah and Franz's neatly trimmed facial hair danced as they murmured something to each other.

The sultan's face appeared red and puffy. His fat lips twitched, as if he restrained some withering condemnation.

Tisk and Task remained ever silent and vigilant. Tisk peered toward the door. The crystal-like studs in his face and bald head glittered in the candelabra light.

Sarah shrank back. Did he see her?

Standing, muscular arms lifted, Shadeem called, "Brothers, brothers, please, let us not quarrel amongst ourselves. Let us put this matter to a vote. All in favor of raising _tribune_ for the good of the city's stability show your hands."

Immediately the sultan, Shadeem, Tisk, and Task raised theirs.

Eyes narrowed, scowling slightly, Franz and Micah exchanged a glance.

Shadeem turned to them, and asked, "Well brothers, what say you?"

Franz and Micah shared another uneasy look before slowly acceding.

Round, crooked nose wriggling, Grayson said, "Please brothers, ya can't do this. Please see your way to reason..."

The sultan slammed a hammy fist, and yelled, "That is enough, councilman, we have voted and that is final."

Grayson cried, "But the people will not stand for this!"

Shadeem roared, "The people will stand for whatever we tell them." He drew his broad sword. Usually weapons of any kind were prohibited in these sacred and peaceful chambers -- usually. He continued, "And unless you want to spend the rest of your days behind bars, you'll accept the decision of this counsel. Is that clear?"

Head hung in dejection, Grayson huffed, "Yes."

Grinning, Shadeem sheathed his blade, and said, "Good."

"Do you need assistance, Madirii?"

Pivoting in mid-air, Sarah jumped in a start.

An elderly, native woman dressed in yellow robes and shawl bent over Sarah. The woman's sunken eyes appeared so dark-brown they were almost black. She smiled. Her face and v-shaped chin wrinkled.

From within the meeting room, people shuffled about. Footsteps plodded toward the door.

"Madirii?" the woman asked again.

Sarah scurried away before Shadeem, or anyone else, spotted her.

****

Troll continued on as the path he followed took him higher and higher into the mountains. The hours passed on with the miles as the sun worked its way across the sky. Hunger tore at the walls of Troll's stomach like a caged animal. Exhaustion weighed down his bones. But, God had not yet commanded him to stop or change course. And Troll feared that if he rested, he'd never be able to get up again.

Troll slogged on until his feet drug on upon their own accord and his mind drifted away. All day he traveled, climbed, and crawled until he finally stopped, but not because God told him to. He could simply go no further. He wormed along on the ground when he suddenly collapsed in fatigue. And as soon as his head hit the dirt, all faded to black. But in that blackness no dreams did stir. Instead, Troll experienced exactly what he'd been waiting for since the trinity left Silverdale -- a vision. A visceral and cathartic experience that even Troll (with his extensive vocabulary), would have trouble describing. Like being in an uncontrollable and extremely vivid dream which, at some parts he participated in (like he was there again, reliving the moment). Other parts he watched, as if not physically there but still bore first hand witness to the unfolding events.

This phantasmagoria consisted of three acts.

The first was the past. His first encounter with the Dog. Them traveling together. The spiders. The Wachati. Troll remembered/relived meeting Byron. In mere momentary flashes, Troll re-experienced Silverdale and their escapades there. Troll witnessed the Dog's torture and execution in horrific detail. He remembered the Jessips; saw each and everyone's face and recalled their names. But mostly, Troll saw Star. Her face. Her smile. Her eyes. The feel of her skin and the taste of her lips. Star's strawberry scent and how it felt to hold her. He remembered that sensation, could almost feel it now -- her in his arms, yet now it just seemed off -- hollow.

In the second part, Troll observed disjointed images of what he understood as the present; haphazard flashes that blurred together. He saw Star sitting Indian style amidst the swirling sand somewhere in the Mo'tave desert. A book spread eagle in her lap. There seemed some sort of energy coming out of that book. Reaching out and hungrily coiling its invisible tentacles around his love as she rocked forth and sway; quivering as she did during her night-terrors. He gave her that book. Troll's heart hurt at the very sight of her there, alone and in pain. He silently cried out in torment; cursing the tome and damning it back to whatever Hell from whence it came.

Troll watched the sultan work his old, sweaty body up and down as he rode Sarah in the dark. Rome couldn't see Sarah's face, but Troll could. Sarah's face tilted so far it seemed her head were trying to flee its ravaged body. She bit her lip, as if to keep from screaming, crying, or possibly both. Her eyes filled with an amalgamation of shame and anger. And once again, Troll's heart broke as he roared out in torment. Yet, while he could see and hear those he saw, none could sense Troll. He remained invisible to all.

Troll saw the Dog huddled and hiding in fear down there in the sweltering gloom. An aura of fear and death permeated all about this place -- this Hell where he'd sent the Dog. Troll felt angered by the Dog's cowardice, and yet, at the same time Troll also feared this place. And was just as sickened by his own pusillanimity as the Dog's.

A nocturne monotone of children's voices echoed and Troll/Dog's heart skipped a beat as their collective blood ran cold.

Next comes a scream.

Troll cowered there in the dark with the Dog, but no scream came.

Any moment now. Still nothing but silence.

The anticipation boiled up within Troll/Dog until the point where they wanted to just scream.

Troll saw Sirii in the market and Khariiff in El Na'tirii Tawa. He saw Shadeem stroll the streets with pride. Saw Shadeem and the sultan conspiring together in darkened and empty street corners. Troll witnessed and experienced all this but felt remised at the fact that he couldn't "see" Anne. But he sensed her essence just as he did Byron's. Byron! A wave of excitement coursed through Troll. The feeling soon faded when Troll realized that if he could sense Byron, then he was still alive, 'though no-doubt suffering a fate far worse than death.

The third part of Troll's vision was what he could only surmise as the future. Unlike the previous two segments, this one did not consist of a series of random flashes, but one singular event. He floated over a grand city, a shimmering city. A city of the elders. A prodigious flash of blinding-light. The sky dawned a blood-red hue. Troll floated lower, closer toward the city. He didn't want to. That crimson sky held an awful, watchful presence. A presence that Troll felt compelled to run and hide from much as the Dog did down in the dark. He drifted closer, against his will, forced to bear witness to the people of old (or future), turning on each other. Tearing each other apart. Raping, plundering, murdering, and setting buildings to burn. Troll didn't understand every single thing he saw. The future seemed far too complex. But he got the gist of the scenario all too well. Like looking at a large painting, one that you had to stand far away from in order to get the full feel of. Troll floated closer toward the carnage and devastation as the cities burned. Flames reached far into the smoky orange-ish skies. At the center of it all and overseeing everything, loomed a figure standing atop some pyramid-like structure or temple. A shadowy apparition that Troll feared. A figure he knew. He didn't want to drift any closer, but he couldn't help it. He was being drawn there; like magnetism. He couldn't see the figure clearly. And the closer he seemed to drift toward it, the more the eidolon blurred into a shadow. A shadow Troll recognized. A specter Troll's known for ages, life times. The figure lambently shimmered in and out of itself but exposed a devilish smile with burning red-eyes. Then, just before Troll awoke, the shadowy figure took form, and Troll clearly saw who stood at the center of the Apocalypse -- the Dog.

****

The Dog's heart raced in his chest as he clung to the side of the tunnel wall. The coolness of the rocks against his hot, sweaty skin helped to settle his nerves as he peered around the dark. He was supposed to be the animal down here, but if he turned feral, he wouldn't be able to sweat through his thick fur, he'd have to pant. No very stealthy.

He had trailed a soldier's scent from the central outpost through a tunnel that led deep into the mines. Somehow, the Dog got lost. He tried to zero-in on the guard. He almost sensed him. Then it was gone. Not so much absent as muffled.

He remembered the time he and Troll ventured into the clearing of the dark woods beyond Silverdale. The chill in his spine. The feeling of being watched. Lost. Blind. The Dog hunkered low against the tunnel wall. He knew it still day, but if he didn't find his way out of the lower, darker chambers of the mines before nightfall, he might not ever.

The Dog pivoted. Feeling along the jagged wall, he headed back the way he came.

The crunch of gravel under heel.

Dog whirled. His gaze darted blindly around the gloom.

" _La-la-la-la-la-la-la_." Anne said, "Come and play in the dark puppy." The voice turned deeper, darker, like churning boulders. "Or should I call you, William?"

All the hairs on Dog's un-feral body stood on end. He scampered on all fours. For a moment he gained no ground. No traction. He raced back the way he came, and slammed right into a wall. A wild cackling echoed through the cavernous tunnels. Face throbbing, Dog turned left. _Bam_. Another wall. What the hell? Dog glanced back, expecting another wall. Nothing. The Dug searched feverishly in the dark. There had to be another way. Another tunnel. Dog clawed at the wall in front of him until it crumbled away. The ground caved in along with it. The Dog tumbled down a wave of rock and dirt into another chamber; running before his feet hit the ground. He raced through the tunnel, up an incline, and into another, bigger chamber. Soldiers and slaves scurried about. A soldier stood right next to where the Dog entered. Luckily, his back was to the Dog. Dog sprang upward and clung to the ceiling. A bit of rubble fell unto the soldier's armor. He gazed up. Could he see him?

Another soldier trotted toward the first, and asked, "Hey, what are you doing? Trying to stare off into the heavens?"

Peering upward, the first replied, "Thought I heard something."

The Dog held his breath and willed his muscles not to waiver.

"Well?" The second asked.

The first shook his head, and said, "Nothing, never mind."

"Well good, c'mon, it's gettin' late. _He'll_ be coming soon."

****

Troll awoke to the sun setting behind the horizon. His face still plastered with dirt. His eyes and cheeks moist with tears. Nose runny with snot. But more than that, Troll felt refreshed, revitalized. His stomach no longer rumbled. He had been slaked, nourished, as if just rousing from the best sleep of his entire life. No stiffness in his muscles or joints like he would've expected. Troll clambered to his feet without the aid of his staff; retrieving it from the confines of his cloak only after standing, stretching and yawning.

Troll brushed off his cloak and kilt, and gave a small prayer of thanks even though he did not yet fully understand all that he'd witnessed and experienced.

Troll glanced back in the direction he'd come from. His thoughts instinctually turned toward Star and her own horrid vision. Had she survived? Or had that evil, little book succeeded in draining her energy; robbing her of her last breath? Troll bowed his head, and prayed a second time.

Dear God, please give my love the strength to overcome her obstacles, so that she may be able to serve ye'r will. In ye'r name I pray, Amen.

When Troll finished, he gazed off into the mountainous distance. The panorama of orangish peaks, steep cliffs, and inclines would cause most men to despair. But, not Troll. A new-found determination burned within him like a raging wild-fire.

Bring it on.

_Now, go_! God commanded.

And go, Troll did.

****

Sarah felt cold and dirty, soiled to her soul. She sat naked on the edge of the bed, a silk sheet wrapped around her like a shawl. Her feet dangled above the floor. She contemplated getting up, but her stirring might rouse Rome (chortling away on the other side of the bed). She had no wish to wake him. No-doubt that dirty, old man would want an encore performance.

She felt like crying, like shivering, but she was beyond that. She glared down at Rome's wrinkled and bloated body. She suddenly saw herself taking her pillow and holding it over his face until he expired. Sure, he would wake and he would fight. But she would hold him down. Her hatred would be more than enough strength for her to dominate him. She watched it all play out in her mind with all the satisfaction that mental imagery can supplement. She barred her teeth in some sort of sick excuse for a smile. Sarah grinned, and raised a pillow high above Rome's head.

There, propped upon the desk, sat Maddy the rag doll, peering at her with his dead-black doll's eyes and crimson-stitched smile.

Fear crept lethargically down Sarah's spine. She lay down, and slipped the pillow under her head. She curled up in a ball, and shut her eyes. She felt Maddy's presence rise from the desk. In monolithic form, he crept toward her. Sarah trembled. In her mind's eye, she saw Maddy looming over her, watching her. Leering at her. All night long.

****

Dark. But of course, down here, it was always dark.

"Hey, wake up, wake up, stitch," Quinn said, jabbing Byron's ribs with a rock.

He'd been sleeping again. Losing track of time again. How long this time?

Byron sat up, rubbed his eyes, and asked, "What's happening?" He glanced around for some semblance of familiarity, something to tell him where he was. He found none.

Straddling him, Quinn sat on his chest, and said, "They're gone, all of them."

"What?" Byron hoisted himself up by his elbows. Quinn got off him and stepped back a piece, leaving Byron enough room to stand (but never made any attempt to actually help him up).

Quinn said, "We're all alone."

Byron staggered to his feet and rubbed his eyes again, as if just awaking from a horribly vivid dream. Or, perhaps it the other way 'round, and now he woke into a dream. Not just a dream -- a nightmare.

"Just you and me, down here in the dark," she said with a wide, twisted smile.

"What?"

"Do you like it, the dark I mean?"

"What?" Byron asked again, it was all he could do.

"I do," Quinn said. "I like it ever so much."

Byron inhaled deeply. Dark, but not pitch-black. Not night. An ominous, lambent orange-glow flowed through the tunnels and Byron found himself in a big cavernous chamber. Unshackled. Unchained.

Quinn giggled, "Oh, and the silence, don't you love the silence. Don't you find it sweet?"

Byron asked, "What did ye just say to me?"

Smiling wickedly, Quinn replied, "The dark." She stepped backward until swallowed by shadow. All but her eyes. "I said it was... _sweet_."

Byron shivered. His heart raced as he hyperventilated; skin breaking out in clammy sweat.

Quinn asked, "Tell me Byron Herder, do you think it's sweet too?"

A frigid wind blew from somewhere in the deepest depths of the caverns.

Byron's sweat turned cold. Quinn laughed lowly and Byron struggled to hold his bowels.

Stepping out of the shadows, Quinn chuckled, "Relax, Max, I was just messing with ya."

On the verge of tears, Byron stammered, "Why...why...would ye do that?"

Smiling like the Devil, Quinn replied, "I told you, I love it down here. I belong down here. And soon, you'll see that you belong here, too."

And Byron knew it was true.

****

Hair tied back, Star marched north along the edge of the desert. Sand turned into rolling hills of dirt and scrubs. Then the hard-pan-prairie turned back to sand. God, would the desert never end?

Toward the late afternoon, the skies darkened over with thick, storm clouds. The temperature dropped and the humidity rose. Thunder swept over the land, bringing insane electricity that buzzed in the air, promising a thrasher of a storm.

The thunderclaps rolled across the desert like mini earth quakes. Lightning crashed about in the sky, but had yet to strike ground. The air stilled. Virtually no wind and the humidity continued to rise as the temperature fell. Then it rained, cold and hard. The cross-winds battered over the ever-shifting sands.

Star donned her poncho and hat as she traversed through the storm. Her thoughts turned to a simpler time after first meeting Troll and the Dog, and traveling through the deluge that led them to Silverdale.

Star crested a mound. There, at the bottom, lay two small tents flapping in the wind. They might have blown away entirely if not for the people huddling inside them.

Who could they be? Not Furion's men. She didn't see a single banner or sigil. Even so, they were probably armed. Yet, she needed to make contact in a way that wouldn't startle them. But how would she do that amidst the sweltering maelstrom?

Her hand drifted down to her holster and she slowly retrieved the fire arm. She cocked it, aimed toward the sky, and unloaded all six chambers without flinching.

Would they even hear the report over the deafening thunder?

The tent flaps peeled open, first one, then the other. People poked their heads outside and gazed around. Terror filled their collectively wide eyes and slack jaws.

Star recognized most of them as members of the infamous Jessip brother's gang, there were four others, three men and a young woman, whom she didn't recognize.

Faces slack and dumbstruck, the Jessips and friends peered up into the sky.

'Ro yelled, "What the hell happened?"

They didn't seem to notice Star standing there. "Furion," she roared over the thunderclaps.

Lightning crashed as rain and hail pelted from the heavens. And it was very, very cold. The new Jessip gang (plus Star), all crammed together in one tent so they could talk. As soon as the others crawled out of the second canvased shelter, it snaked across the sand and the wind carried it off. The remaining tent had been pummeled to nothing more than a wet blanket (it reminded Star of Troll's cloak. Only, Troll's cloak would no-doubt be warm and dry). They looked cold, wet, and disheartened by the fact that a campfire might give away their position. Sandy explained to Star about the army being in wait just over yonder. Star inquired as to how far they thought the camp was.

Sandy pulled at the gnarls in her stringy, wet, sand-colored hair, and said, "Two miles, give or take."

Black handlebar-mustache dancing, Roy asked, "You don't think they heard the shots, do you?" His narrowed gaze darted about.

"Over this?" Ally yelled over the blustering breeze, "I doubt it."

The rains ceased after a time, but the wind, thunder, and lightning did not abate. One-by-one, the gang crawled out of the tent and wadded it up so it wouldn't blow away. They all stood around, clutched themselves, shivered, and gawked at each other.

Star dug through her knapsack, and said, "Get anything partly dry we could use as kindling."

"You can't make a fire," Hickey growled through chattering teeth. "Didn't you listen?"

Grinning, Star said, "Trust me."

Ally and Sandy rustled up a few old horse blankets from their packs (which, they obviously didn't need since they had no horses).

Star produced a small, leather pouch, took out a pinch of peppery smelling powder, and sprinkled it over the horse blankets. "This burns at a higher temperature with very little smoke residue," she said. "But with the storm n'all, I don't think we have to worry about anybody seeing us, at least not tonight."

Zeke scratched his large, egg-shaped head, and asked, "Where did you get that?"

"A mutual friend," Star said, thinking of Troll.

The group stripped down to their skivvies, and strung them over the flames to dry (except for Star, who wore no undergarments. She just constantly readjusted her position until her clothes dried). They sat around the fire and exchanged stories; talking long into the night.

Star learned that after parting ways, what remained of the Jessip gang headed north toward the mountains, whereas Sarah and Anne continued west until reuniting with their friends in Al'ber Que. The gang hadn't made it very far north. Many complications arose. The king's army seemed ubiquitous. Platoons dotted the prairies just beyond the desert. The gang bounced around from place to place. Sometimes they'd come across a small settlement of vagrants. But the drifters never stayed in one location too long. So, neither did the Jessips. But they found no way to cross the mountains without risk being spotted. So they set up camp in a generalized area, often re-locating just in case of scouts. So far they managed to avoid detection. And until the army moved out (in any direction), the gang decided to pretty much sit tight and lay low.

The outlaws appeared skinnier, more ravaged than the last time Star saw them. Zeke in particular, had been in awful poor spirits since the death of Paulie, and sometimes held entire conversations with the late, outlaw's spectacles.

The Jessips met the gang's potential new members nearly a week ago. Four of them; three were deserters of the king.

The twins, Seth and Kayle, had tan skin and short, dark-brown hair. They wore piercings and studs in their ears, nose, and eye brows. Upon each man's face was the horse-shoed brand that forever tainted them as marked-men. The brothers' jewelry and brands were in the exact same spot on each man's face. And their mannerisms and speech patterns were so similar; it made deciphering between the two brothers nigh on impossible, as if each the exact duplicate of the other.

Xaza, the other deserter, was easily the biggest member of their party. Not nearly as big as Troll, or even Shadeem, but at seven-foot-two, and three hundred (lean and muscular), pounds, he easily towered over all of them. Even when seated. Xaza appeared tan, but not nearly as tawny as the others. He had short blond-hair and only wore a few pieces of hoop-jewelry through his ears. His mark ran along his neck, not his face. Xaza didn't look like any of the others, because he wasn't. He didn't even speak the same language. Xaza had a sort of gladiator/barbarian look to him and it occurred to Star that he could have very well been from the country of Troll's origin (that is, if Troll actually had a country of origin).

And then there was Mia, a sixteen year old drifter who'd been on her own since the age of seven. Mia appeared short and thin, not but a sprout, herself. She had creamy, pale skin (unusual for this part of the world), and jet-black hair in a bowl-cut that almost reached the nape of her neck; short for a woman's but not necessarily a king-cut. Mia possessed an overall attitude and countenance that reminded Star of her at a younger age.

Mia met the deserters two days prior to encountering the Jessips. Apparently the gang didn't know much about her past or what she had been doing way out here by herself. She didn't talk about it.

The twins, Seth and Kayle, liked Mia immediately. They said she reminded them of one of their younger (now deceased), brothers. What Xaza thought of her was anyone's guess. He was one cool customer, very difficult to get a read on most of the time. According to the twins, they weren't entirely sure that Xaza knew he was a deserter. For all they knew, Xaza might have just assumed the three men were out on patrol. But, if he hadn't caught onto the hint yet, then he probably never would.

When the group stumbled upon the Jessips, guns had been drawn, an uneasy making of each other. 'Ro took control and quickly diffused the situation. It seemed the troops came from a platoon moving down the mountains. The deserters saw the Jessip's campfire (but thankfully not the army). And (in a nutshell), elected upon strength in numbers, as the twins were terrified of being caught and receiving a fate that awaited all traitors in the king's army -- dismemberment. So they joined forces, and waited for their platoon to advance.

But they hadn't.

The twins expressed honest fear in the assurance that their absence had been noted and the reason that the army hadn't proceeded onward was because they were searching for the deserters, looking to give them their due and proper.

So the gang bided their time laying low. Spending their days playing poker, slap-jacks, or the game the king's men taught the group (a real favorite among the men-at-arms), craw-daddy.

When Star filled in, 'Ro turned to her. Brow cocked, he asked, "And just what are you doing way out here in the wilderness, little lady?"

Star cleared her throat and said what she had prepared. She recanted meeting Troll and the Dog and their harrowing adventures in Silverdale. She explained all they learned after 'Ro's rescue from the gallows and their two groups parted ways. She told them about how their group had been separated and her arduous trek through the Mo'tave desert and then waking up in Al'ber Que (but omitted the ten-and-a-half month lapse she experienced in between). She informed them of the treacherous fate awaiting the empire and Troll's plan for making Al'ber Que a major turning point in the war by amassing an army of their own.

Hickey asked, "So what's your part in all this?" He spat out a plug of tobacco, and cleaned the dirt 'neath his cracked, yellowish fingernails.

Star replied, "Al'ber Que has become a hidden haven for deserters of the king." She turned to Xaza and the twins, and said, "Much like yourselves."

Nodding, Xaza said, "D'ah."

Star continued, "My job was to go out and round up as many deserters as I can and bring them back.

Mustache dancing, Roy asked, "Why deserters?"

"'Cause they're already trained," Ally replied.

Star said, "And 'cause deserters and ex-slaves have a general hatred for Furion and the king."

Nose wrinkled, Mia brushed back her short, black bangs, and asked, "So, you're just supposed to go strutting 'round trying to get people who just ran from the king, to turn and fight him?"

Star replied, "That's the gist of it."

"That's fucking suicide," one of the twins said.

"Yeah," the other said, "And crazy as hell."

Star stared at the twins, and asked, "Which part?"

"Well, all of it," one replied.

"Yeah, pretty much all of it," the other iterated.

'Ro scratched his stubbly, squared chin and said, "The whole thing sounds pretty iffy to me. I don't think that would even work."

Star blurted, "Neither did I, and then I run into you, of all people, and come to find out Furion's camp is just over yonder."

Hickey asked, "So what?"

Star turned to the twins, and said, "I'm guessing you ain't the only ones to cut rope and run."

"Well, no," one said.

Toying with an earring, the other replied, "Yeah, there's a lot of us who hate the army. Most of us who weren't selected just joined 'cause it seemed the better alternative."

"Yeah, but the things they make us do," the first said. His face paled.

Twirling her compass chain, Star asked, "So why don't others leave? How come you're the only ones?"

The first twin said, "Because staying is better than what they'll do if they catch you running. What _he'll_ do."

"Why'd you chance it?" Star asked.

"We have our reasons," the second twin said. Both hung their heads.

the first added, "Besides, I'd bet the farm they'll be a lot more once word gets around the camp."

'Ro asked, "What word?"

Picking at a nose stud, the second replied, "Furion ain't even there."

"What!" Star exploded into a stance.

"Yeah," said the first. "We overheard General Shroud talking to Commander Valcor in Shroud's private tent. Shroud hasn't seen the Lord of Black around the camp for days. They're trying to keep it hush-hush. But it won't be long before word gets around and others start ditching post as well."

Twirling the compass chain faster, Star paced back and forth.

'Ro said, "Sounds like a trap."

Ally ran a hand through his greasy brown-hair, and asked, "How's that?"

'Ro said, "Supposin' they know about all these traitors among 'em, and this whole thing is an attempt to weed 'em out. Then Furion comes back all the sudden and wham! No more traitors. No more anyone even thinking about high-tailing it."

Star whirled toward them, and said, "No, this is perfect."

Her arm in her husband's, Sandy nodded toward 'Ro, and said, "But 'Ro's right. He will come back."

"Yeah," Star said. "But, between now and then, I'm gonna infiltrate his camp."

****

When Troll awoke from his vision, he was so revived that he walked straight on through the night and into the dawn. When the sun began its slow and steady ascension into the sky, Troll still didn't feel tired, so he trekked on. Troll's stomach roared out in hunger, but he fasted. Troll's heart wanted to sing out in celebration of his vision and the fact that God finally spoke to him. But he uttered not a word. He remained in constant, silent prayer.

At roughly ten in the morning (best as Troll could wager), he finally took a rest, but not out of exhaustion, or because God told him to (not exactly, anyway). Troll stood in some sort of cavernous valley. He drank a long swig from his canteen and scanned the horizons.

Which way?

Off in the distance, thunder pealed through the valley. Troll peered in that direction, finding God's answer.

Now, Troll rested up for the challenge at hand. When Troll asked God where he was supposed to go next; after the thunder, a ray of sunshine beamed down and fell atop a high, mountainous shelf; a sheer straight upward climb that seemed taller than the mountains around it. And Troll still had a few miles to walk before he even got that far.

****

"What would you care to do today, _Madirii_ ," Rome asked Sarah. "I'm at your disposal the whole day through."

Sarah sighed in ennui, and replied, "I care not."

Saturday was a day of rest (but not for the _bazaar'istes_ ), and as such, Rome was reprieved from his duties. Because of this, he and Sarah were spending the day together, and though it wasn't even yet ten in the morning, she felt it had been a very long day already. After an early morning romp, the two enjoyed a breakfast banquet (at which Sarah ate scarcely a nibble). Rome seemed displeased by this, but said nothing.

Now, they just sat at the table. Sarah slouched; elbow on the table-top, head rested on her hand. She gazed toward the billowing maroon curtains, and impatiently tapped her fingers upon the furnishing's finished veneer. Rome reclined in his chair. His burly, hairy hands folded upon his bulbous belly. He sat there pondering activities for them. Often he'd verbalize one. Sarah always shot it down.

Rome said, "Perhaps, I could tour you around the city."

"I have toured the city plenty," she replied.

Pillowy-white brows arched, he said, "Ah, _si_ , of course. Then what would you like to do?"

Sarah sighed, and said, "Whatever ye like, as I said, I care not."

Rome squinted, as if in pain. His fat lips drew into an o-shape upon his bearded face. " _Madirii_ , _por favorii_ , we've been playing this little game for the last hour."

"I know not of what game y'er referring."

"To this game," Rome said, thrusting his arms out. "I ask what you'd like to do, and alas, you say you care not, and round and round we go. Why, it is almost _tiempestii d'el ruega_ and we've done nothing but sit here and squander the day away."

"So go and pray and maybe by then I'll have made up me mind." She flapped her hand in a shoeing motion, as if encouraging a child to scurry off and play.

Rome huffed. Face red and puffy, he closed his eyes; inhaling slowly and deeply. His mug regained its normal tawny hue. Pleasant and composed, Rome said, " _Madirii_ , _por favorii_ , allow me to indulge you, to what do you desire?"

The sincerity in his voice had Sarah taken back and feeling even lower, yet this was her opportunity.

Smiling coquettishly, she asked, "Anything?"

Nodding, he replied, " _Si_ , of course, _Madirii_."

Sarah leaned across the table, stared directly into Rome's dark-brown gape, and said, "Well, there is one thing I have not yet had the pleasure of seeing."

"Anything your heart desires, _Madirii_ , please tell me."

Sarah blurted, "I'd like to see where all the city's stock and produce or stored."

She knew her request to tour the city's storage facility would cause Rome to panic and try and sneak out of the citadel. As it turned out, he simply slunk into the sanctity of his _pulpit_ well-before the tintinnabulation of Al'ber Que's carillon.

Sarah sat there, bored out of her mind. But, still, ennui was better than spending time with Rome. She tapped her fingernails along the table in synchronized raps. Her chin rested upon her other hand.

Her thoughts turned to the others in her group. Troll. Star. The Dog. Where they were at that exact moment. What they were doing. But, mostly, she wondered about the fate of Anne. The girl was still alive. Sarah had no way of knowing this. She just felt it. Anne had been so irritated with her in the months preluding to her disappearance. Anne grew up so much, so fast. She incipiently hardened by the violent world they were thrust into. Sarah hadn't handled such prodigious growth well. Now, she might never get the chance to apologize.

When Rome re-emerged from his _pulprit_ he appeared sweaty, pale, and his hair a-tussle.

What was he doing in there?

He declared he had a most important personal matter to attend to, which he'd nearly forgotten.

"It will not take long, _Madirii_ ," he said rushing out the door, "and then I shall show you the facility, I swear to it."

Sarah waited until she could no longer hear his foot falls, and then raced for the door. She glanced at the tapestry of "The Sultan" as she passed by it and felt a sudden chill. No time for that now. Al'ber Que was huge. She could not afford to lose Rome.

Sarah opened the door and released a shrill squeal.

There, propped along the hallway wall, sat Maddy the rag doll, leering at her with those dead-black doll's eyes and crimson-stitched smile.

Who could be playing such a nasty trick on her? The sultan? That bastard. Sarah snatched the doll and continued on after Rome.

Sarah followed far behind as he marched through the citadel. It might have been a day of rest for most folken round these parts, but for the bustling capitol, it was just business as usual. And even though Sarah had to stop in the halls and wait as the sultan spent a few minutes here and there talking to random people, no one paid Sarah a lick of notice. Patiently, Sarah tailed her prey from a distance while the sultan did his thing. She held Maddy cradled in the crook of her arm.

Eventually the sultan met with everyone he needed to and made his way out into the crowded streets. Sarah pursuit, and the first chance she got, she tossed Maddy into a passing trash-cart.

Just like before, Sarah trailed the sultan as he waddled through the city and to another back alley rendezvous with his chief of security, Shadeem.

Sarah ducked into a darkened alleyway and listened.

"We have a problem," the sultan's voice sounded low and frantic, "Sarah--"

"Who?" Shadeem asked. "Ah, yes, your gilly."

"She wants to see the storage facility."

"What storage facility?"

"Exactly!" the sultan replied.

Shadeem snorted, "Is that all?"

The sultan asked, "What do you mean is that all? She's starting to--"

The shuffling of large feet.

Shadeem said, "If you can't take care of that little whore of yours, then I will. And you _know_ what that means."

"I...I...I never said anything of the kind."

Shadeem replied, "Good then, see that you don't. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important matters to deal with, unless there is anything else."

The sultan stammered, "No, no. Nothing further, you're dismissed."

"Well, then, good day."

Sarah waited for them to leave before slinking out of the alley.

Sarah felt nauseated by being called a whore and the fact that Shadeem was willing and able to murder her.

What to do? She needed Troll's council. Where was he?

Despite Troll's advisements to stay away from Sirii (for now), Sarah wandered toward the _bazaar_ , desperate to see a friendly face.

The shop appeared deserted save for Sirii and her new _dischaag_ , Reyna (a chubby, native girl), one of Anne's friends.

Sirii smiled, waved, and said, " _Biente dias_ , _Madirii_ , How are you? I've been most worried about you and your friends. Have they found Anne yet?"

Slouching, head low, Sarah kneaded her hands into the hem of her dress.

Reyna glanced up from the floor she swept and smiled wanly. All of Anne's friends had taken her disappearance pretty hard.

Sarah asked, "Slow today?"

" _Si_ ," Sirii replied. "It has been lately. The recent increase in _taxe_ has the people being thriftier with their _sheckles_."

Sarah said, "I'm sorry to tell ye, but I hear word that parliament voted to pass yet another _tribune_ increase."

"What?" Sirii's gaze grew wide, jaw slack. She dropped the garment she had been folding and clutched onto a nearby shelf. She composed herself and called to Reyna, "Why don't you go home now, _Madiriiette_."

Reyna gazed at them in uncertainty before resting the broom along the wall and shuffling off without a word.

Sirii whispered, "They can't do that! The people are struggling enough as it is."

"I know," Sarah replied. "That's why I need to find Troll. Have ye seen him around today?"

"No, _Madirii_ , I haven't seen him in a day or so, I think. Why? When is the last time you saw him?"

Sarah said, "I...uh..."

Wait. When was the last time she saw him? A day? Two? More? She couldn't remember. "Are ye sure ye haven't seen him?"

" _Si_ , _Madirii_ , I've been looking for him, as well. And he is hard to miss."

Sarah's heart sank to her bowels. Her knees wobbled. The air knocked out of her. This was not part of the plan. Troll was supposed to stay close to her and help her through the tumultuous task he set her upon. How could he just abandon her?

Sirii frowned. Her pencil-drawn eyebrows arched, she asked, "Is everything all right, _Madirii_?"

Sarah replied, "Aye."

"Are you sure, you look pale, shaken."

"I just remembered I had some place to be just now. Good day." Sarah trotted away; fighting back the tears welling inside her.

Sirii called, "Well, it was good to see you, _Madirii_. Perhaps we can share a _fiesa_ some time?"

Without turning around, Sarah waved. She ran across the street. Shoving people out of her way, she darted into a nearby alley and cried so hard she made herself sick.

****

"King's camp is about half-a-mile from here," said one of the twins.

Star still couldn't tell them apart.

Narrowed green-gape darting, the other replied, "Yeah, this is as far as we go."

Unable to sleep, Star awoke early. Many things weighed on her mind along with a swirling of excitement. After some cajoling, Star eventually convinced the twins to show her where Furion's camp lay. Xaza Stayed back with the Jessips.

Did he know what was going on?

Seth and Kayle wished Star good luck, and then hustled back to the Jessip's camp.

Star watched them leave. Could she trust them? Did she have a choice?

Star marched on.

There, maybe an eighth of a mile away, closer to the desert than the plains, sat the camp. Odd, she should have seen it before, unless of course, they were advancing toward Al'ber Que. But that didn't jive with what the twins said about the armies staying put for now. Once again, she wondered if she could trust them, if she could trust anyone.

Star fetched her monocle and scanned the grounds. Below, tents and corrals of horses dotted the sand. Soldiers in heavy, black armor scurried about; running drills, and lining into formation. Despite her lengthy experience around the soldiers, Star actually knew very little about how they operated. The drills they ran. The way they trained. The preparations they made before taking over a city. All this and more, she would have to learn and master before Furion returned. Of course, that was predicated on the belief that the Lord of Black actually left this particular platoon to the hands of Shroud.

She could see him down there, standing proudly with hands on his hips, red hair swaying in the desert breeze as he assessed his men through piercing eyes and filed-yellow teeth.

Over the years, Star found that most of the men in the army were nothing but misguided kids. But, Shroud was one of the few monsters the army possessed.

The last time she saw Shroud, he watched Star tear her family to pieces -- literally. Star licked her chapped lips as she envisioned bashing Shroud's brains in with a rock while his men pointed and laughed.

Star dug a nice, little fox-hole and observed the army as they went about their daily routines. Drills. Exercises. Chowtime. Downtime.

Later in the afternoon, Shroud rounded up two, small groups of men and headed out in the desert toward Al'ber Que.

Did they know about the empire? Perhaps, the very same reason they weren't advancing now was the same as why they postponed sieging Silverdale. But what really bedeviled her was why they tarried in the first place? What were they waiting for now?

The newly formed Jessip gang said dozens of army outposts lay around Al'ber Que.

Cautiously, Star wandered away from the camp in search of other platoons. She discovered three more; each equidistant around the Jessip's camp. And yet the outlaws still remained undetected. Each camp, comprised of only a few hundred men, ran drills, and then sent small scout groups off toward Al'ber Que. How many more platoons were out here? How many men? Of those men, how many were potential deserters, traitors? What would it take to get them to join team Star? Could she do it? Troll had a natural way with words and people, but not her.

Toward the late afternoon, Star felt she learned all she could from a distance. The next step was infiltration. But she needed help. And asking for assistance seemed as foreign as a starfruit.

Out of habit, she checked her compass. The needle bounced to-and-fro. No matter. She found her way back to the Jessip's camp easily enough.

As per usual, the gang played cards and cracked wise.

Star marched toward the group. She took a few, long swallows from her canteen, wiped the spit from her mouth, and plopped on the ground.

"How'd it go?" 'Ro asked. His gaze glued to the cards he held up to his princely, stubbly face.

"Just like y'all said," she replied.

Ally asked, "Not still thinking 'bout infiltrating the camp are ya?"

"Yup." Star pulled off a boot and shook the sand from it before doing it to the other.

Zeke said, "That's a bad idea." He sat away from the group, rubbing his thumb on a lens of Paulie's spectacles.

'Ro asked, "How do you intend on doing that from here?"

Sandy slugged him in the shoulder.

Star stuffed her hat in her knapsack, tied back her hair, sighed, and said, "Look, I'm not gonna lie, I need your help. All of you."

Face scrunched, 'Ro asked, "Why should we do that? We ain't soldiers. We're outlaws. Criminals. Survivors. And survivors look out themselves."

"Every man-Jack of us," Ally added.

"Alistair James Jessip!" Sandy slapped her husband on the back -- hard. "How can you be so cold?"

Ally sneered, "What, 'Ro's right, why should we risk our necks for her?" His words seemed rushed and as sharp as daggers. "And need I remind ya, this here lady, asking for our help, once held shooters to the back of Zeke and mine's heads."

Caressing Paulie's spectacles, Zeke said, "Yup, yup."

Blue-eyes bulging on her tawny slender face, Sandy shot back at her husband, "And need I remind _you_ , that you and Zeke had her man and their dog at gun point."

Smiling, Mia bobbed her head, and said, "Bitchin'."

"Dah," Xaza added.

Star said, "Look, we all need to fight. And if you start running now, you'll be running for the rest of your lives." Star turned to the former king's men, and said, "That goes for you too. As long as you continue to run and hide, you'll never be free. And when Furion and his men find you, and they will, you'll regret never making a stand."

One of the twins scoffed, and said, "I think I could live a life of cowardice and regret, as long as I was alive."

"Yeah," added the other, "me too."

Mia brushed back her bangs, and said, "But I couldn't."
Star tried to sweep the hair away from her face before remembering she tied it back. She had hidden her face for so long. She would have to get used to this.

'Ro said, "No."

Star asked, "What?"

"I'm sorry, but my answer is still no," he replied.

"Please," Star said. "I'm begging you, we need your help. _I_ need your help."

Rising to his feet, 'Ro iterated, "I'm sorry, but I just can't help ya. And Frankly, I don't think any of us can." 'Ro ambled off into the darkness to be by himself. Everyone else appeared tired and frustrated so Ally suggested they all get some sleep.

Later now, and 'Ro still hadn't returned, evidently he had a bit of soul searching to do, indeed.

Conflict tore at Star's soul. With Troll in Al'ber Que and Furion so close, she had no reason to return to Krin other than the desire to go home. But what if they defeated Furion at the battle of Al'ber Que? What then? Troll was on a quest to stop the king, but they didn't know where the king was. But she knew he wasn't in Krin. Perhaps, the things people told her were true. Perhaps, she would never see home again.

****

The Dog could take no more. He wanted out.

After his perplexing experience following a soldier, the Dog returned to the place where he first entered the mines; trailing his own scent.

He found his effects just where he'd left them. Why wouldn't he? Not like he'd left them anywhere a human could reach. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that his possessions would be gone.

The Dog gazed up through the rock tube he had shimmied down. The sky above turned soft velvet. Almost night.

The Dog backed into a corner and sat on his haunches.

What was he doing down here? He peered up into the darkening skies once more, battling the urge to leave. But no. He couldn't do that. He wouldn't do that. Not with Troll counting on him. Not with Anne counting on him.

The Dog remembered the soldier outpost-chamber and the box-car that smelled oddly like Byron. The Dog meant to go back and investigate further. But he forgot about it. He had been too absorbed in his own terror down here in the dark, where nightmares became reality.

The Dog knew he should further his search for Byron's scent, especially since he couldn't find Anne. At least, he could save someone -- maybe. But he couldn't do it at night. He wouldn't do it at night.

The sky above turned to a dark-blue.

Below, voices crooned in an eerie monotone.

_Sweetie-man_ , _Sweetie-man_ ,

_Come and catch me if you can_ ,

_Hide and seek_ ,

_Trick for treats_ ,

_Give you something good to eat_...

The Dog shivered in terror.

From out of the darkness echoed a solitary voice, "Nice and sweet." It sounded like Anne.

The Dog shuffled nervously on his haunches, whined lowly, and waited for the screaming to start.

****

Hand pressed to her chest, Sarah gasped, "Oh, my God, he's gone."

When she first came to Al'ber Que, Sarah grieved over the loss of Troll and Star. And over the past ten-and-a-half months, Sarah strived to support Anne and the Dog. She had worked so hard, trying to be a positive example for Anne. Then, Troll and Star returned from the dead. Before she knew what happened, they vanished as if never being there at all.

After crying her heart (and puking her guts), out, Sarah ambled across town. A heavy sense of dread filled her. As she progressed closer to the apartment she used to share with her friends, many disturbing thoughts swam through her mind.

Suppose Troll died of a broken-heart at the loss of his friends and loved ones. What if his bloated and festering corpse were in the apartment right this minute? Sarah didn't really think this the case, but all the same she couldn't fight the compulsion to sprint the remaining way through the bustling crowd. Yet, somehow she did.

She hurried and dragged her feet at the same time; in haste to reach her destination but afraid of what she might find there. She got to the building, slowly climbed to the top floor, pushing through the people (mostly children), loitering in the stairwell. Her feet felt like heavy stones. Once reaching the top story, Sarah jogged toward the apartment and rapped sharply upon the door. She waited on metaphorical pins and needles; straining her ears to pick up any sound, any movement. All silent and still. Her heart pounded and her temples throbbed. What should she do? What if it locked? Could she break in?

She knew what she came to do, but now that she was actually here, she hesitated; petrified in uncertainty.

From somewhere within the recesses of her mind she heard Troll say, "Come now, out with it already."

She swallowed her fear, summoned all her courage, and reached for the knob. Surprised to find it turned freely. She cracked open the door and peered inside. The place appeared dark and deserted. No sign Troll or any of them ever being there at all. And it was unlocked, ready for someone else to occupy.

Her heart sank into her bowels and her legs wobbled.

Where did he go? She could find no explanation. Surely, he wouldn't have just left without Star, the Dog, or Anne.

But what if they found Anne and it was already too late. What if the three decided to just leave Al'ber Que in the dead of night; forsaking the empire to its fate just as they had Silverdale?

Right then and there, Sarah was convinced of the worse. It was all true. Anne was dead, and the others abandoned her.

****

Dusk. Windy, yet oddly warm and humid as Troll scaled the towering rock-wall. His staff safely nestled within the confines of his bottomless cloak, which, seemed unusually (like the weather), heavy. And now the trusted garb was soaked with sweat and soil. 'Though the magical cloak served as a refuge for Star and himself a long time ago in a dark and endlessly, stormy forest-night, now it only weighed him down; draining his tenuous strength. Troll's once large, overpowering digits seemed miniscule and clammy as he clung to the wall. His toenails reduced to jagged fragments and the tender skin between his toes were mangled and bloody from supporting his hefty mass upward (his sandals also conveniently stashed away 'neath his now burdensome cloak). Little by little, he inched himself up the steep incline as the sun set in the background. The sky donned the crimson hue of the later part of his vision and his heart sank into despair. Yet, still he pushed onward and upward as his hands and feet trembled in fatigue; bloody and numb. Higher and higher Troll climbed until he found himself below a small ledge or outcrop in the sheer cliff-side. Blocked. Unable to go any further. His appendages quivered in agony; begging him to stop. But he couldn't, lest his strength give out and he plummet to the jagged ground below. No, he certainly could not stop, nor could he climb back down. Far too weak. The climb far too treacherous. And it wouldn't be long before nightfall. What to do? Once again, the doubt weighing upon him gathered like heavy, storm clouds. No way around it, he needed to make it over the ledge, and he needed to do it soon. Troll took a deep breath and felt the tenuous grip his hands and feet held, waiver. A strong gust of wind arose and Troll thought for sure that he was done for. He tightened his grip, digging his fingers and toes into the rock-wall even further. A rush of pain darted through his extremities, and then nothing. No feeling.

The time had come. Now or never -- literally. Troll glanced up. He judged the ledge protruded about five-feet (give or take), from the sheer incline. Not an impossible distance, especially for a man of his stature. But still, he would have to proceed with the utmost of caution. In order to make it up there, he'd have to get as good a hold with his feet as possible, leap upward, and try to latch onto the ledge with his bare hands. If he made it that far, he'd have to hoist his giant frame up onto the outcrop with nothing but his upper body strength. His footing, timing, and strength would have to be flawless. He would not get another chance. Too high to attempt with any real chance of success; he climbed down a few feet. Troll inhaled a deep, trembling breath. A shiver of strain coursed through him. Oh, so carefully, Troll shimmied downward. His whole body quavered in agony. He prayed that he found each footing as he blindly (because he literally couldn't look down), progressed. He descended about a foot (best as he could wager), when he gazed upward again. The sun steadily set faster. Still too close to the bottom of the ledge to attempt such an acrobatic feat. Troll groaned in exasperation, and proceeded downward. He felt around with his foot but found neither nook nor cranny in which to use as a toe-hold. He felt frantically around. His arms and the one leg he supported himself on screamed out in torment. Every fiber of Troll's body called out for mercy and still he found no foot-hold.

Impossible. How else had he gotten as far as he had? Troll switched his footing. His mangled and bloody feet slipped; losing his hold altogether. Troll dug his fingers deeper into the wall, splintering several fingernails as he supported his entire body-weight from gravity's greedy clutches. Troll felt his grasp slipping and knew it now whether he ready or not. Troll swung his feet back toward the rock-wall, seeking purchase on whatever he could. Miraculously, he found a shelf barely half as wide as a quarter-length of his foot, but it would have to do. Troll summoned all his strength and leapt upward, willing himself to gap the distance. For a moment, all time stopped and Troll hung freely in space as he commanded his body to stretch. Upward he reached, mangled fingers wriggling in the air; begging to latch onto something -- anything. And just as Troll felt gravity reach up and grab him, his fingers found purchase. He dug his digits into the jagged ledge and pulled himself up, inch-by-inch. Nearly there. A bit of the ledge crumbled away. Troll's right hand broke through the bottom of the shelf, and he went swinging. For a moment, he thought he had fallen. Then Troll realized he still held a very tenuous grasp with his left hand.

Oh, please God, he prayed. But as Troll succumbed to the pressure of his own weight (a thing that never betrayed him before), his grip slipped. The starry skies turned velvet. He doubted very much that he'd live to see the light of another day. This was it. He simply hadn't the brawn to hoist his dangling self up one-handed. And as he prepared himself for his demise, a myriad of thoughts raced through his mind. But mostly, he thought of Star and the Dog. He cerebrated over all the things they had yet to do together and now, never would do. Troll closed his eyes and offered a small, silent prayer.

God, please watch over my friends. Please watch over Star in the desert and the Dog in the darkness. I love thee Myriam. Watch over Anne and Sarah and poor, ol' brother Byron, wherever he may be. Please watch over them and guide them on their journey. Protect them and aid them on their quest. My only regret is that I will not be there to stand beside my friends, but...

"...If it be thy will," Troll amended in a quivering voice, barely but a whisper. And then he let go. But Troll did not fall far. Something or someone grabbed him forcibly by the forearm. His descent halted by a sudden, jerking motion. Troll craned his head and wearily opened his eyes, expecting his savior to be no less than the hand of God.

An old man with reddish skin and long silvery-hair held Troll. His face puffy and sweaty, the man said, "By the winds, you are heavy. You could help, you know."

Troll dug what remained of his tattered feet into the rock-wall for as much purchase as he could get, yet he didn't even feel it. With his free hand, Troll reached up, grasped onto the ledge, and used what remained of his strength to pull himself upward. A tenuous moment elapsed where Troll thought the rest of the shelf would give way and they'd both plummet into the depths as the sun set upon them forever. But that didn't happen. And in the end, Troll, via the aid of this Good Samaritan, managed to get on the ledge. The old man with long hair and deer-skin clothing sat patiently, allotting Troll a few minutes to right himself.

Troll offered a small, silent prayer for...well, everything.

In a dry and husky voice, the man asked, "Are you all right, my friend?"

Troll did not recognize the chubby face smiling dopily at him either. No matter. Troll didn't need to distinguish faces or voices. For, Troll recognized the soul, and this one he knew well and could not forget. Even though the man before him appeared forty years older than the last time Troll saw him, there was no mistaking this man's identity. Troll smiled, and said, "Montalvo?"

****

Byron huddled along a cavern wall in the ubiquitous gloom.

Quinn paced around the chamber, hands folded behind her back, she jabbered on, as if arguing with herself. Except, two different voices emitted from her mouth.

Byron didn't know how he'd gotten here, in this particular tunnel. He no longer cared.

On and on Quinn garrulously pattered, circling about the cave, heatedly debating with herself.

Only mere months ago, Byron would have looked upon this action as witchcraft. But now he only saw it as the desperate (and somewhat sane), routine rituals of survivors who wished themselves dead. Byron wished (but never prayed), this woe would abate, and he could peacefully slip into the warm embrace of the abyss; that death would come for him each night. But the dusk never came.

Byron's belly rumbled. With no soldiers or slaves around (other than Quinn), Byron pawed through the dirt until he found a few, fat earthworms.

Quinn ceased her pacing and ranting, sniffed, turned toward Byron, and drawled, "Why you eating that trash?"

"What have ye to eat?" Byron croaked.

"This," she said flaunting a half-eaten game-leg. It looked like a chicken leg but bigger, and smelled simply divine. Grease smeared Quinn's face.

Byron licked his lips, and asked, "Where'd ye get that?"

"Desire it, do you?"

"Aye," Byron replied.

Quinn licked her greasy chops and moaned pleasurably.

Straining his throat, Byron shouted, "Where'd ye get that?"

Quinn smiled, and said, "I conjured it."

"Liar!" The echo reverberated through the cavernous chamber. He leapt to his wobbling feet and reached for the tender leg.

Quinn didn't pull it away from Byron.

She giggled as the meaty leg disappeared before Byron's eyes. Mortified, mystified, and all around stunned, Byron shrank back into the shadows. He clung to the side of the cavern.

Quinn cackled.

Byron quavered, "How did ye do that?"

"Come," Quinn said. She held her hand out to him, and said, "Let me show you."

Against all better judgment, Byron took Quinn's hand, and followed her down into the depths of darkness.

****

Montalvo escorted Troll through a cave-like opening in the sheer cliff-side, into a tunnel, and through the mountain. The tall, narrow interstice closely resembled the entrance of _El Na'tirii Tawa_. Neither Troll nor Montalvo spoke as they hobbled along.

Sensation returned to Troll's feet. Each step felt as if walking on shards of jagged glass. Troll had so many questions for Montalvo. To Troll, they couldn't reach their destination soon enough.

When they finally did, Troll found good reason for thinking this place resembled _El Na'tirii Tawa_. Carvings etched the walls of the dome-like room brightly lit by torch and candle. A decadent rug used for prayer and meditation lay in the center of the chamber. The place appeared the spitting image of _El Na'tirii Tawa_ except about an eighth of the size. To the far end of the room stood another darkened corridor that no-doubt led to another cavern. Next to that sat a small stove-unit where a cauldron bubbled away. A pungent aroma filled the air. Smoke and other noxious fumes vented via the oculus in the center of the dome-like ceiling.

Montalvo gestured for Troll to sit upon the rug, and said, "Make yourself comfortable. I have water, and a balm for your hands and feet."

Troll smiled. His chapped and blistered lips felt cracked and bleeding. He said, "Thank ye, but water I have." Hands trembling, he produced his canteen from his cloak, and said, "But it would do me much kindness if'n ye had something stronger of drink to proffer."

"Of course," Montalvo replied. His entire face wrinkled over as he smiled. He swiftly fetched a bottle from a mantle above his stove. He uncorked the bottle, offered it to Troll, and said, "Brew it myself. Good for visions."

Troll took a deep swig and immediately regretted it. The strong brew instantly burned his parched throat.

Troll gasped, "Whoa." Cough. Cough. "T'is a hearty brew, indeed." Cough. "And with a hearty bite." Troll slurped at his canteen in order to counter act the concoction. The water helped push the hot liquid down into his stomach. A warm buzzing coursed through his body.

Montalvo sat before Troll and handed him a small, clay jar.

Despite aching, stinging hands, Troll took it.

Montalvo sipped at his odious grog, and said, "Apply a healthy lathering to your hands and feet every few hours."

Troll did, wincing with every pained motion.

Montalvo smiled, and said, "It is so good to see you, my friend. I've been waiting for you for a long time."

Troll asked, "How long?"

Montalvo replied, "Long enough to begin doubting whether or not you would actually come."

"And just why have ye been awaiting me?"

"That, my friend, is the end to a very long story."

"Well, I have traveled many a mile and hardship to hear it."

"And so you shall, my friend," Montalvo said with another wide and wrinkled smile.

Troll said, "By the by, thank ye for saving me."

"Think nothing of it."

"That was an amazing catch. I never thought that, even in ye'r prime, ye'd be able to hold my weight."

"Well, I've had a lot of time to prepare for your arrival," Montalvo replied.

Once, Montalvo had been portly, now he appeared lean and muscular. His short, jet-black hair cut in a bowl-shape, now long and silvery.

"I see," Troll replied. He almost ran a hand down his scar and beard before catching himself.

Montalvo continued, "Yes, many a season has passed since we've last seen each other, and yet, you look just the way I remember, as if you haven't aged a day."

Troll chuckled, "I assure ye, t'is quite the contrary, my friend."

Glancing around, Montalvo asked, "Where is your companion, your dog?"

"Not here."

Gape wide, Montalvo reared back. Mouth ajar, he said, "He isn't dead is he?"

"Heavens no," Troll scoffed. "I just meant that he wasn't here with me now."

Montalvo sighed, and said, "Thank the Gods. And your woman, is she well?"

"Star?" Troll leaned forward. He cupped his chin. His bristly beard sent needles of pain coursing through his fingers. Troll hissed, and then asked, "How do ye know about her?"

"It has come to me in a vision."

Troll said, "I also have had a vision as of late."

"Well then, we have much to discuss."

"So it would seem."

Montalvo asked, "So the battle has already begun?"

"Not quite," Troll replied. "It's the beginning of the beginning."

Montalvo smiled, sighed, nodded, and said, "Good, then there is still time."

"Time for what," Troll asked, but he already knew the answer to his query before Montalvo could reply.

Montalvo squinted, and said, "Time to amass an army, time to prepare, just as you've been doing."

"Ye still haven't told me what ye know, how ye come to know it, or why ye've aged so much." He almost ran a mangled hand down his scar and beard again.

Montalvo said, "I could tell you." He stood and shuffled toward the stove. A ceramic bowl suspended above the fire. Montalvo grabbed the handles with his bare hands, and said, "But I think you would benefit more from it if I just showed you." Montalvo poured the steamy contents into a small cup and offered it to Troll.

To Troll's surprise, the outside of the cup felt cool to the touch.

"Drink," Montalvo said, gesturing.

"All of it?"

"No, just until you've had enough."

Troll asked, "And how will I know when I've consumed enough of this aromatic nectar?"

Montalvo smiled, and said, "Trust me, you will know."

"Very well," Troll said after a brief, thoughtful pause. Troll sipped the hot, pungent liquid. It smelled of wet dog, but tasted like well-aged whiskey, and with a sweet after taste. Troll drank deeper and deeper; slurping away. And then, just as Montalvo assured, something happened. A tingling, dizzying sensation swept over him. Troll's body seemed to get lighter and lighter. He felt as if floating away, as if falling into a deep sleep. And then all went black.

****

Things seemed good for a while as Tecumseh eased himself into the position of chief. Times were peaceful as stock and seed returned to the valley. A great number of the tribe's women became pregnant around the same time. Yes, things were good for the tribe, but not for Montalvo. He'd been shunned, labeled as a traitor and accountable for Wiccado's death. And while Montalvo's brothers, who would never return from those dark woods, were venerated and honored warriors, Montalvo was not. For, it was he, and he alone, who returned with the cursed duo and the chief's lifeless corpse. Eventually Montalvo was cast out of the tribe, forced to wander out into the wilderness with weapons and what little possessions he owned. Alone, Montalvo traveled south until he reached the sea. All throughout his journey he didn't encountered a single person. Standing there, watching the ocean, Montalvo decided to live there.

He built a house, not a tepee, but a solid, wooden home. He hunted and domesticated the local wildlife. He grew gardens and harvested of the land. Life seemed good, peaceful. But still, he was so, so alone. He'd been isolated so long, he felt just as frightened by the idea of another living person as he was excited by the very notion of it. But still, he remained alone, so it mattered not. Years went by, seasons came and went. Montalvo worked the land he claimed as his own. He was fruitful and prolific and gave thanks to the Gods accordingly. He prayed for the Gods to send him a companion, but the years went by, and still he remained alone. Montalvo, who had been barely the age of twenty when Troll first met him, was now in his mid-thirties. Every night he watched the sun set over the sea as the stars came out and the tides came in; wishing and praying on those stars that the waves would bring him a companion. And one night, just as he was making his ritual wish, the tides brought him his heart's one desire. A beautiful, young (unconscious), woman washed ashore; along with some ship wreckage. Montalvo took her to his house and mended her back to health. Over the following days he discovered she didn't speak any language he understood. She hailed from an entirely different continent. She was tall with olive-colored skin. Sinuous, elegant arms and legs. Kind, slender, green-eyes and curved lashes. Her long, tangled hair the color of autumn leaves.

Over the next weeks and months, as the language barrier between them broke down, their friendship blossomed into love.

The years went by. They worked the land together, along with their twelve children. Fifteen happy years rolled by in the blink of an eye. And in that entire time, Montalvo never knew why Claudette drifted ashore on that fateful night, or even what happened to her. Oh, sure, he asked her on several occasions over the years, but Claudette insisted she couldn't remember anything before awaking in his home.

One day, he found out.

One day, big, black, wooden boats came ashore with a fleet of soldiers all clad in heavy armor. Their leader, a man by the name of Shroud, declared that Claudette was the sole and rightful property of someone by the name of Furion. Shroud proclaimed Montalvo to be a thief of the highest criminal order and sentenced to punishment. Claudette was "re-possessed", and any of Furion's unwanted, subsidiary property (meaning Montalvo's children), were disposed of. Montalvo was reprimanded for his villainy by having his entire estate burned to the ground while beaten to the verge of death. The fire smoldered to cinders. The black boats departed and Montalvo was left all alone with nothing once again. Despondent and utterly defeated, Montalvo wandered off into the forests armed with nothing, prepared to meet his demise.

He traveled many a day and night through those dark woods. He didn't eat. Didn't drink. Didn't sleep. He didn't even cry. He possessed no more tears. So, on he walked, praying the Gods be merciful and send him death upon swift and leathery wings.

Montalvo did not find death in those dark woods. Instead, he found a bargain. But more than that, he found a new purpose in life.

Late, on the darkest night, Montalvo treaded blindly through the dense forestry, hoping to break his neck. He tripped and fell many times but never sustained more than cuts and scrapes. He pressed on through the gloom until he came to a clearing in the trees where the moon and starlight shone down. There, as if waiting for him, stood a man dressed in a white suit and wide brimmed hat (strange clothes indeed).

"Hello there," the stranger called. He waved and offered a friendly smile, though the man's eyes were shrouded in shadow. He drawled, "I've been waiting for you."

Unafraid, Montalvo asked, "For me?"

"Yes, you, Montalvo of the Wachati tribe," the stranger replied, "Son of Macomb, son of Millewaukie."

"Do I know you?"

"I don't know," the man shrugged, "do you?"

"Who are you?"

In Montalvo's native language, the stranger said, "Relax friend, I mean you no harm."

Utilizing the dialect of his people, Montalvo said, "Then, what do you want?"

"To help you," the stranger replied, "To give it all back to you, everything that they have taken." The stranger gazed toward the sky. Lightning flashed. Thunder clapped in the distance. "Everything your so-called Gods have taken from you, I can and will restore -- for a price."

Montalvo pounded his chest and cried, "If you have truly come for me demon, then come, but you will never take my soul."

Palms out, smiling, the stranger said, "Easy friend, as I said, I mean you no ill will. This price I speak of is a favor. Just one, small favor, that's all and no more. It seems extremely gracious, in my point of view, that I use my vast power to give you a new life. It seems only fair, if not reasonable, that you would do me a service in turn, an exchange of goods, as it were."

"And this favor, what sort of evil would that entail?"

The stranger chuckled, waltzed toward Montalvo, and said, "Loads! That is of course, if you consider a new life, new family, and the rejoining of the company of old friends to be evil."

At the very mention of "old friends", an image of Troll and the Dog flashed in Montalvo's mind; something he'd not thought of in over a decade. Montalvo asked, "What would you like me to do?"

The stranger then instructed Montalvo to walk, just as God had done with Troll. And just like Troll, the stranger informed Montalvo when to change course. Over time, Montalvo was led to the place where Troll would find him many years later.

"You'll have to wait a while," the stranger drawled, "Possibly a long while, but it's a small price to pay and after all, it's not like you're any stranger to solitude, now are you?"

"No," Montalvo replied.

This place was a small and simple cave. Odd symmetrical markings etched the walls, as if inside some sort of irregular bee's nest. Montalvo made this place his home; fixtured with his personal effects and furnishings. But when Montalvo first arrived, the only object within was a single, metal box, rusty and corroded with age. The box sat upon a small, stone pillar. Troll experienced Montalvo coming upon that box and opening it. A stack of unusual looking books lay inside. Montalvo/Troll picked one up, and opened it carefully. The pages appeared yellowish, with strange colored lines. The texts were bounded by a thin, metal spiraling that looped between holes punched through the crackling paper. Montalvo/Troll meticulously skimmed through pages upon pages filled with smudged handwriting in black-ink. The colors of the ink changed throughout the books, as did the readability of the writing. Some pages were hand drawn doodles and pictures. Many of the images depicted characters that resembled Dog, Star, even himself. Others portrayed a shadowy, hooded figure. In almost a gasp, Montalvo/Troll whispered, " _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_."

****

Troll crouched on the ground. Penitently kneeling, he sweated profusely as he struggled to catch his breath. Montalvo offered Troll some more water but Troll waved it off.

Troll gasped, "What is the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_?"

Montalvo shuffled toward the stone podium (which was in plain view, yet Troll hadn't seen it until just now), and brought the metal box over to Troll.

He said, "This is the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_." He opened the box and produced one of the small, odd books. He carefully held it out and flipped through the pages so Troll could see. "It is a series of writings, poems, prayers and pictures that describe the past, present, and future events that surround you and your friends -- in detail."

Totally befuddled, Troll asked, "But how...is that possible?"

Montalvo smiled, his face rippled in wrinkles. Beady-eyes squinting, he said, "I don't know, but it is."

"And this "deal" you made?"

"To simply wait here for you, and show you this material," he replied.

"Intriguing." Troll's hands seared in pain as he reached for one of the books. Excitement swirling within him, Troll said, "My friend, do ye realize what this means? If there is a detailed record of events to come, then we'll know every move the king makes before ever he makes it. This could be a major, nay, _the_ turning point in the war, there's no way we can lose!"

Gaze downcast, Montalvo replied, "I'm not so certain about that."

"Why's that?"

Montalvo leafed through a book, and said, "Pages are missing and damaged in many of the later texts." He handed Troll another odd-looking volume, and said, "That and many of the writings are virtually un-readable. I have only deciphered a very small amount of the material."

Troll came to a page that caught his immediate attention. The paper appeared yellowish but a great deal of it had been drawn over in thick black-ink.

The picture showed a shadowy figure standing atop some pyramid-like-structure. The eidolons' arms raised to the sky. People gathered below, as if praising the figure.

A chill crawled down Troll's spine.

Troll asked, "But ye have read and understood some of it, haven't thee?"

"Yes."

"Well that's a start."

Montalvo asked, "Then, where do we go from here, my friend?"

"Back to Al'ber Que," Troll replied, "I believe I have found what I came out here for. Care to tag along?"

Montalvo smiled, and said, "Of course, that's why I came here. This is what I've been waiting for."

"Well, then, gather thy things, my man. Only what ye can carry, for we leave at dawn."

Montalvo prepared a hearty supper for him and his guest. They then talked a while, catching up and reminiscing on old times. At one point, Troll ranted about the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_ and how there might be people in Al'ber Que who could translate it (although Troll knew no better translator than Montalvo).

Montalvo regrettably informed Troll he didn't think the box could be removed from the cave without drawing curse.

"What told ye that?" Troll asked, applying another lathering of balm to his hands and feet.

Montalvo sipped at his brew, and said, "No one."

"Then why do ye think as such?"

"I just do, I feel it. I tell you, the box must not be removed from the temple."

Troll conceded his lacerated palms, and said, "Very well." Disappointment settled in the small of his back. But, he still had Montalvo, the closest thing to the books.

Montalvo yawned, "I believe it's time we slept."

"Aye, I agree, t'will be a long, arduous trek back to Al'ber Que." Troll lay there on the cold, stone ground thinking about the vast secrets of the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_ just waiting to be unlocked, and now never would, not unless their texts could be further studied. But Montalvo adamantly advised they not remove the box from the cave. Would Montalvo's vague grasp of these ancient writings be enough to challenge the king? Troll didn't know. He just simply did not know. His thoughts a maelstrom, Troll lay awake long into the night. During the small hours, just before Troll fell asleep, God gave him one final decree. And he followed it.

****

Grey whimpered, "Do it boy. Please, I need your help." His narrowed leathery face appeared pallid and sweaty. Fear and pain shimmered behind his once assured eyes.

"No," 'Ro said, though he pressed the barrel of his shooter into his father's forehead.

Tears streaming down his wrinkled face, Grey said, "Please, release me."

'Ro had to do it. He knew he had to. This was supposed to be Ally's job, but the deed inevitably fell into 'Ro's trembling hands. But no. He already did this. His father was dead; his pain over. He should have been dead. But there he knelt. He survived the first bullet to the brain and now 'Ro had no choice but to do it again.

'Ro blubbered, "I...I...Can't!"

"Please, son."

It wasn't fair. This was supposed to be over and done with. The first time had been hard enough. 'Ro could not bear to put his father down again.

_Blam-blam-blam_.

The hammer slammed back and forth upon its own accord. The chamber spun 'round and 'round. The scent of gunpowder hung heavily in the still air. It was over.

"Please, son," Grey said. He sat bolt-right. Blood, brain, and gore seeped from the craters the bullets carved through his skull; staining his bushy, white-mustache crimson. "Release me."

The peppery aroma still permeated the air as 'Ro pressed the barrel of a revolver into the bullet-hole in his father's forehead. A faint _ploosh_.

One more time -- at least.

'Ro awoke in a cold sweat.

The smell of burning nicotine wafted amidst the night's chilly breeze.

He peered around the darkness.

Where was he? More importantly, was the ol' man still alive?

The newly formed Jessip group lay out beneath the stars, blankets huddled around them. They had a tent. But now, with too many members in the group, the canvas hut was used for supply storage (except during the occasional storm).

No campfire tonight. The sky too clear and Furion's army remained just over yonder.

Star, Ally, and Sandy sat away from the camp, whispering secretively.

'Ro sat up, coughed, and then rolled himself a smoke.

The others peered at him with wide eyes and tight lips, as if just caught in some lascivious act.

'Ro lit the cigarette with a match. The rich miasmic smoke tightened his lungs, and he coughed all the more.

Sandy stood. Her face stern and worried.

'Ro waved her off. Coughing into his fist, he ambled over and plopped down beside them.

Something seemed off.

Ally and Sandy stared at 'Ro. Every time he gazed in their direction, they turned their heads. Star remained the only one to meet his gape. "Got something to say to me?" 'Ro asked Star.

Star smiled. Shackle rattling, she brushed at bangs that were now tied back. Her wide eyes suggested she had forgotten her face un-hidden. She cleared her throat, and said, "You know, if ya'll were to join us, you wouldn't be alone. There are thousands back in Al'ber Que. Not only that, but the entire city is like a fortress, easily concealable and easily defendable."

Ally combed his fingers through his greasy brown-hair, and said, "I don't know, how would we make it there in the first place?"

Exhaling another plume of smoke, 'Ro said, "It don't matter, 'cause we ain't doin' it."

Sandy frowned, and asked 'Ro, "How can you say such a thing? How can ya be so cold?"

'Ro replied, "'Cause if ain't our fight."

Star said, "But it will be soon. Probably sooner than you think. You can't run forever."

'Ro imbibed another drag, and asked, "Why not? That's how I was raised." Glaring at Ally, he amended, "That's how _we_ was raised."

"Listen," Star said in a soft voice, "I know about your father. And I'm sorry. Really, I know how hard it is to lose a family member. Believe me. But you can't let the past dictate how you go on living your life."

Anger simmered within 'Ro. He had no need for anymore advice. 'Ro stood, tossed his cigarette in the dirt, and smothered it with the toe of his boot. "Don't think I don't see what you're doing little missy, coming to us instead of the whole group, knowing the others will follow whatever we decide."

Star snorted, "First of all, I didn't come to you." Star nodded toward Ally and Sandy, and said, "I came to them." Her gaze rested on 'Ro again, Star continued, "And secondly, I didn't know you were such a coward, I thought y'all were courageous outlaws. But then again, I guess it makes sense why you were the one imprisoned in Silverdale and not the rest of your gang. You're the coward. When the others fled with their loot, you probably froze in terror, pissin' in ye'r pantaloons, ain't that right?"

Anger and embarrassment flared within 'Ro. Hand hovering over his holstered hip, he strut toward Star, and said, "Now just wait a minute--"

Ally and Sandy jumped to their feet and said, "No!"

'Ro pivoted, and glared suspiciously at his brother and his wife.

Blanket wrapped around her petite frame, Mia ambled toward them, and said, "If ya'll gonna keep making so much noise, the least ya could do is roll a wench a smoke." She swept back her jet-black bangs. Dark rings hung under her eyes.

The four stood there a moment in silence before erupting in hearty laughter. The ruckus roused most of the gang. And then Star woke the rest. They shared water and rations of MREs. They chattered on and smoked cigarettes.

'Ro wondered why everyone was in such an amorous mood with death all around them. "Are you guys fuckin' crazy?" he asked. He leapt to his feet and extracted the group's undivided attention. "What are we talking 'bout? Naw, forget that. Ponder this, why in the blue-fuck are we even talking 'bout it at all?" He turned to his brother and asked, "What is this shit? Just yesterday you were on my side. Who you gonna go with, me or her."

"It doesn't have to be one or the other," Ally replied. "Besides, mayhap I'm thinking 'bout changing my mind."

"Thinking 'bout changing--" 'Ro grunted. His anger percolated as he paced in small circles. He continued, "Look, I don't think I have to tell ya this, but we're outlaws, scourges, low-lives. Not heroes. Shit we wouldn't even have a blue-fucking clue how to be heroes if we wanted to try."

Ally gazed at 'Ro and said, "Seems like you're doing an awful lot of reminding, these days."

"So," 'Ro fired back. "It's not like you've been giving any helpful advice."

Ally replied, "Well then, let me start by first reminding you that Grey may have raised us to be a lot of things, but never no cowards."

This seemed to cut 'Ro deeper than expected. He stood there, thumbs hooked into his belt buckle.

Sandy lightly touched his arm, and said, "Look, all I'm asking ya to do is just, think about this. But think good and hard." She turned to her husband; searching for support.

Head low, puffing on a smoke, Ally just stood there.

This was really starting to piss 'Ro off. Ally was supposed to be the leader. So why was everyone coming to him? Seeking his approval when they could all do whatever the hell they wanted as far as he was concerned? Because Ally wasn't the leader, not anymore. 'Ro was. He had been ever since he did the one thing that Ally couldn't. He put down the ol' man. But 'Ro didn't want to be in charge. Even after the deed done, 'Ro still let Ally call the shots. Yet, Ally always made sure 'Ro approved. Initially, 'Ro was content to just wave off such concurrences. But frankly, he was a bit fed up with his brother's sudden lack of spine.

Rattled and rushed, anger flared inside him. He bottled it like a drunkard saving the last bit of well-aged whiskey. He could not afford to fly of-the-handle now with so many eyes upon him.

Hands on hips, Star asked, "What are you so afraid of?"

All gazes rested on 'Ro. He didn't want this position, the head seat. Ally was supposed to be the leader here. Deep down 'Ro knew the ol' man always intended on 'Ro runnin' the show. Perfect. Peachy. So, why in the green-hell didn't Grey tell him that?

Arms crossed, temper boiling, 'Ro spat on the ground. He was done with this bullshit. He glared at the lot of them. How dare they all look to him, and then turn on him, putting him in this position? He needed some time to sort it all out. He pivoted and strolled off toward the desert.

"Don't you fucking do that, bro!" Ally yelled. "Don't you just turn your back on us!"

Seriously? Ally had always been able to read his mind. Now, it seemed his older brother had no idea what he thought or felt. Like his time incarcerated in Silverdale poisoned the connection between him and his brother. And this disconnection pissed him off something fierce; made his blood percolate.

A hand fell upon 'Ro's shoulder and his anger shot through the proverbial roof. He pivoted. Swung. _Bam_. Ally waffled backward

Hand over his mouth, Ally lisped, "You s'thon of a bith." Blood drizzled down his princely chin.

Sandy stood there frozen. Slender muscles tensed. Thin lips pressed so tight they almost receded into her mouth. Gape wide. Like she was scared of him.

They didn't get it. All he had done. All they looked to him for. They just didn't get it. "Sorry," he said to Ally. Strolling out into the desert, 'Ro added, "I need to be alone for spell."

****

Late, real late. Yet Sarah couldn't sleep. Rome finished with her (twice), some time ago. And though Rome loudly chortled away next to her, there just seemed no rest for the wicked. And tonight, Sarah felt especially vile. She hadn't intended on feeling this good. In fact, she never did before. But toward the end of their second "session", something odd happened to Sarah. Her entire body hummed and vibrated until the point where her pelvic area seemed to explode. But oddly enough, in a good way.

Sated and in utter exhaustion, Rome drifted swiftly off to sleep. But Sarah couldn't. But, not because she felt wired, although, she did. And not because she too disgusted by the fact that she enjoyed such a sin-full act, although she did. Sarah couldn't sleep because she wanted more. She knew she shouldn't. She knew it wrong. But she couldn't help herself. She desired it. She needed it.

Rome snored. Fast asleep, his flabby and hairy chest methodically rose and fell.

She could wake him. Certainly he would not object to another round. But then a strange thought meandered across the prairie of Sarah's consciousness. She needed another one of those tingling-numb-explosions down in her nether regions, but did she need it from Rome? Then another, darker, thought crossed her mind. What would it be like with other, younger men?

Fantasies pranced fancifully before her weary eyes. Her hand slithered down between her legs, and she pleasured herself to thoughts of younger, stronger men. As she pushed her index finger in and out and all around that tender area, images of Troll, the Dog, and even brother Byron danced in her head. She worked her fingers faster. Nearly there. Mort flashed in her mind. She was back in Silverdale, bathing in the pond with Anne. She felt Mort's presence. And when she closed her eyes, she could see him there, huddled in the bushes and running his fingers up and down his privates.

Sarah stopped playing with herself and opened her eyes. There, propped on the edge of the bed sat Maddy the rag doll, leering at her with his dead-black doll's eyes and crimson-stitched smile. And then Sarah screamed.

****

Star watched the soldiers line up in formation.

General Shroud paced back and forth in front of his men.

From Star's hiding place, she couldn't hear Shroud's proclamations. She hoped she wasn't missing some vital piece of information.

Star awoke earlier than the rest. And as usual, when she awoke, she did so in a start. The sky appeared a dull grey; not even sunrise. Star glanced around, everyone still asleep. Star lay back down and closed her eyes. She attempted in vain to resume snoozing. No use. And what if she did manage slumber? Would she wake up later only to spend yet another long, boring day with the Jessips as she continued to try and convince them to join her campaign against the king?

Star stretched and roused herself; making no attempts at being quiet. No one woke. Even if someone did, Star had no desire to socialize with anyone other than Troll. Yet, this was the task her love set her out to accomplish. Still, Star couldn't imagine herself wasting another day playing cards and cracking wise.

Seeing Shroud there, in front of his men caused a memory to float toward the surface of her consciousness. An image of Shroud addressing his men right before the trial that ended with the murders of her entire family. She quickly forced that thought away. No time for such reveries.

Shroud finished giving his orders and split the men assembled before him into two groups. Then, General Shroud led his men out into the deserts, and headed toward Al'ber Que; leaving the camp as deserted as a ghost-town.

Star waited a long time after they left; scouting the grounds. When she finally felt certain (as certain as she could be, anyway), the coast clear, she ambled toward the camp.

Nothing.

Star closed her eyes and focused on the blowing breeze and shifting sand. A slight pulling sensation. Eyes closed, she wandered around. That magnetic feeling in the pit of her stomach swelled, making her nauseated. Star doubled over and vomited.

The wind pelted granules of sand against her clammy, sweaty skin.

The faint smell of rotten cotton arose.

Eyes shut. Star crawled through the blistering sand, trailing that moldy aroma toward its origin.

Star stood, and opened her eyes. Nothing but sand dunes. She closed her eyes again and followed her senses until her hands came across something silky but giving. She opened her eyes. Nothing. She closed her eyes again, and ran fingertips along the silken wall until she found what felt like a tent flap. Eyes squeezed shut. She pulled back the flap, and blindly fumbled inside.

Star opened her eyes. She stood in a vast, silken tent constructed of pink and lavender silk -- and spider webs. Outside, the wind howled, battering the gossamer fabric.

"Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are," crooned an eerily familiar voice.

Star sashayed toward the sound of the voice and stood before a lavish mirror fashioned from the blackest of ebony and shiny, silken strands. What she saw in that mirror was a reflection of herself, but her younger self, when she traveled with Shale.

"Where's Furion?" Star asked the mirror.

The reflection shrugged, and said, "Not here."

"I don't believe you. He's here. I can feel him."

Arms crossed, foot tapping, the reflection chuckled, "Can you?"

Did she? She thought she sensed Furion. Now, the mental link they shared seemed muffled.

The reflection smiled, and said, "Don't worry, when the time is right, he will come for you."

Star snarled, "Lookin' forward to it."

"Really? Are you sure? Are you sure he won't get back inside your head and kill those closest to you; the Jessips, Sarah, the Dog, even Troll. You'll rip them all to pieces just like before."

Star strode toward the glass, and said, "No, that won't happen. Not this time. I won't let it."

The reflection tipped its head back in animated exaggeration. It cackled manically, and said, "What about the time that Troll threw our compass into the marsh, and we made him go down there and look. Remember that?"

What did that have to do with anything?

"Course, I do," Star replied.

"But he didn't help us look. The Dog did, 'though lot of help he was," the reflection scoffed. "But not Troll. What did he do? Do you remember?"

"He just--" Star clamped her mouth shut with such force her teeth clanked.

In the tone one would employ in coercing a stray cat to come, the reflection said, "Come on. You can say it." She made a come-hither motion, and added, "What did Troll do?"

Star trembled. She didn't want to say it. She wasn't going to. But, the words just slipped from her lips. "He just stood there, barking orders," she blurted.

Wearing _her_ smile, the reflection said, "That's right. And even back then, Troll loved you, didn't he? He knew it. So did you. In fact, you fell head-over-heels for him the moment you met. And even though you never allowed yourself to admit it, back then, you knew it. In your heart, you could feel it. Couldn't you?"

Fists clenched, Star opened her mouth to retort. But, nothing came out.

The reflection continued, "You both knew you were in love with the other, and yet, still, he didn't help you look for your father's compass. Trite. That's what your love is. And even though you loved him, you were still going to put a bullet in the back of his head. You were still going to paint the weeds red with his blood, weren't you?"

Star wasn't angry, wasn't scared. She felt only a cold hollowness of acceptance. Truth.

Twirling its compass chain, the reflection said, "And, man, you were really gonna do it, too. And over a trinket. A compass that doesn't even work. And, on top of it all, the Dog was actually gonna let you do it. Some protector he is." The reflection tilted the brim of its hat, gazed into Star's gape, and said, "And do you know why, that despite all the love you three think you share, you would still allow death to come to each other?"

No reply.

The reflection continued, "It's because deep down, you all know the truth. Even Troll."

"What?" The word fell meekly from Star's lips.

The reflection's smile widened to an uncanny length. It said, "That in order to conquer life, and thusly death, we must murder. And that's something you do quite well, isn't it? Something _we_ do well. A natural talent for it, wouldn't ya say?" The reflection appeared to step toward Star. Star back pedaled a few paces. The reflection drew its face close to the glass, and said, "And when _he_ comes back, he'll finish the job that we intended on starting that day in the marsh, when Troll threw our compass away, as if it nothing more than rubbish. We could've had killed him for that. And we will."

"No, no," Star quavered. "Things are different now. I'm different."

The reflection eased back, and in an echoing voice, said, "To live, we must die."

"Shut up," Star growled in a voice so low, she barely heard it, herself.

"And one day, when everyone you ever cared about is dead and gone, you will die too." The reflection aged rapidly, decaying. The reflection's skin grayed and flaked.

Star gazed down at her hand. Her flesh wrinkled, blotched, and festered. "No, no!"

The reflection's corpse withered away until nothing remained but bones, teeth, and hair. Then dust. Then, nothing but an opaque opal.

The infection spread throughout Star's body in tiny, slithering, black tendrils.

A thunderous laugh pealed from within the obfuscated glass.

Star screamed. Before she knew what happed, she was running through the desert, crying.

****

"Until another lifetime," Montalvo whispered fair-well to the rusty, inanimate box resting on the stone podium.

Troll hobbled toward Montalvo. The numbing salve dulled the throbbing in his feet and hands. Troll asked, "Ready then?"

They awoke early, before dawn, eager to start off on their journey. They ate a quick breakfast of broth and herbs, smothered the flames in the hearth, and left. Montalvo took nothing but his spear and a knapsack. He glanced back at the stone podium.

Troll said, "Very well then, after me, easy does it now, t'is a rough and arduous climb."

"Where are you going?" Montalvo asked. Sunken eyes squinting, his leathery face wrinkled in confusion.

Troll replied, "Why, down the mountainside, over the cliff, the same way as I came."

Smiling, Montalvo said, "Why not take the back way? One could kill themself climbing up and down that rock-wall."

"Back way?"

"Yes, through the other side of the cave and out on a much flatter part of the mountainside."

"Yes, of course, the back way," Troll said, forcing a chuckle. "I was merely joshing thee, very well, tally ho!"

Troll applied another lathering of Montalvo's magic balm to his hands and feet. And then the two took off, through the cave, and out the far side of the mountain. After that, Troll led Montalvo back the way he'd come as he picked Montalvo's brains for as much information about the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_ as the elderly translator could recollect. Most of Montalvo's replies seemed fairly basic and rather common knowledge in Troll's inner circle. There's an evil king and his five children. A man in the form of a beast and a beast in the guise of a man join forces with a slave (this, a rather new spin on an old tale), to topple the king. There is a great power struggle and epic war blah, blah, blah. Troll learned nothing new or credible that might aid him and his friends on their campaign. Yet still, Troll made Montalvo relay the information over and over again; analyzing every word and phrase for some hidden meaning. He found none.

After a time, Troll ceased his inquiries and the two continued on in silence. Troll did not break for lunch, he still fasted. And Montalvo made no mention of needing a rest. For a man his age, Montalvo appeared in great shape. Perhaps he fasted, as well.

Troll applied another lathering to his throbbing hands and feet. Already the sores scabbed over and itched. Yet, Troll did not scratch.

The mountain path widened; making travel far less toilsome. Further beyond, the Mo'tave desert spread out in all directions.

"Almost there," Troll said.

Montalvo cupped a hand over his brow, and said, "I see nothing."

Troll replied, "As I said, t'is hidden."

"What happens when we get there?"

"I suppose we shall see when we arrive," Troll replied. He gazed off at the peaks of the mountain ridge below. He couldn't see Al'ber Que either, but he knew it there. He could feel it. Troll tippled from his canteen and wiped the sweat from his brow. His feet ached with an intense, stabbing sensation with every step. For the utmost of brevity, Troll doubted he would make it back.

What would they do when they arrived? Where to begin? He supposed the first order of business would be to check on Sarah, but then what? He prayed for guidance nearly the entire quest, and yet God remained mute.

The sun began its slow and steady descent as the sky paled from blue, to yellow, to orange. Another frigid night was fast upon them like rushing storm clouds. And they still had miles to tread.

****

Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, naked as the day she was born save for the silk sheet wrapped about her trim shoulders.

Rome laid spread- _vulturii_ , also in the buff. A big, stupid grin painted his white-bearded face. His frizzy white-hair all a-tussle. Sweat glistened off his hairy, bloated body.

Sarah no longer felt cold or dirty. She felt nothing at all, and only concealed her nakedness to deter Rome from ogling her lithe figure. It reminded her way too much of Mort, and that she refused to suffer.

Sarah spent most of her day (when she wasn't following Shadeem or the sultan), wandering the citadel and jumping into random jobs like cleaning, laundry, dishes, etc. The _Obrii d'el repiriiddii's_ (this being the native term for a maintenance crew member/day laborer, who worked in the citadel), laughed and made fun of Sarah behind her back. They called her _Mozza Madirii_ (a slang term that loosely translated to: mother's maiden). But just because such slanders were said behind her back, didn't mean Sarah unaware of every dirty and degrading thing they called her.

"Look at that _Mozza Madirii_ ," one of them said.

"What does she think she's doing?" another asked. "Scrubbing floors and cleaning toilets, only to return to the sultan's bed, night after night."

Sarah didn't know what the men looked like. She kept her focus on the task at hand. Their voices were youthful, blithely, and nearly indiscernible from one another. But she imagined (and hoped), they hideous. They had to be. How else could they proudly wield such execrations?

An _Obrii d'el repiriiddii_ sneered, "How can she even call herself a _Madirii_?"

"She's nothing more than a common gilly, that one," scoffed another.

Cleaning jobs were for men. But back in Silverdale, such chores were as constant as churching.

Rome sighed, and curled burly fingers in his sweaty chest-hair.

Sarah shook her head, returning to the here-and-now.

Perched at the edge of the curtained-bed, Sarah asked, "May I ask a favor of ye?"

Rome chirped, "Anything my dear, Chestnut. You have but only to ask."

"But t'is something I've asked ye for before."

Rome sat bolt-right. His hair and beard all wild and askew. "That again," he grumbled.

"Aye."

Pillowy brows furrowed, he leaned toward her, and asked, "Why is that so important to you?"

Sarah stood. She dropped the sheet covering her, turned, and leered at Rome.

Running his gaze up and down her body, a slight grin curled at the corners of Rome's open mouth.

She salaciously crawled toward him, and whispered, "To be honest, at first it was just mild curiosity, but the more ye deny me, the more I want to see this facility. Much as when I first came here to stay with ye. Ye wanted me. But I rejected ye. And the more I rejected ye, the more ye wanted me." She gently wrapped her hand around Rome's privates and said, "And ye want me, don't ye?"

Head craned back, he shuddered, and said, " _Si_."

Sliding her hand up and down, Sarah whispered into his ear, "And just as I've denied ye, ye've denied me as well, aye?"

Rome moaned in pleasure.

"And I did make ye wait a long time did I not?" She released his genitals and darted back to the other side of the bed; sitting on the edge with her back to him.

" _Si_ , you did," Rome lasciviously snarled. He sat behind her, and grabbing her shoulders.

Sarah pulled away. She stood and wrapped the sheet tightly around her, concealing her flesh from neck to ankle. "And ye've made me wait a long time," she pouted, "possibly too long."

Jaw slack, Rome moronically replied, "I'm sorry."

Sarah dropped the sheet again and jumped on top of him. She brushed her breasts against his man-hood. She gazed into his eyes, smiled, and before he could do or say anything, she lurched down; orally pleasing him. Rome leaned back, as soon as he hit the silk sheets, Sarah said, "So ye'll not toy with me any longer?"

"No, Chestnut."

"Ye swear?"

"I swear."

"Ye'll show me the facility?"

" _Si_."

Sarah asked, "Yes, what? And be careful how ye answer. It could cost ye penalty."

Rome blurted, " _Si_ , I swear to show you the facility."

"Aye?" she asked.

Rome crooned, " _Si_ , _Madirii_ , anything for you."

Sarah pulled away from him, and said, "One more thing."

"Name it."

She hopped on top of Rome; straddling him. She stared into his dark-brown eyes, and said, "Don't call me _Madirii_ ever again."

Rome stammered, "As you wish."

And then she rode him. And she loved it.

****

Another boring day winded to a close at camp Jessip. Everyone slept except 'Ro. His thoughts plagued him.

Star hadn't been seen since the previous evening.

Where could she have gone? Did she try to infiltrate Furion's camp alone? Had she succeeded? Or, was she dead, or worse?

Most of the gang spent the day as they usually did; playing cards and cracking wise. Even Mia and the twins joined in (as did Xaza, but trying to teach him the rules seemed fleeting, so Xaza merely sat there, holding his cards and glancing from person to person).

Not long after an awkwardly silent mundane dinner, the gang went to bed.

Dark. No stars out tonight. No moon. All the others were asleep, all except 'Ro. He sat in the frigid sand, cleaning a pistol. He wanted to whittle (Star mentioned it the other night when recanting her adventures), and it made him long for his childhood hobby. He used to be real good at it, too. But he hadn't done it in years and a pitch-black night was no time to re-acquaint his fingers with the blade. Plus, no wood.

But what he really wanted was to play his harmonica. Not because he hadn't done so in months (although he hadn't). He couldn't. The soldiers might over-hear. But the fact that he couldn't relish in the comfort of music only fueled the desire to do so. Alas, he settled for cleaning his gun.

When Star came back the two glanced at each other but neglected to exchange an acknowledging nod or anything of the sort. Using her knapsack as a pillow, she lay down, and was snoring within minutes.

'Ro however, found sleep this night to be nigh on impossible. Too many thoughts weighed on his mind. Too many doubts. After taking apart, cleaning, and reassembling his firearm five-times-over he merely sat there in the dark.

Unable to sleep, 'Ro wandered out into the desert. He sat upon a dune, peering off into the night, pondering over all he survived. The death of Grey. His imprisonment in Silverdale. The death of Paulie. When he was first rescued by the gang, 'Ro had been relieved to see Ally. Now, he sensed jealousy and weariness. As if Ally and Sandy were conspiring against him to reclaim leadership of the gang. He thought about Star, Troll, and the Dog. He reminisced about Sarah and the little girl, Anne. The gallows. He reflected. He pondered. He queried.

"Something troublin' you, boy?" asked a friendly and very familiar voice.

'Ro replied, "You could say that." He turned toward the voice; not at all surprised to see his father standing before him.

Grey settled next to 'Ro, and said, "Yeah, I can tell."

An uneasy silenced elapsed.

Grey asked, "So, ya gonna do it?"

"Do what?"

Grey nodded toward their camp, and said, "Join her and her man, join their campaign."

'Ro shrugged, and said, "I don't know."

Brow furrowed, lip curled, Grey glared at 'Ro, and said, "Ya can't tell me you're seriously considering runnin' for the hills, are ya?"

'Ro sighed, combed his fingers through his hair, and said, "Maybe. I don't know. Shoot, runnin' sounds like as good an idea as any."

"You need to stop runnin," Grey said sternly before advocating a softer tone, "s'all you ever do."

"I never run," 'Ro scoffed.

"Bullshit, ye'r an outlaw ain't ya? That's what outlaws do, take n' run, that's all they ever do"

'Ro asked, "So what? What's wrong with that? That's the way ya taught us. That's the way ya raised us."

Lower lip protruding from underneath his whiskery white-mustache, Grey patted 'Ro's leg, and said, "Mayhap, but all that's over. Now, it's time for ya to rise up and be something else."

"Like what?"

Arms open wide, Grey replied, "Like, anything but this. These are the old ways. The ways of the old world. But the old world is long dead. And if ya continue on this way, it won't be long before ya find yourself tits-up, as well."

Silence.

Pondering the ol' man's words, 'Ro scratched his stubbly chin.

"What would you do?" 'Ro asked.

"I'll tell ya what I wouldn't be doin', I wouldn't be sittin' round on my ass whining about what I should do, I would just get to the doin' of it."

'Ro snorted, "Thanks, pop, that's real helpful."

Pillowy eyebrows furrowed, Grey asked, "Well, what do ya want me to say? That you should go runnin' off into the mountains to hide with your tail 'twixt your legs?"

"Well, that would be something, at least."

Grey admonished a boney finger, and said, "No boy, that ain't nothin'."

'Ro ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. "Of all the years, ya got to wait till you're dead till ya get philosophical. You do know you're dead, right?"

Scowling, Grey snapped, "Course I know, ya think I died yesterday?"

"Uh--"

Grey stroked his bushy, white mustache, and said, "The point is, everyman's gotta make a choice. To either accept things the way they are, or make a stand and battle for change. That time might be soon approaching for you, my boy."

"What about Ally, let him make a stand."

"Cause Ally don't command the respect of the gang like you do. Deep down I always knew that it would be you, not Ally, who would one day lead the gang after I was gone. And if'n ya do intend to help Star and her man, then you'll need the help of the whole gang. I trust there are others among you now."

"Yeah, pop."

Grey asked, "Well, then, what're ya waiting for? Everyman goes through life wondering what their purpose is; hoping, praying to find it. This could be yours son, so what are you gonna do, set around on ye'r ass or make a stand?"

"I just wanna make you proud, pop."

Smiling, Grey patted 'Ro's leg again, and said, "Son, you already have."

After that, Grey dissolved into the night's air, leaving 'Ro setting there with his thoughts until the dawn.

****

Abysmally dark and humid; the air reeked of rotting cabbage.

Where was she? How had she gotten here? Why was it so dark? Unchained, unbound, Anne sprinted through the dark catacombs; chasing Maddy, the rag doll.

Why was Maddy running from her?

Fast as she ran, she just couldn't catch up.

Anne called, "Maddy, wait! Come back! Where are ye going?"

But Maddy just gamboled faster; breaking away.

Anne's heart sank into her bowels like a rock in a pond. "Please, don't leave me!"

But he did.

A dull terror coursed through her, making her skin hot and flushed. She stood there trembling alone in the darkness. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on-end.

Giggling, Maddy bounded through the blackened tunnels, going deeper down into the darkness.

Anne didn't want to go down there, but she certainly didn't want to be left alone. So she raced after, but the caves went on and on.

Finally, she came to a place where the tunnel ended into a solid rock wall.

There, as if expecting her, crouched the Dog.

Anne's heart cried-out in rejoice. She rushed toward the Dog, meaning to leap into his waiting arms. But the ground turned viscous and muddy. She sank into the earth. She squealed, "Help me, puppy! Help me!"

The Dog strode toward the edge of the pool of muddy earth.

Struggling, she sunk faster. Fingers groping at nothing, she reached for the Dog, and cried, "Please, puppy, please!"

He stood there, gazing down at her. Amusement danced within his dead-black doll-eyes. He grinned his crimson-stitched smile.

Sinking deeper, Anne screamed.

And then she woke up.

Dark. Real dark. But down here, it was always dark.

"Wake up Stitch," said an oddly familiar voice.

Slowly rising to her tottering feet, Anne rubbed her eyes, and asked, "Wha'd ye call me?"

There, shrouded in shadow, stood a little girl around the same age as Anne -- a little girl by the name of Quinn.

"I said, wake up bitch," Quinn said with a wide, wicked smile, "I called you a bitch."

Anne had suffered many slights and slanders before. But she'd never been called a bitch, especially by a fellow slave.

Anne whimpered, "B...but why."

"Cause that's what you are, a lowly bitch," Quinn replied.

Why was this girl being so mean to her?

She thought Quinn wanted to be her friend.

Anne quavered, "W...why."

Quinn cooed, "Oh, come now, don't cry, you know you'll be the center of attention. That's what you want, that's what you crave. Don't worry. You'll have it, all that and more."

Anne wiped the dirt from her face, and squeaked, "I don't understand."

"When he gets here, we'll make you the star of the show -- forever." Quinn stepped back, sinking into the shadows; hidden except her red-eyes and rows of razor-sharp teeth. Quinn growled, "Oh, yes, you will be the sweetest by far."

And then Anne screamed.

****

7

Thanks to Montalvo's magic blam, the postulating sores on Troll's palms scabbed over and itched like crazy, 'though his plodding feet bled and stung with every step. Troll and Montalvo reached the gates of Al'ber Que just before dawn. Troll led his friend through the hidden entrance he'd left propped open so the two could sneak past processing. After that, they got a bite to eat in the _bazaar_ , which always had a cart or stand or two open no matter what the hour.

The two headed through the boroughs and waited for Sirii, whom they intercepted on her way to the shop.

Troll spotted her right away.

Sirii shuffled through the bustling streets with her head down, seemingly deep in thought.

Troll called, "A fine morning to thee, _Madirii_."

Gape wide, Sirii jumped in a start. After a moment, her face brightened and she smiled, exposing flawless teeth. "Troll!" she cried, leaping into his awaiting arms.

"I take it you missed me," Troll chuckled.

"You have no idea," Sirii replied. Tears streamed down her tan, oval face. Sirii let go of Troll and stepped back a piece. Gaze narrowed as she glanced at Montalvo.

"Oh, where are my manners," Troll said, turning to Montalvo. "Sirii, this is my old friend, Montalvo. We go way back."

Sirii said, "Please to meet you, _easta_."

With a wide, wrinkled smile, Montalvo replied, "The pleasure is all mine." He leaned toward Troll, and whispered, "What did she call me?"

Troll replied, " _Easta_ , it's a title like Sr. or Mr. But that is only for the _teran-oht_ , the outlanders. If ye were a native, ye'd be called _dan_."

"I see you have not forgotten any of our language while you were away," Sirii said.

Troll chuckled, "No, _Madirii_ , I have not."

Pencil-drawn eyebrows arched, thin lips puckered tight, Sirii asked, "And where did you go, _easta_? _Madirii_ Sarah and I have been very worried about you."

"Ye spoke with Sarah during my absence?"

Odd, he thought he asked her not to do that.

" _Si_ , _easta_ , she seemed most troubled by the sudden disappearances of all of you." Sirii scanned the hurrying people, leaned (on tip-toes), toward Troll, and whispered, "She thought you might have been taken."

Troll and Montalvo exchanged a glance. Troll asked, "And what about ye? What did ye think?"

She replied, "I thought, or at least hoped, that you had gone in search of the _Madiriiette_ and your friends?"

Troll said, "Not exactly."

Just how long was he going to leave Sirii in the dark about what he was up too? But after all, she had kept things from him. Important things. Troll glimpsed at Montalvo.

The old Wachati warrior stood there silent and motionless like a statue; a living sculpture patiently waiting amid a sea of bustling comers and goers.

Troll lumbered toward Sirii, and said, " _Madirii_ , it is imperative that we speak with your father at once.

Sirii reared back, gaze bulged; jaw slightly quivering, as if rattled by his request. Gaze darting, Sirii twiddled her thumbs, and asked, "Now, _easta_? I was on my way to _l'tiendii_."

"Are ye not the proprietor?" Troll asked. "Surely, ye can spare a few minutes. After all, is this not why ye sought me and my friends out in the first place?"

Sirii replied, " _Si_ , of course. It's just that the _tribune_ cart will be coming today to collect on _l'tiendii_. It will appear strange if I am not there."

"And what time is this cart expected?"

Sirii replied, "It varies, but usually they make it to my area of the _bazaar_ just a little before noon."

Troll peered up at the sun's position. Seven of the clock, give or take. Troll smiled, and said, " _Madirii_ , that is plenty of time if we do not tarry."

Face downcast, bottom lip protruding, Sirii reluctantly replied, "Very well. She repeatedly glanced from her sandaled feet to Troll's face. She seemed unable to meet his gaze.

Why?

Sirii ushered the two back through the _bazaar_ toward the boroughs. Troll followed several yards behind, as did Montalvo from him. That way it wouldn't appear they traveled together. Once outside the _bazaar_ they regrouped in a darkened alley, and together they journeyed along the narrow interstice between the backs of dilapidated buildings and the great wall, into the crumbling tunnel, outside, and back through the mountains.

Montalvo remained quiet and stoic (unlike Troll's friends during their first visit to the place of voices), yet attentively assessed the gilded etchings along the gold-plated tunnel walls that led into _El Na'tirii Tawa_.

Palm out, Sirii said, " _Eastas_ , wait here, _por favorii_." She shuffled toward Khariiff, who sat cross-legged on his rug, seemingly deep in meditation.

Once again, Troll couldn't help but notice the striking similarities between this auspicious place and the cave he found Montalvo in. Troll clasped Montalvo on the back and said, "It seems as though, it more than chance, or prophecy, that caused us to cross paths, aye?"

Montalvo nodded, and said, "Yes." His gaze searched the tapestries and cave paintings. "It is more like destiny."

"Indeed," Troll replied.

" _Compatriets_ , _por favorii_ ," Sirii called, waving them over, "come and sit down."

Troll and Montalvo ambled toward the rug and sat Indian-style. Once again, Troll's thoughts turned to the Wachati tribe and a similar story telling. Not long after that story, the teller, the chief, died in battle and he and the Dog were blamed for it. Soon after that, Montalvo had been cast into exile. Troll prayed this story telling would go a bit smoother.

Ready to translate, Sirii folded her hands and knelt beside her father. An uneasy smile fractured its way across her tawny skin.

Khariiff said something.

Sirii nodded at Montalvo, and said, "And this man here, can he be trusted with our business?"

Khariiff's wrinkled lips curled in a frown, like he tasted something most foul. Thick uni-brow cocked, he stared at his daughter.

Strange.

Troll opened his mouth to inform Sirii that Montalvo was one of his oldest and most trusted friends.

Montalvo gazed at Khariiff and said something in Al'ber Quearian.

Khariiff's wrinkled face remained still. Old, cracked lips like the faces on knarred tree bark. A terse moment of silence elapsed before the two old, men erupted in a hearty and raspy laughter.

Troll leaned toward Sirii, and whispered, "What, I don't get it?"

Before she could respond, the two elders coughed wetly and clutched at their respective chests.

Rising, Sirii cried, "Father!"

Khariiff waved her off. He turned to Montalvo and they chatted for a moment in Al'ber Quearian, laughing every so often.

Troll learned much of their language, but was only capable of deciphering random words here and there.

"What are they talking about?" Troll asked Sirii.

"I don't know," she replied.

Troll ran a hand down his scar and beard, and asked, "How's that? I thought ye spoke their language."

Frowning, head downcast, Sirii replied, "I do...but...I don't know. I understand the words, but not what they are saying."

The shawl fell over her eyes and once again Troll's thoughts turned to Star.

Then Montalvo spoke, translating for Khariiff.

Sirii squinted, mouth scrunched up, as if jealous.

Montalvo recounted the tragedy of Khariiff's family; losses, death, despair. His children going off to war. Lost and totally heart-broken, Khariiff wandered into a local opium bar to indulge until he died or went insane (whichever came first). He smoked, sniffed, and huffed until he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke he said that the Goddess had spoken to him, and led him here, to _El Na'tirii Tawa_.

Back then, there had been nothing. No rug. No hearth. No food. Just the paintings stretched upon the cavernous walls.

Here, alone in the dark, Khariiff broke down crying, cursing the Goddess. Then he pulled out a rusty straight razor, and--

Sirii cried, "Father!"

Troll leaned toward Montalvo, and asked, "What? What did he say?"

In a whisper, Montalvo replied, "He said--"

Sirii blurted, "He said he was going to kill himself!"

Khariiff sighed, stroked his daughter's shawl, and continued his tale in English, "I had the knife to my wrists, ready to meet my death. I knew that if I took my own life, that I would never again be reunited with my loved ones at the end of the path. But that didn't matter to me. Nothing did. I was so deep in my own sorrow. I just wanted the pain to stop. I remember I had the blade in my hand, the tip to my wrist. I sat like that a long time, doubting myself and hoping someone would come and stop me from taking my own life. Then, something did.

"Bravo, bravo, bravetsema," a pleasant and oddly familiar voice said, "That'll show them. That'll show them all!"

"I turned around and there before me was a man dressed all in white. His clothes were odd, like none I had ever seen. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and an unusual kerchief tied around his neck, also white. And though his clothes were bright and decadent, the stranger's face seemed shrouded in shadow.

"Who are you?" I asked. "What do you want? How dare you disturb me?"

"Who I am, is of little importance," the stranger chuckled and came toward me. "What I want is to help you, that, and nothing more. And I'm disturbing you, simply because I can."

"I...don't understand."

"But you understand pain, do you not?"

" _Si_ ," I said

"And you understand love, do you not?"

" _Yes_ ," I said.

"And I know you understand the pain of losing someone you love, don't you?"

" _Yes_ , all too well."

"But what if I told you that it didn't have to be like this? What if I told you that I could give at all back to you?" The stranger grinned, and even though he was smiling, his eyes as well as most of his face, was still hidden in shadow. "Everything that she has taken away from you."

"I remember trembling in fear, not knowing what to think.

"The stranger said, "All you have to do is revoke your Goddess, and simply proclaim me as your own. And this is perfect. Seeing as how you're already on your knees and everything."

"But why would I do that?" I asked.

"Because," said the stranger, "I _am_ God. And unlike your previous, so-called deity, I am kind. I am gracious. I will give you a new family, new friends, a new life and all you have to do is wait here."

"And then?"

"And then, when I have decided that you have been faithful long enough, I shall reward you."

Khariiff's eyes shimmered with tears.

Troll sat quite for a long time, pondering over the mystery of this stranger in white.

Did Star know anything about this stranger? Perhaps. But if she did, she never mentioned it.

Both Khariiff and Montalvo met this mysterious stranger in white. And if there was any truth to be found, any inkling of understanding to be known, than it would be locked away in that mysterious novelette collection known only as the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_.

Troll asked, "How much do ye know of this prophecy about man and beast?"

Khariiff resumed speaking in Al'ber Quearian.

Glaring at Montalvo, Sirii translated, "Probably very little more than you, only the four, key members. All others will fall by the waste-side."

"Four?" Troll asked. "I thought ye said three? The trinity?"

Sirii continued, " _Si_. The man, the beast, and the slave."

"Then, who is the fourth?"

"The other," Sirii translated, "the one who stands at the center of it all. The demon. The Wraith."

Troll ran a hand down his scar and beard and asked Khariiff, "Is that all ye know?"

Khariiff nodded.

"Well, here." Troll reached deep into the confines of his cloak and retrieved the _Nou'heim-Du Tawa_.

Montalvo's gaze grew wide, his face wrinkled in rage.

"I believe these may provide at least some answers," Troll said, handing the books over to Khariiff, "That is of course, if'n ye can read 'em."

Quivering in anger, Montalvo stood, and snarled, "I can't believe you! You swore you would not take those! I warned you those were not to be taken from the cave!"

Troll sighed, brushed back his hair. Beads rattled. Troll gazed up at Montalvo, and said, "I apologize, my friend, on two counts. The first is ye'r misunderstanding. I swore I would not remove the box, which I did not. The second is for my actions in general. But ye must believe me when I tell thee that I did what I did because I believed it to be prudent at the time."

Montalvo asked, "And now?" Arms crossed, long, gnarly silvery-hair cascaded over his broad shoulders.

"Now," Troll replied, "I still stand by my actions."

Another terse moment elapsed.

Sirii stood, dusted off her hands, and said, "Well, I should be getting to _l'tiendii_."

"Aye," Troll said. He glanced at Khariiff, still flipping through the books, already absorbed in their cryptic pages.

Troll forgot his plan to hypnotize Khariiff for information. Perhaps, now he didn't need to.

****

Star asked 'Ro, "What made you change your mind?"

Grinning, 'Ro replied, "Let's just say I had a heart-to-heart with myself."

When Star awoke that morning (in a start), the Jessips were already up and at 'em; sitting in a small circle, and conversing quietly among themselves.

Munching on a bit of MRE, Ally said to Star, "I trust you got a plan in mind."

Mia and Zeke made room between them and Star popped herself a squat in the still cool sands.

Over a meal of MREs and cigarettes, Star learned that the group had discussed it, and decided to help Star on her mission.

Seth and Kayle frowned, their narrow faces drained and pallid.

Probably not too excited about going back to the king's camp.

Star disclosed all the intel she collected: Yes, Furion was not at Shroud's camp -- anymore. Neither was Shroud for that matter. In fact, many troops from various platoons journeyed out toward Al'ber Que (in what Star could only presume were scouting missions), and had yet to return. Not only were there fewer soldiers at each site, but also, the camps were left in the charge of lower ranking officers.

Toying with an earring, one of the twins said, "That's odd."

"Yeah, I've never heard of them doing that before," the other replied.

Spitting tobacco juice, Hickey asked 'Ro, "Still think it might be a trap to weed-out traitors?"

Polishing his harmonica, 'Ro said, "Maybe, but we gotta do something. We've been lucky so far, but we can't keep going on the way we've been."

Mustache dancing, Roy popped his knuckles, and asked Star, "So, what are you thinking?"

Star turned to one of the twins (she still couldn't tell them apart), and asked, "How many in Shroud's camp do you think would turn to our side if we took out whatever ranking officer was left in charge?"

"Shit, I don't know," he replied, "maybe half."

Nodding, Xaza said, "D'ah. Half."

"And that's probably an over estimate," the other twin said.

Star twirled her compass chain, and asked, "Do you still have your armor?"

"Hell no they don't," Hickey spat. "Why would they keep that shit, right?" he asked the twins.

Seth and Kayle hung their pierced heads.

Sandy snorted, "Seriously?" She swept away stringy blond-bangs, and asked, "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Just in case we had to go back," one of the twins replied.

Star asked, "Can I borrow it? Or, at least one, I think I'll fit one of yours."

A twin said, "Even if you did go into the camp wearing armor, you can't go by yourself, you don't know anyone or what you're even supposed to do."

Star said, "That's why I need one of you to come with me."

The twins' tan faces turned ghastly pale. Jaws slack and agape, their eyes bulged.

Star continued, "Look, I just need one of you to get me close enough to the officer in charge. Who would that be, do you know?"

In unison, the twins wiped away the sweat beading on their foreheads. Then one said, "If what you say about Shroud being gone is true, then I guess that would leave Commander Valcor in charge. He's second in command under Shroud."

Twirling her compass chain, Star said, "Okay, then get me close to him."

Gazes averted, the twins stuttered and stammered.

"I'll do it," 'Ro said.

Everyone pivoted and gazed at him with wide eyes.

'Ro turned to the twins, and said, "If one of y'all will lend me your armor, and tell me what this Valcor looks like, I'll sneak her in. I'll get her close. Hell, if I have to, I'll even help her kill him."

Head tilted, brow furrowed, Ally asked, "Are you feeling all right, bro?" He felt for 'Ro's forehead.

'Ro swatted away his brother's hand, and said, "Better than you'd believe."

Mia turned to Star, and asked, "But, what do we do once you're in?"

Star smiled, and said, "Don't worry. I have a plan."

****

After a hearty romp the previous night, Sarah slept most of the morning away. She felt refreshed and rejuvenated, 'though the fact that Rome was gone by the time she woke might have added in that capacity.

Feeling a bit peckish, Sarah order breakfast and then dressed. After her meal, Sarah strolled down into the citadel. She kept expecting to see Maddy the rag doll propped up against some random wall, starring at her with his dead-black doll's eyes and crimson-stitched smile. But that didn't happen. Evidently, the elusive dolly only appeared when Sarah least expected.

She left the citadel and headed toward the _bazaar_ in an ambling gait. No destination in mind. Just killing time. Although she'd just eaten, Sarah's belly rumbled. Stands, carts, and _tiendiis_ surrounded her. But she hadn't worked at Sirii's shop in days, and held no more pocket money. But then again, when you were the esteemed guest of the sultan's, you didn't need _sheckles_.

She squeezed through the sea of people and up to a humble fruit-stand. The plethora of exotic crops offered in Al'ber Que never ceased to amaze her. Sarah stared hungrily at a bushel of green grapes. She tried grapes when she first arrived in the empire and didn't care for them. But Anne did. She loved them. Sarah didn't know if her hunger fueled by a longing for Anne, but now, for whatever reason, once she saw the grapes, she wanted them. She desired them. She hungered for them. She couldn't stop thinking about them. Sarah licked her lips and glanced at the portly, bald _bazaar'iste teran-oht_ busy attending to a customer. Without a moment's fore-thought, Sarah grabbed a handful of the tiny, ovoid fruit and shuffled off; greedily plopping one after another into her salivating mouth.

"I pray that ye'r taking those without paying was accidental and not pre-meditated."

Sarah whirled around.

Troll stood there, arms crossed, foot tapping, brow cocked.

A slender man with tan skin (but not a native), stood next to Troll. The man wore a deer-skin shirt and pantaloons. His face and hands appeared far more wrinkled than the sultan's. He had long, silvery, gnarled hair. Back straight, arms at his side; his face and eyes unreadable.

Abashed, Sarah pocketed the grapes. Arms swinging, she marched toward Troll. Mouthful of fruit, she said, "Where have ye been?"

Troll gestured to the old man, and said, "I was off on, what my friend would call, a vision-quest."

Sarah glanced suspiciously at Troll's friend.

Troll continued, "Oh, I'm sorry, where are my manners? Sarah, this is Montalvo. We go way back. Montalvo, this is the lovely Ms. Sarah Danvers. We too have a rather lengthy past."

Montalvo offered his hand and Sarah shook it. His palm felt rough and leathery.

Troll's hands appeared swollen, lacerated. Dried blood so dark his wounds appeared blackened. Fingernails splintered and jagged. His feet looked worse.

"What happened to ye?" Sarah asked.

Troll glimpsed at his hands, laughed, and said, "T'is nothing that won't heal." He leaned toward her, and said, "If ye think it's bad now, ye should have seen it a day ago." He peered around, and said, "May we go somewhere and chat?"

"Aye," Sarah replied. She kneaded her hands in the hem of her dress. A few grapes rolled out of her pocket.

Troll glanced at them but said nothing.

Sarah led them to the huge open-air area in front of the citadel where the carnival had taken place only a few days ago. The _plazii_ seemed far less crowded now. Troll and Sarah sat upon a bench in front of a fountain.

Montalvo stood behind them, keeping watch.

Why was this man so solemn, so serious all the time? Not even Shadeem or members of the _d'el guardii_ stood so steadfast. Montalvo scared Sarah a little.

Troll said, "I know how upset ye must be with me right now."

Arms crossed, Sarah said, "I assure ye sai, ye have no idea. Ye left me. Ye left me all alone with him! That pig!"

"Ye knew what ye were getting into when I asked this of ye," Troll replied in a rushed whisper. "I asked if ye could handle this and ye said ye would. Ye would do anything for Anne."

"I know," Sarah replied. "But I just thought..."

But what did she think? That, despite Troll's sudden and unplanned absence, he would inevitably return with Anne and the rest of their friends by his side? No. She never believed or even thought that for a second.

Troll leaned in closer, and said, "Listen, I have come across information that may prove most useful indeed."

Sarah asked, "Aye, for true?"

"Aye." Troll settled back, ran a hand down his scar, and sighed deeply. "But, first ye must tell me everything that ye have learned in my absence."

"What would ye like to know?"

"For starters, what have ye learned of parliament?"

Sarah replied, "Well, as ye know, there are technically six members, three representing each the _teran-oht_ and the natives."

Troll said, "Aye, of course."

Montalvo grasped Troll by the shoulder, halting their conversation. Montalvo's gaze drifted among the crowd. He said, "We are being watched."

Troll said to Sarah, "Quickly, now."

Sarah leaned in close, and whispered, "The natives are represented by the sultan, Micah Phizza Satirii, and Franz Mirii Michoenne. The _teran-oht_ are represented by Tisk, Task, and Grayson Dreary. And then there is Shadeem."

"Ah, yes," Troll said. "And what have ye learned of him?"

Sarah continued, "He comes from another culture, another country far away. Like here, the men in his native land have three names. But here, a man's second name is his mother's and his third is his grandmother's."

"Aye, I have learned as much, as well."

Sarah continued, "But where Shadeem is from, his second and third name are from his father and grandfather."

Scratching at his beard, Troll replied, "Ironic, indeed."

Sarah said, "Strange, I never realized that the native men have three names and yet the sultan only uses two, Rome Cesaro."

Nodding, Troll replied, "Odd, indeed."

Montalvo bent over next to Troll, and said, "We must hurry. There are others now."

Troll scanned the sea of passing faces, as did Sarah.

But she didn't see anyone watching them.

If Troll did, he didn't show it on his face.

Who was this friend of his?

Sarah continued, "Though Shadeem is not technically a member of parliament, he goes to most of their meetings and is even allowed to vote on parliamentary issues."

"An extra vote to sway toward the sultan's side I presume." Troll scratched his beard. "And the twins, Tisk and Task, what have ye learned about them?"

"Only that, like Shadeem, they come from another continent." Sarah replied.

Troll smiled, and said, "Interesting that parliament has people from other continents at the helm, don't ye think?"

Sarah asked, "Have ye found Anne?"

"No, but don't worry, she is still alive," Troll replied.

"How do ye know?"

Wincing, Troll stood, and said, "Because I believe it. I have faith in it. And so should ye."

Where the heck was he going now?

"Wait," Sarah called. "What of this information ye claim to have?"

Troll sighed, and said, "All in due time. Right now I need to think, reflect, and plan our next move."

"I would think ye've had plenty of time for that already while ye've sent my off like nothing more than a cheap whore," Sarah spat. A cold stabbing radiated out of her chest and she welcomed it more than she did Troll.

Troll's head reared back, brow furrowed, slightly scowling, he asked, "Why ever would ye say such a thing about yourself?"

Sarah opened her mouth to reply, but didn't. Too many things she wanted to say at once, and in the end, nothing came out. She sniffled and fought back the salty tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

Troll embraced her and she wept.

When all hugged out, Sarah smiled, and said, "Thank ye, I needed that."

"As did I," Troll replied. He cleared his throat, and said, "There is something I want ye to do."

Really? Hadn't she done more than enough?

Sighing in vexation, Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Don't worry," Troll said, "this task is infinitely simpler than ye'r previous one."

Irritation swirled within Sarah like she had not felt since Mortimer Steward asked for her hand in marriage nearly on a daily basis. "What would ye have me do now?" she asked.

A commotion started just over yonder.

A young _bazaar'iste teran-oht_ struggled with two _tribune'istes_.

"No! No!" a _bazaar'iste_ with black skin cried. "That's all I have left! How will I support my family?"

"Sarah, are ye listening?" Troll asked.

Montalvo leaned over, and said, "My friend, we must be getting on."

Who was this man that demanded Troll's attention despite everything she had done. No, she didn't like Montalvo one bit.

Troll grasped Sarah by the shoulders, stared into her eyes, and said, "Tell me, did the sultan know of my absence?"

Across the way, _d'el guardii_ took the _bazaar'iste_ into custody and a young native with short, curly black-hair and a beard jumped upon a stand. "This is ludicrous!" he roared. "Parliament raises _taxe_ and _tribune_ every other day for no reason! They say the money goes toward city construction and fortification! But we see no structures or fortresses other than this great empire the Mother has given us, which has already stood for centuries! They say we have rights, but people are taken every day! They say--"

"Sarah!" Troll roared over the crowd, shaking her by the shoulders, "are ye listening to me?"

Cupping a hand over her ear, Sarah yelled, "What?" But she couldn't hear Troll over the young native pumping his fist in the air and rhythmically chanting, "No more _taxe_! No more _taxe_!"

The crowd cheered along, "No more _taxe_! No more _taxe_!"

Troll shook Sarah forcibly by the arm, and asked, "Does the sultan think I've gone missing?"

Gaze darting among the gathering mob, tugging at Troll's arm, Montalvo said, "My friend, we must go."

Sarah thought about it. Did he know? Had she mentioned or blurted it out at one point in time? If she did, was Rome even listening?

The ruck clamored, pushed down the _tribune'istes_ , and bashed them to death.

Sarah felt an amalgamation of fear, disgust, and excitement stir within her. It aroused her.

"Sarah!" Troll roared as Montalvo pulled at his arm.

The throng incipiently grew violent. Pushing. Shoving. Throwing food.

Sarah witnessed a scene like this before in Silverdale.

Troll continued, "Does the sultan--"

"No!" she yelled.

Troll cocked his head, and an eyebrow, and said, "Are ye certain?"

The shoving spread. Protesting people bounced off Sarah as she was jostled about.

"Aye," she called over the roaring crowd.

Troll said, "Good. Keep it that way."

****

Star pulled Commander Valcor out of his tent by his short yellow-hair, while 'Ro rang the dinner bell. And even though it wasn't chow-time, the soldiers came to see what was what.

Commander Valcor, who couldn't have been more than twenty-years-of-age, shivered. His piercings rattled in his tight flesh. He had asked his assailant who he was and what they wanted.

Star, clad head to toe in king's men armor and heavy helmet, said nothing as she grabbed him.

The soldiers came and Star held Valcor whimpering in her clutches just as she had when the citizens of Silverdale descended upon Reverend Lowell's house on their final night in the quaint hamlet.

The soldiers murmured amongst themselves.

"What's going on?" one called.

"Mutiny!" cried another. The soldier pulled a pistol.

_Blam_. The report of gunfire echoed across the desert as the revolver sprang from the soldier's grip.

It had to be Ally; the only Jessip with a dead-shooter's aim.

The soldiers recoiled and stepped back.

Star pulled off her helmet and cast it into the sand.

The king's men gasped in awe at the "marked" woman, who subdued their officer in charge.

Gape wide, jaw slack, Valcor said, "You!"

Star asked, "You know who I am?"

"I only know you are the one who got away," Valcor replied. "The one he wants back."

"Well, here I am," Star proclaimed to all. "And where is this Lord of Black? Here I am! If you want me so bad, come and get me!" Star's words reverberated off on the winds, but Furion, the Lord of Black did not appear. Star glared down at Valcor and asked, "And where is Shroud, for that matter?"

"I...I don't know," Valcor stammered.

Star thrust Valcor to the ground, and strut among the crowd. "Do you know who I am? I am the slave that got away! I am the one Furion pines over, but escaped his clutches time after time. I have found the prophets, the man in the form of a beast, and the beast in the form of a man! And I have brought them here!"

The soldiers chattered nervously.

'Ro (still head-to-toe in armor), sidled up behind Star, leaned over, and whispered, "Gettin' a little carried away, don't ya think?"

She pivoted and glared at 'Ro (despite the visor covering his eyes). "I haven't even begun yet," she snarled through clenched teeth. She stared at Valcor's blubbering child-like face. In her mind's eye, she saw Mikhail's shocked and horrid gape moments before she bashed his skull in with a rock. She saw Diamond, screaming and crying, in fever-induced delirium moments before she eased his suffering with a bullet to the back of his head. But no, this was different. Valcor may have been just a boy but he was no child by any measure. He had made his choice.

Star drew a shooter, and fired; watering the desert sands with a fine pink mist that used to be Valcor's brains.

The soldiers jittered anxiously.

"Come on boys," one called.

"Let's get her," cried another.

The soldiers closed in.

_Bang_. _Bang_. _Blam_.

The dirt around the soldiers' feet sprang to life.

Star held her palms out to the dunes of sand encompassing the camp.

"Snipers!" a king's man cried.

"That's right!" Star roared. "Y'all are covered! So I suggest ya simmer down, shut the fuck up, and listen to what I have to say."

They did.

Star paced back and forth, fingers feverishly twirled her compass chain. The other hand rested on an armored hip. Star called out, "Everything you've heard is true. The rumors, the prophecies, it's all true. I was a slave. I was not the only slave to escape, but I am the only one who dared to come back. The only one who chose to oppose the king and all his Hellions. And I have returned with the chosen ones."

"Where are they?" A soldier asked.

Troll's words emanating forth from Star's lips, she said, "Shut ye'r blasphemous mouth!" She paced faster. "And where is the king? Where is Furion? Where is Shroud? I am here! Where are they? They are not here because they are afraid. Yay, they may hide in their towers-high, but they fear me and my friends! They fear the prophecy!"

Silence as Star glanced over the sea of downcast faces.

Star continued, "I know many of you don't care to serve the king. I know many of you were either forced into it, or saw it as the lesser of two evils. And I don't blame you for that. You did what you had to do to survive. But the time of the king and all his children is at an end. From this day forth, all here are free."

A rushed murmuring purled among the mob.

"That's right," Star called. "You're free. All of ya."

"But where will we go?" a soldier asked.

"What shall we do?" another called.

"How will we survive?" cried another.

Star said, "All of you are welcome to stay. But for those of you who do, you should know that we plan on going against the king. We plan on fighting."

"Many have tried," said a young soldier with long jet-black hair tied back in a ponytail. The sides of his head were cleanly shaven. His eyes appeared grey and solemn. Hoop-jewelry rode his ears and nose. He said, "All have failed. Why should we believe you?"

"Because," Star replied, "I am a member of the triumvirate. And I have found the prophets."

'Ro stepped forth, took off his helmet, stared at the young soldier, and said, "Well, it certainly is a small world after all."

Star asked 'Ro, "What, you know this kid?"

Grinning, 'Ro replied, "Sure, it's my ol' pal, Futnick."

****

Rome asked, "So, how was your day, my dear, Chestnut?"

"S'okay," Sarah slurped through a mouthful of food. My, she certainly acquired a ravenous appetite as of late.

The two sat in the chambers they now technically shared with each other (as far as the help was concerned), having dinner.

Sarah stuffed her face while Rome played with his food in the same ennui that Sarah displayed only a few short days ago.

Sarah belched.

Rome glared at her. His face red, fat lips puckered.

Shame and embarrassment flushed through Sarah, she felt disgusting. She swallowed her food, dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and said, "My apologies m'lord."

Rome huffed and rolled his eyes, returning his attention to his plate.

From behind the napkin, Sarah said, "T'was fine."

Rome asked, "What's that?"

"My day," she replied, "T'was fine. I helped around the citadel, visited my friend Sirii, the usual."

"Ah, _si_ , of course."

"And how was your day, m'lord?"

"Ah, fine, just fine." still pushing the food around on his plate, Rome nodded. "How do you like the wine?"

Sarah sipped at her glass, and said, "Fine."

Rome blurted, "A fine bottle, indeed."

Sarah daintily tippled, and asked, "And from whence does it come. The wine, I mean? From the storage facility ye swore to show me, but didn't?"

Rome dabbed a napkin at his fat lips, and said, "I believe I already apologized for that, my dear, Chestnut. Unfortunately, my services were needed elsewhere."

Sarah scoffed, "Ye'r services are always needed elsewhere." She shoveled another fork-load in her mouth.

Rome grimaced in repulsion.

Good. For once, she could disgust him.

Rome slammed his hammy fists upon the table, and yelled, "Will you stop that?"

The dinner-ware trembled in fear.

Nervous, on edge, Sarah froze mid-chomp. How deep was the well of Rome's anger?

Rome blotted the napkin on his red, oily forehead, and said, "I'm sorry, _Madirii_ , but it is very unbecoming of a woman of your beauty to talk with her mouth full, or chew with it open."

Sarah swallowed, dabbed at her mouth, and gazed licentiously into his eyes. She twirled fingers in her long, wavy red-hair, and said, "Beggin' ye'r pardon m'lord, I did not mean to disgust ye so. Please, tell me, I beg of ye," Sarah licked her greasy lips, stood, and slipped off her dress. She leered at Rome, and asked, "How would his lordship prefer I _come_?"

Rome sat there, gaze glued to her breasts. She sauntered toward him and offered her hand.

He took it.

She pressed her lips against his; working her tongue inside his mouth while her hands feverishly undressed him.

Rome threw her upon the table (and food), and they made mad love.

Grease, food, wine, and sweat soaked Sarah's naked skin as he pounded her backside upon the table. The dinnerware shook in disgust. Dirty, soiled, she screamed, climaxing before him.

This, she could get used to.

****

When Star declared the soldier's at Shroud's camp to be freed men, some left. Most stayed. Soldiers and outlaws alike drew near as Star relayed her past; Krin, Mikhail, Shantytown, Shale, Coffin Nail, Troll, the Dog, Silverdale, all of it. Even though the Jessips heard most of this before, all assembled hung on every word.

When she finished the evening's stars shone bright.

A young soldier with a pointy head and acne, asked, "So what do you plan to do now?"

Star replied, "It's simple. We get as many men as we can--"

"And women," Mia said.

A round of snickers, snorts, and chuckles surged through the king's men.

"Aye," Star said to Mia, "and us too."

Commander Fedic (or, as 'Ro called him, Futnick), asked, "But what if Shroud comes back before then? Or, Furion for that matter?"

Murmurs purled among the mob.

Star said, "That won't happen."

A soldier asked, "Why not?"

Star replied, "Because if they were going to do that, they wouldn't have left in the first place. Like I said, if they wanted me that bad...well, here I am."

Uneasy silence wafted

Star continued, "Any questions?"

"Yeah," Hickey said, spitting tobacco juice, "Ya done yapping 'cause I'm pretty damn hungry?"

The throng muttered in agreement.

Star's stomach rumbled.

"Yeah, I'm done," she said.

The soldiers loitered about.

Why?

Fedic stood, and said, "Dismissed."

Then, and only then, the soldiers got up and moseyed toward the mess tent. Hickey, Zeke, Xaza, and the twins went as well.

Star lingered behind and 'Ro, Ally, Sandy, Mia, and Fedic gathered around.

Fedic asked, "Do you really think you can go against the king?" He sneered, "Against Furion?"

Star replied, "I'm not just gonna go against him, I'm gonna fucking kill him."

Thumbs hooked in his buckle, Ally asked Fedic, "What about you and your men? Can we count on 'em?"

Fedic rubbed the back of his neck, and said, "Tough call. It's true most of them don't want to be in the army at all. But now that you say we're free...well, I mean, I think half the guys who stayed just did it 'cause they got nowhere else to go. And maybe they do believe in you and your friends. And maybe when the time comes, they will do the right thing..."

'Ro made a rolling gesture with his index finger, and said, "But..."

Fedic suspiciously glanced around, and said, "But I'm sure there's quite a few soldiers who would just about go with anything. And when I say that, I mean they appear to be true to the king, until you come. And then they appear to want to recede, until Furion comes back. And he will come back."

'Ro asked Fedic, "What about you? You said, most of them don't want to be in the army."

Round, pale face scrunched, Mia chimed, "Yeah, what's your agenda in all this?"

Fedic rubbed the back of his neck, his ponytail wagged. "Honestly, I don't know. I have no idea what's going on. Furion, Shroud, and a good chunk of the men taking off on secret orders. Then you come in and take over, talking about going against the king. I guess it all seems so fresh and sudden. I'm just trying to wrap my mind around it.

'Ro stepped combatively toward Fedic, and said, "Yeah, well wrap it up, Futnick. We ain't got time for wishy-washiness. If you're gonna be a problem, you just say so right here and now and we'll have it out."

"Easy now," Star said.

'Ro stepped back from Fedic.

Fedic rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at Star in uncertainty.

Star nodded, and said, "Go on, get yourself something to eat."

Fedic trotted off.

Star, 'Ro, Ally, Sandy, and Mia tightened their conspirators circle.

'Ro nodded toward Fedic and spat. "I still say we can't trust that little shit."

Brow arched, Ally asked, "Can we really trust any of them?"

Star asked, "Do you trust Xaza and the twins?"

"As far as I can throw 'em," 'Ro mused, "But, yeah, I reckon."

Star replied, "Good, they're our best bet at bringing the others truly on to our side. In the meantime, I think it might be best if we didn't get too chummy with the soldiers and have at least two of our group standing guard at all times. Agreed?"

The others concurred.

Star continued, "I'll take tonight's first watch, any other volunteers?"

'Ro raised his hand. Still glaring in the direction Fedic had scurried off, he said, "I want to keep an eye on my ol' pal, Futnick."

****

Journal entry,

First day back in Al'ber Que. Montalvo seemed quite agitated by my taking of the books, as I expected. But, after an extensive tour around the empire, he appeared to have forgotten his anger entirely. I must say, dear journal, that while I thoroughly enjoyed my time with my old friend, my mood was dampened by my longing for Star. All day long I could not help but think about when I escorted her around the city.

By late afternoon, Montalvo had seen it all, or, as much as he desired to. I purchased some food in the bazaar and then I, or we, I should say, returned to the old apartment. The door was unlocked and the place vacant. What little personal items left behind when we split up, have been removed, as if we never quartered there.

Mine hands and feet are still quite sore, but the balm Montalvo supplied seems to have healed most of the cuts.

We enjoyed a grand supper. My thoughts constantly upon my friends. Sarah seemed so mad, so distressed. No-doubt, her hatred is centered upon me. And then there's Sirii, she seemed to be acting most odd indeed this morning. Perhaps, she was vexed when learning of my departure, and suspicious of my sudden return. Of course, I did offer to lend her a hand at the shop, but, that was before my vision-quest. This I had forgotten. Perhaps, the very reason why God remained silent for so long is that, when he did speak, I would obey without question. After all, parading around the wilderness seems fatuitous folly. If the Good Lord had been conversing with me the entire time, would I still have ventured off without a moment's hesitation or forethought? Alas, dear journal, I knoweth not. But, because God did wait so long to bestow his will upon me, I left. Forgoing all my plans and promises. Perhaps, that is why Sirii so upset with me. Or, perhaps she a spy, and bedeviled by my surreptitious departure?

After supper, I offered Montalvo one of the beds in the apartment. But he declined, saying the ground would be sufficient enough. 'Though he did accept a pillow and blanket. Not long after laying down, he was asleep.

But I have found such rest most difficult as of late.

Dear Lord, please keep me friends safe -- all of them -- wherever they may be.

****

Late and terribly dark. They were singing again, and they were singing Byron's name. Byron didn't know why they suddenly caroled for him, nor did he care. He only hoped this would be the final time he endured that ominous crooning. He hoped this time the demon in the dark would finally come for him, no matter how terrible a death that might entail. At least all of this would be over. But the beast never came for Byron, nor did the silence. On and on the voices reverberated through the cavernous mines; calling out his name. And somehow this seemed far worse than any fate Byron could possibly ever imagine. A singular voice arose above the cacophony of echoes.

" _Byyyyyy-rooooon_ ," the voice taunted, "Oh, Byron; _Byyyyy-roooon_."

Quavering, Byron covered his ears and cowered low to the ground.

An inhuman voice gurgled and cracked, calling, "Oh, Byron, _Byyy-roon_ , can you hear me _Byyyy-rooooooon_? I know you can. Oh, _Byyyyroooonn_ , where are you _Byyyyroooon_? Are you there cowering in the dark? I know you are _Byyyrroooooon_. I can smell you. I can taste you _Byyyyyyyrrrroooooooooon_."

The voice swarmed in his head like buzzing flies. Byron whimpered lowly, but loud enough for the owner of that terrible voice to locate him. Byron was done hiding. But still, very much afraid.

"Oh, Byron, where are you _Byyyroooon_?"

"H...h...here," Byron stammered in a voice barely but a whisper.

"What's that, I can't hear you _Byyyyrooooooooooonnnnnn_?"

Byron rose, and called, "Here, I'm down here ye devil, come and get me if'n ye dare." It was the first time Byron's words held conviction since that night at the meeting hall in Silverdale where Byron found his "proud" voice. And had Troll been down there in the deep, deep dark with Byron, he too would have felt most proud of him. A scuttling from behind. Byron whirled around to face the tunnel he _thought_ the noise came from, and tried to force his vision to focus in the dark. There, in the tunnel before him, slumped a large, shadowy figure.

Slouching toward Byron, the shadow said, "Oh, there you are my pretty, pretty, pretty. My, my, my, don't you look good enough to eat."

An unintelligible and primordial fear petrified Byron's bones. He desperately wanted to run, yet part of him longed to stay. No matter. He couldn't move. Byron shut his eyes and took a long, dry gulp before opening them.

Anne stood there. Her head slightly canted to the side.

Byron cried, "Oh, my God, Anne!"

"Oh, there ye are ye silly boy, I've been looking all over for ye, so I have." Anne's voice seemed slightly off, and even though most of her face shrouded in shadow, an eerie grin plastered across the young girl's dirty face.

"I've been looking for ye, too," Byron said; lying through his rotting teeth.

"Well, now we've found each other. So, are ye ready?"

Byron sighed a gale of relief, and said, "Aye, I've been quite ready to leave for some time now."

"Leave?" asked Anne. "Why, ye silly boy, we're not leaving."

Byron gulped, and quavered, "We're not?" A metaphorical boulder crashed into the pit of his stomach.

"Oh, no, we can't leave, ye silly boy," Anne chuckled in the darkness, "We can never leave. Besides, whoever would want to?"

Unable to articulate the terror coursing through him, Byron stuttered.

Hands behind her back, Anne paced, and said, "I was only wondering if you were ready to sing."

"What?"

Anne smiled. Rows of teeth glittered in the darkness. "It's so lovely down here in the dark, don't ye think? Oh, Byron won't ye sing with me down here in the dark? Come on, ye know the song; sing it with me."

Quivering, Byron said, "No, Anne. Please, don't."

"Oh come on Byron, it'll be fun. Come on Byron, _Byyyyroooooon_ , _Byyyyyyrooooooon_." Anne began to sing.

Byron had no intention of following suite, but after only a few bars, Bryon found himself singing along against his will. He just couldn't help it.

" _Sweetie-man_ , _Sweetie-man_ ,

_Come and catch me if ye can_ ,

_Hide and seek_ ,

_Trick for treats_ ,

_I'll give thee something good to eat_..."

Byron quavered.

Anne circled him like a shark around its prey. "Finish it Byron."

Heart racing, Byron cried, "No, I can't!"

"Do it Byron," she said, stamping her foot, "Do it!"

"No, I can't! I just can't!"

Anne taunted, " _Byyyyyroooooon, Byyyyyrooooon_."

"No, stop it."

From somewhere in the darkness, a swell of echoing voices arose. " _Byyyyyyyrroooooon, Byyyyyyroooooooooooon, Byyyyyyyyyroooooooonnnnnnnnn_..."

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

"Then finish it," Anne barked in a preternatural voice. "Finish the fucking song!"

Silence.

Byron shivered.

Anne towered over him. Face concealed in shadow, she said, "Finish it!"

"N...nn...nice and....s...swe....sweet,"

A hand clasped Byron on the shoulder. He screamed, whirled. Kicking, hitting, scratching, and biting his assailant. He tore his opponent to bloody chunks of flesh before poor Byron "came to". When he did, it was day. He was in general population, chained to another team. Byron glanced down. A mashed and mangled corpse of a fellow team-mate lay dead at his feet. Byron shrieked until his vocal chords felt like they were about to rip apart -- and then he screamed some more. And all the while, the on-looking guards laughed and laughed and laughed.

****

A chubby, little girl with dark-hair and swarthy skin, pointed at Troll, and said, "That's him. That's the one."

He recognized her as Sirii's new _dischaag_ , Reyna.

Troll and Montalvo just finished sharing breakfast when a knocking arose at the door. Troll expected to see either Sirii or Sarah.

Reyna stood in front of three elderly natives wearing rose-colored robes and shawls.

Did Reyna live in the building?

Troll had never seen here running up and down the crowded stairs along with the rest of the children.

"Are you the one they call, Troll?" the lead woman asked. Tall and lanky, her appendages were as thin as saplings. She appeared in her mid-forties. A heart-shaped birthmark rode her right cheek.

Gaze darting back and forth between the three women, Troll asked, "Who wants to know?"

"It's him," the second woman said to the first. "He is definitely one beast of a man." She stood portly and buxom. Chubby cheeks in a sanguine hue, as if blushing.

The third woman, very old and with rotting teeth, stood silent, hands folded.

Reyna chimed, "Told ya so."

Arms crossed, Troll said, "Well I thank ye for the compliment, but ye've still to announce what ye want or who ye are."

The lead woman bowed, and said, "I am Natiis, this is Fatiima and Mariinii. We represent _L'hermanii d'el Al'ber Que_."

"What's that?" asked Troll.

Natiis extended a long, slender hand, and said, "If you would be so kind as to accompany us, all your questions will be answered." She smiled and her birthmark seemed to stretch.

What should he do? Troll knew Reyna, but not enough to trust her, even if she was just a child. And these women, who were they? Unsure what to do, Troll ran a hand down his scar and beard, and scratched his chin. He glanced back at Montalvo, still seated at the table.

Natiis said, "Do not worry, _easta_ , any friend of yours is a welcome ally to us."

Troll replied, "Oh, I see."

Montalvo joined Troll by the door.

"What do ye think?" Troll asked his second oldest friend.

"I think you are interested," Montalvo replied.

Troll replied, "Rightly so." He turned to the women, and said, "Very well, _Madiriis_ , after ye."

Once out on the bustling streets, Reyna trotted off toward Sirii's shop.

The three women known as _L'hermanii d'el Al'ber Que_ led Troll and Montalvo toward the southern side of the eastern borough, to a rather dilapidated yet otherwise ambiguous apartment building.

Natiis glided on long, lithe legs.

Mariinii, the oldest of the three, shuffled along in a bow-legged gait.

Fatiima, the most corpulent, walked in small, rapid steps, as if twiddling along on her toes.

The spaces in between the cramped buildings appeared narrower in this borough than most of the others. Children ran naked and unattended in the streets. Clothes lines littered with garments hanging out to dry blocked the sunlight in these particular alleyways, making them dark and dismal. The women ushered them inside a building and down into a large posh room, where three other _hermanii_ patiently awaited.

"Greetings," said a very old woman. "I am Ayanii." Ayanii didn't appear to have hair beneath her blue shawl. Her skin old and wrinkled. Her v-shaped chin and beak-like nose wriggled as she spoke.

Next to Ayanii stood two other women. One around the age of twenty. The other in her thirties with a slender, beautiful face and luscious curves. She gazed at Troll with one eye, the other lazy.

Troll asked Ayanii, "Are ye the one in charge?"

"If someone were in charge, it would be me, _si_ ," she replied, beak-like nose wagging.

Troll asked, "But, ye are the one who had us brought here, correct?"

" _Si_."

Troll surveyed the small ashlar room. He ran a palm down his scar and beard, and said, "Tell me, what is _L'hermanii d'el Al'ber Que_?"

Ayanii replied, "A secret sisterhood set in place by Madirii, the first empress, and dedicated to preserving peace throughout the realm." Ayanii spread a wrinkled, veiny hand, and said, "We _hermanii_ were loyal servants to Empress Cesaro, the current sultan's mother. The last real empress. When _teran-oht_ first came here, and we heard of the king, we knew it would not be long before our empire was also enslaved. It soon became clear that among the first generation of _teran-oht_ were spies for the king. Fearing for her life and the well-being of the entire empire, Cesaro charged the _hermanii_ to go underground and wait."

"Wait for what?" Troll asked.

"For you, _easta_ ," Natiis said, smiling, birthmark stretching, "To join you and your rebellion against the king."

Stroking his beard, Troll said, "I see." He glanced at Montalvo, who shrugged. "Tell me, what is the sultan's part in all of this?"

Ayanii continued, "Rome was always a brash, impudent, but most of all, spoiled child. Cesaro feared his thirst for power would one day lead to an accord with king, and thusly bring about the downfall of the empire."

"How many know about this?" asked Troll.

"Just us _hermanii_ ," Ayanii replied.

"And the alliance," added Natiis.

Troll asked, "What alliance?"

Fatima said, "Your friend, the _Madiriiette_ has been quiet busy lo-these many months before your arrival." Her plump, rosy cheeks jiggled.

" _Si_ ," Natiis replied, "precocious, indeed."

"Anne?" Troll asked. "What does she have to do with this?"

Ayanii replied, "She is the one who heard the cry of the people and brought them together. She is the light that shines in the dark. She may be _teran-oht_ , but she has the heart of an empress. And while there are only a few of us, _hermanii_ , the alliance grows daily."

Natiis said, "At first, the alliance seemed nothing but rumor. But four months ago, we learned otherwise. People began speaking out against parliament on behalf of the real empress. Those poor souls were executed. It seemed the alliance had been squashed. Then an actual member of parliament came to us, once again on behalf of the real empress."

Troll's jaw dropped.

Ayanii continued, "We think this is also why the _Madiriiette_ was taken by the harvester."

Troll's mind was a whirlwind of thought and confusion. "I don't understand," he said. "What are ye saying?"

Natiis opened her sapling-like arms, and said, "Don't you see, the _Madiriiette_ has been building you an army."

****

Twisting her naked body amidst Rome's fine, silk sheets, Sarah asked, "Where are ye off to in such a rush, m'lord?"

Dressing in front of the mirror, he replied, "I have a rather important meeting this morning."

She asked, "With parliament?"

" _Si._ " He stopped buttoning his shirt, turned around, stared at her, and said, "Why do you ask?"

She sat up. The covers fell from her young, freckled skin. Pouting, she fluttered her lashes, and said, "I thought ye agreed to show me the storage facility." Her gaze narrowed upon him. "Ye swore to me."

He stammered, "And indeed I shall, right after the meeting. It shall not take long, my dear, Chestnut."

Sarah asked, "Will Shadeem be there?"

"I imagine so," he replied.

"But he is not a member of parliament, is he?"

Pillowy eyebrows furrowed, he asked, "What does that matter?"

Lying seductively out on the curtained-bed, head propped up on a lithe arm, she said, "Nothing really, it's just that, such a man of power, even ye'r most mundane activities arouse my interests." Sarah salaciously licked her lips.

"Oh," he replied, then returned to his grooming.

Room service arrived and Rome shuffled hurriedly out of his chambers; skipping _tiempestii d'el ruega_.

Sarah ate a hearty _fiesa mananii_. When her plate licked clean, she still felt hungry. So she ate Rome's.

Sarah had just finished dressing when an overwhelming wave of dizzying sickness crashed over her. She fell to her knees and sicked up all over the faded, brown rug beneath the table.

Such an ugly rug. Now, it looked even worse.

Quavering, Sarah huddled on the ground; holding herself.

What in the name of Heaven just happened?

She breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly until she was able to clamber to her feet. She slid off her dress and threw it on the vomitus chunks on the sultan's rug.

He will be most displeased.

Sarah cleaned herself and put on a fresh dress. Then, she rolled up the small rug, along with the entire mess, and made her way downstairs. She found an abandoned _basuriia_. She glanced around; tip-toeing toward the mobile waste receptacle. Nothing. Sarah tossed Rome's favorite rug and its malodorous contents into the cart, and then shuffled out into the bustling lobby, where she scurried to the parliamentary meeting room.

After almost being found out the last time, Sarah knew she needed a better place to eaves-drop than just standing behind the door. She discovered, during regular business hours, the parliamentary meeting door remained unlocked. All she had to do was slip in before the meeting and hide underneath a bench in the back row. She just hoped she wasn't too late.

She trotted through the bustling halls. Her feet couldn't move fast enough. The door unlocked, she cracked it open and peered inside. Empty. For now. Rome and Shadeem's voices came down the hall, along with the plodding of parliamentary feet.

Sarah rushed inside and leapt beneath a bench, hitting her head on the way down. She crawled underneath and curled up in a ball, holding her throbbing cranium as the members of parliament filtered inside.

Shadeem asked, "What's this?"

"What?" the sultan asked.

"The door was slightly ajar," replied Shadeem.

Closing the door behind them, the sultan said, "Probably _l'obrii d'el repiriiddii_ , left it open after cleaning."

The others ambled to the other side of the room and took their seats.

From underneath the bench, Sarah saw Tisk and Task's yellow, sandaled feet. They stood by the door, conversing in their alien language.

Were they on to her? Had someone actually seen her the previous time? She didn't think so, but now she wasn't sure.

"So, where were we?" the sultan asked his constituents.

Grayson replied, "We were discussing the rise in public unrest."

"Ah, yes," the sultan said, "the _taxe_ hike."

Franz said, "It's not just that, word is spreading among the people about this so-called, real empress."

The sultan groaned, "I thought we dealt with that months ago."

"Apparently she has returned," Micah replied.

Shadeem scoffed, "That is nothing more than rumor."

Franz said, "Perhaps, but that doesn't mean it isn't stirring public unrest and driving people to speak out against us on her behalf."

Tisk and Task crept around the room, as if looking for something.

Was it her? Sarah suddenly felt very foolish, indeed.

Franz continued, "Yesterday, a small riot broke out in the _bazaar_ when the _tribune'istes_ went collecting from the _bazaar'istes_. A man by the name of Dennison Martin spoke out on behalf of the one true empress, declaring that they should put a stop to all the _taxe_. That if no one paid, then parliament could not punish them all."

The sultan slammed his meaty fists, and yelled, "That is outrageous! And what became of this Dennison Martin?"

Shadeem replied, "He was promptly arrested, along with his wife and five children."

Grayson cried, "What? Why?"

Shadeem said, "To set an example. This real empress is not real at all. And the sooner the public get that through their thick heads and realize that we and we alone, are at rule, the better."

Tisk and Task ambled toward Sarah's side of the room. They stopped mere feet from where she hid and spoke in their alien language.

Were they talking about her?

"You've been very quiet today, Micah," the sultan said. "Nothing to add?"

Micah cleared his throat, and said, "People are beginning to question the where-abouts and supply of the storage facility."

The sultan groaned, "What happened? When and how did the storage facility become a matter of public interest? No one has ever questioned such things before."

Shadeem said, "We thought that started from your gilly's giant, Troll. But it seems the storage facility appeared on the fore-front of the public's mind nearly four moons ago."

The sultan pounded his fists, and roared, "Well, who started it?"

"Who do you think?" Grayson asked. "It is this very same real empress."

Tisk and Task crept closer to where Sarah hid. Her heart galloped wildly in her chest. She felt certain they heard the beating.

Parliament continued their yammering.

Task knelt, her long dark-hair coiled on the cobblestone floor.

Sarah trembled. No-doubt, she was about to be found out. The only real question was what would they do with her? Sarah's mind raced, searching for an excuse or alibi -- something. Nothing.

The chamber doors flew open with a bang, startling Sarah and apparently everyone else.

"It's happening again!" a voice cried.

Sarah didn't recognize it.

The man continued, "In the _bazaar_. People are fighting the _tribune'istes_!"

The sultan cried, "Oh, just great!"

Mumbling amongst themselves, the members of parliament (plus Shadeem), shuffled out of the room.

Shaking, heart pounding, Sarah waited under the bench. She lay there for several long minutes before something inside her told her to get the hell out of there while she still could. She carefully slipped out from under the bench, hitting her head once more. She crept to the doors hanging ajar and peered out into the hallway. All clear. Sarah slithered out, and closed the portal behind her. She sighed, wiping the sweat from her brow as she trotted down the hall.

She didn't know who this, real empress was, but surely, Troll would want to know about it. The question was; did he deserve to know?

Sarah suddenly felt an unspoken kinship with this mysterious matriarch, and wondered if it someone she had met.

Who knew? Who cared?

Sarah sauntered down the main-hall, toward the refectory.

All this spying had taken a toll on her, and now she was hungry again.

****

'Ro pushed the pork and beans on his plate around with a fork.

Star asked, "Not hungry?"

The Jessips all sat together having breakfast while the troops ran drills.

When the soldiers roused that morning, Commander Fedic Porter approached Star on behalf of the others and asked what they were supposed to do.

Twirling her compass chain, Star said, "Hell, I don't know, just do what you would normally do."

So they had.

Mia (the most untrained of them all), joined in drills. She was the only member of the Jessips to do so, and of course, none of the soldiers, snickered, sneered, or objected, at least not within ear-shot of Star.

'Ro found it truly amazing the way people flocked to Star for answers and guidance. It took a lot of pressure off him. But now that the role of leader had passed to Star, 'Ro found he missed the brief time when he called the shots.

He glanced at Zeke.

Zeke sat there drooling, eyes glazed, mind someplace else as he rubbed ol' Paulie's spectacles with his thumb. Zeke's egg-shaped head was blistered and sun scorched.

'Ro wondered if Star had any advice as to how to snap the big galoot out of his slowly accelerating depression. But right now, he knew Star had bigger, fatter fish to fry.

Star asked the group, "So how y'all know Commander Porter?"

Grinning, brow cocked, 'Ro asked, "Who?"

Star smiled and rolled her eyes.

The most beautiful smile 'Ro had ever seen and he couldn't help but wonder why a woman as fine as her didn't have a legion of suitors nipping at her heels.

Star said, "Futnick. How do you know him?"

Ally and Sandy recanted their adventures in the desert and how the Dog brought them water and then led them to the cargo train where they found the young soldier (interestingly enough, not a commander at that point in time). They told Star about how they found Fedic tied up and screaming while the other soldiers were in the sleeping quarters; twisted and desiccated.

Roy cracked his knuckles. Mustache dancing, he said, "That Futnick kid said the Dog did it, but we ain't seen a single harmful bone in his body."

Sandy asked Star, "What do you think?"

Star nodded at 'Ro, and said, "I think you may have been right to keep an eye on him."

"Please," Hickey snorted, spitting tobacco juice, "he's just a kid."

'Ro sneered, "He _was_."

"How do ya mean?" Star asked.

The others gazed at 'Ro with slack jaws and beady gapes. 'Ro said, "When we first met him on the train he was a kid. Now, he looks like he's thirty. Didn't anyone else notice that?"

Hickey scoffed, "Well, he still acts like a kid."

Twirling her compass chain, Star said, "Be that as it may, I've seen the smallest of children do some of the most fucked up stuff." After a moment's contemplation, she added, "I want to know more about this Fedic character that Shroud left second in command behind Valcor."

Sandy said, "I suppose the only ones we know and trust who would know Fedic are the twins."

"There's always Xaza, but try getting a word in edge-wise 'round him," Roy jested.

"There is another," Zeke said, rubbing Paulie's cracked spectacles, "someone older."

Gazes wide, jaws slack, the others just stared at him.

"Glad to have ya back there, buddy," Hickey said; his mouth full of chaw as he cleaned the grit from beneath his fingernails.

Star said to Roy, "After drills, I want to talk to the twins." She glanced at 'Ro, and added, "and I want you to be there."

'Ro asked, "Why me?"

He thought she was doing a fine job on her own.

"Because people are afraid of you," Star replied. "Face it, you're kind of scary."

The group laughed.

"Hey now," 'Ro said. But he had no retort. He wasn't mad or salty, just glad to see a side of Star that knew how to kid around. He could see why Troll had fallen haplessly in love with her. And if she weren't already spoken for (and he know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was), then he might try to woo her. But, honor amongst out-laws, and all that.

Sandy nodded toward the desert, and said, "We still need to talk about what happens if they come back."

"We'll kill 'em," Star replied without hesitation.

Sandy asked, "What about Furion?"

Star said, "I keep telling you that's not going to happen. If it was, it would have already. Furion knows where I am, more or less. He can feel me. And I him. If he does decide to show his ugly face, I'll know it."

"I certainly hope so," 'Ro said, "for all our sakes."

****

Babies cried. Native couples shouted at each other in their foreign tongue.

Troll still hadn't mastered their language.

Half-naked children scurried among the narrow, trash-littered streets.

The stench of fecal matter and body odor mixed with a slight ping of sickness (that oddly unique aroma emanating from the very ill), hung heavily in the thick, stagnant air.

Hard to breath.

After meeting the sisters, Troll still had many questions. But he liked to perambulate. So Mariinii took Troll and Montalvo through a stroll of the southern borough.

Mariinii stood straight when standing. But when she walked, she shuffled about with an awkward-bow-legged gait. Probably one of the eldest of the _hermanii_ , Mariinii's face looked cracked and leathery, like aging rawhide. Her dark-brown eyes shined with intelligence from the bottom of the deep, cavernous wells of her eyes. Her dry, chapped lips and few rotting teeth never formed anything then a friendly smile.

In a husky, almost masculine voice, Mariinii said, "When the first generation of _teran-oht_ came, some were pregnant. Many natives fell in love and procreated with the _teran-oht_. After less than a year, the issue was raised: are the children of _teran-oht_ born here in Al'ber Que, natives? What about the children of both?"

"Quite a conundrum, indeed," Troll said. One hand curled about his staff, the other covered his mouth and nose.

Montalvo strolled along, head high, arms crossed behind his back, as if he didn't smell the miasmic malodors burgeoning in the boroughs.

Mariinii continued, "Back then, there was no parliament. Only the empress. And she needed no advisors. She simply asked the people what they wanted. There were no votes, no discussions. She just did what was best for the people. But in come the _teran-oht_. Now, they're not bad, or nothing. But they come with a different mindset ingrained in them. For some, what's best for the people isn't exactly best for them."

Mouth covered, Troll said, "A true and sad enough story, indeed."

Mariinii's cracked and aged smile widened. She said, "You strike me as a smart enough _easta_ , you just need to learn when to stop talking, and listen."

"Aye, _Madirii_ ," Troll replied.

Mariinii continued, "So the empress decided there would be a vote. The first real vote in the history of Al'ber Que."

Troll said, "But obviously not the last."

Mariinii cocked a brow and shot him a side-ways glance.

"Sorry."

Mariinii continued, "Anyway, the vote was to allow _teran-oht_ to become natives, pending they spent a period of time proving they could be a useful, productive, and most of all, nonthreatening members of society. I remember people being all a-buzz about the first vote. If you walked the streets and asked people how they were going to vote, most said they were going to approve _teran-oht_ applying for citizenship. We Al'ber Querians worked alongside the _teran-oht_ to build and protect the empire into what it is today. There seemed no reason why the vote should not pass."

They neared a trash heap piled up in the narrows between buildings. A group of native and outlander children poked a dead cat with sticks.

A great swell of pity washed through Troll as he gazed at their dirty faces, ragged clothes, and emaciated bodies. Troll whistled shrilly, produced a small loaf of bread from within his cloak, and waved it out to the children.

Dropping their sticks, they stood at attention, and stared at Troll with wide eyes and jaws clamped tight.

" _C'esta bienii_ ," Mariinii called to the children, " _Ca-mangii_ , _ca-mangii_."

The children giggled and trotted over.

Troll broke the loaf into pieces, and each child received more than their fair share.

Mariinii clapped and laughed hoarsely.

Smiling, arms crossed, Montalvo stood away from the children crowding around Troll.

When no more bread to be shared, the children scampered off.

Resuming his walk, Troll said, "You were saying, the vote seemed like it would pass."

"Ah, _si_ ," Mariinii said. "A few days before the election, the empress was found dead in her sleep. The people mourned, but still the vote went on. But the decision to allow _teran-ohts_ citizenship did not pass. The people were angry, confused. But they did nothing. There was no second vote. The sultan came into power and created the parliament; hand picking three representatives of the _teran-oht_ and three of the natives."

"Aye," Troll replied, "but then there's Shadeem, not technically a member of parliament, but an equal voice none-the-less."

Mariinii said, "Shadeem is not the problem. The problem is parliament itself. They say they represent the people, but they don't. They decide whatever they want and then make it happen, the people are not consulted at all."

"Why has this been allowed to happen?"

Mariinii continued, "More and more _teran-oht_ come in every day; currently they out number us Al'ber Querians. But like I said, the _teran-oht_ come in with a different mind-set. They are used to being ordered around or following some sort of dictatorial government. They are complacent and don't care what parliament does as long as they are given a place to live, and a chance for employment so they can provide for their families."

Troll said, "A friend of mine was talking about something called the _tribune_ , how it was different from _taxe_."

" _Si_. _Tribune_ is paid by the natives and doled out to newly arriving _teran-oht_ until they can get back on their feet," Mariinii replied. "As you know, despite the increasing number of _teran-oht_ , Al'ber Que's population stays roughly the same."

"Aye, because of this so-called harvester."

Mariinii continued, " _Si_ , the population doesn't really grow. But parliament increases _taxe_ and _tribune_ as if they were supporting a population three times the size of Al'ber Que. For a time, things got worse and worse. We _hermanii_ heard stories of the king and already feared his influence here. We knew of the prophecy passed down from the empress, but we saw no hope until the _Madiriiette_ came, and then you."

Troll asked, "And Anne has been riling the people up to protest against its leaders?"

Displaying her rotting teeth, Mariinii smiled, and said, " _Si_."

Troll scratched at his beard, and said, "Impressive. Tell me, how did this start? How did she accomplish so much on her own?"

Mariinii replied, "The _teran-oht's_ way of thinking has spread amongst the natives like a plague. But there are many who still hold on to the old ways. And there are still _teran-oht_ who do not think like the others. The _Madiriiette_ , Anne, has done nothing but encourage these people to stand up for what they believe in."

"But what would compel her to do such grand things?"

Mariinii smiled wider, and said, "Well, she often proclaimed you and your friends to be the source of her inspiration. She said she came from a place corrupted be evil for many years. A place where the people did nothing. And then you and your friends came forth and stood up for what was right. That inspired her greatly."

They walked in silence.

Both Mariinii and Montalvo gazed at Troll in admiration.

But just then, Troll didn't feel like a prophet, an inspirer, or worthy of encomium. In fact he felt pretty low. Cheapened. Had Anne been instilled with a momentous amount of faith during Troll's ten-and-a-half-month lapse? Could it be that the reason God hadn't spoken to him was because the Almighty busy conversing with little Anne Warwick?

Troll remembered the first time he laid eyes upon the wee-lass. How she shined with an inner light.

Perhaps, there was nothing special about Troll at all.

Perhaps, the very same reason they wanted Anne, was because _she_ was the chosen one.

****

As Star could attest to, new-found freedom is a very frightening and confusing thing. Much like when she a child, lost and alone in the desert, the troops occupying Shroud's camp didn't know what to do with themselves. Most continued on; business as usual. Some lingered about. Others posted small watch groups just in case the _real_ king's men came back.

Around late afternoon, 'Ro and Roy returned to inform Star of what they learned about Fedic. The gang (plus Mia), gathered 'round and squatted in a tight conspirators circle. 'Ro combed his fingers through his greasy hair, and said to Star, "So, we went out on patrol, but we didn't find nothing. I mean literally nothing. All the other platoons are gone, vanished without a trace."

Star asked, "What about Shroud's search parties?"

'Ro replied, "Same, completely disappeared."

Her arm hooked in her husband's, Sandy asked, "What'd y'all learn about Fedic?"

'Ro said, "Not much, other than he's a fairly new addition to this platoon. No one seems to know much about him personally."

Mustache dancing, 'Ro added, "But we did learn that a few more soldiers slipped away during the dead of night."

Brow cocked, 'Ro asked Hickey, "Yeah, about that, weren't you posted for third-watch?"

Hickey spat tobacco juice, and said, "Well, yeah, but we was watching for people sneaking up on us, not those trying to creep away."

"That's weird," Mia chimed. She glanced at Star, and said, "You gave 'em all a chance to leave yesterday. No questions asked. Why would some wait to sneak away when no one was looking?"

Roy popped his knuckles and scratched the back of his jar-shaped head. "Maybe they thought about staying, but changed their minds."

Star stood and paced back and forth. Twirling the chain of her compass, she said, "This don't change much. We've come too far to go back now." She turned to Ally and said, "Round up the twins and a small group of people they trust and go on a scouting mission. Not too far, five mile perimeter should be fine. Take Fedic with you, see if you can try and get something out of him."

Frowning, Sandy's blue-gaze darted between Ally and Star. She asked, "Why? Didn't we already do that?"

Star said, "I had you talk to other soldiers about him, now I won't you to talk to him directly."

Ally asked, "About what? What is it that I'm supposed to get out of him?"

"Anything that happens to fall out of his mouth," Star replied.

Ally nodded.

'Ro asked Star, "Want me to go with 'em, boss?"

Boss?

She searched his princely, yet unkempt face; analyzing his tone for any sign of sarcasm or scrutiny. She didn't find it.

Star said, "No, I want you here keeping watch on the camp. There's women here for the first time and I don't want any trouble."

Brow arched, head bobbing, thin arms crossed, Sandy said, "Trouble we can handle."

Copying Sandy's gestures, Mia chimed, "Got that right."

Star smiled, and said, "Good. I want a total inventory of everything they got here. Food, supplies, weapons, horses, you name it."

"We're on it," Sandy replied.

Mustache dancing, Roy asked, "What about me?"

Star said, "Stay here and hold down the fort with 'Ro."

Roy gave her a thumbs-up.

Star glanced down at Zeke, sitting in the sand, rubbing ol' Paulie's spectacles. Star leaned toward 'Ro, and whispered, "Yesterday, Zeke said something about getting information about Fedic from someone older. Talk to him -- gently. See if you can get something more out of him."

Brow cocked, scratching at his stubbly chin, 'Ro asked, "Seriously?" He leaned closer and whispered back, "Look, Zeke was never all there in the first place. Paulie was a real friend of his. Zeke took it pretty hard. I don't think he even knows what he's talking about."

"Maybe not," Star murmured, "but I got a twinkling about it."

"What about you? What are you gonna do?"

Star replied, "I got old wounds to rip open."

She waited until her troops marched off on their missions.

This must be what it felt like to be Troll -- to an extent.

The king's men who remained paid her no mind, so Star sauntered off toward the invisible, gossamer tent on the outskirts of the camp. She found it without a problem, as if being drawn back.

Eyes closed, she felt along the hidden silk until she found the flap, peeled it back, and crawled inside.

Once again, the extravagant quarters were barren save for Furion's mirror.

Outside, the swirling sand and wind battered the tent. Dark inside, all silent and still.

There, within the glass, stood an image of Krin from above the bluffs. The sun descended over the ocean's horizon. No houses. No hamlet. Only forestry and marsh-land. From this magic window, it appeared that Krin no longer existed. The sun sank lower and the scenic tapestry faded from violet, to blue, to an opaque opal-black. The tent obfuscated ever more. The glass no longer reflected light, but drew it in.

Star stepped back from the mirror, blood running cold as she clutched her compass.

Two blood-red eyes like side-ways diamonds materialized within the glass. "I knew you'd come back." Tahl's voice. Dark and vengeful. Like rumbling boulders. "They always come back to me."

Star swallowed her fear, and tapped into her anger, into _him_. She drew a shooter, aimed at the mirror, and said, "Shut up, Im not here for you. Besides, it was the stranger who said that, not Tahl. I thought you knew me?"

Nothing.

"I'm done fucking 'round with ya," Star growled. "Where's Furion?"

Tahl's eyes disappeared. The tent brightened to a normal gloom. The mirror regained its usual glassy surface, reflecting everything but Star.

Star dropped low to the silken ground. Both shooters cocked, locked, and ready to shatter the glass like throwing a rock.

A younger Star materialized on the silver-backed surface. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Guns steadied, Star asked, "Who...what the hell are you?"

"I am you," the reflection replied. "Why, don't you like what you see?" The reflection giggled and twirled.

Star growled, "You got no idea what I've seen."

The reflection halted, eyes wide, mouth in an o-shape. "I could show you if you like." The mirror's image crossfaded into an overhead view of Star smashing Mikhail's face; as if there, outside her body watching it all over again.

The stone, porous and heavy in her gritty, sweaty hands. Spurting blood tickled the hollows between fingers. Warm. Sticky. Almost pulsating.

Star screamed, "No!"

A younger reflection of Star returned. Head tilted, lips pouted, the reflection said, "Oh, I thought you liked reminiscing on the past."

Pistols steady, Star grunted, "Not like that. Never like that."

"Oh, you," the younger Star flapped a hand, the other on a cocked hip, "You don't know what you want."

Star said, "That's not true. I want to go home."

"But you can't," the reflection replied. "It doesn't exist anymore. Haven't you been paying attention?"

Star roared, "Yes it does! I sense it! I feel it!" In a guttural growl, she added, "I _know_ it."

The reflection reared back, snorted, hands on cocked hips, and sneered, "Oh, like you knew Furion was here? Face it girl, we're a mess. All we do is hurt people and cause pain."

"Shut up."

"It hasn't happened for a long time, but one day we'll do it again."

Stamping her foot, Star iterated, "Shut up!"

"One day, when Troll and that mutt are least expecting it, he'll come back. And we'll rip them apart with our bare hands. And we'll love it."

"I said, shut up. Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!"

The reflection morphed into that of Reverend Lowell; sniveling, glaring up at her from his knees. Blood flowed from his broken beak, he said, "He's coming for thee, ye know. The Lord of Black. He allowed ye to escape. He allowed ye to frolic about while he bided his time. It amused him. But now he wants ye back."

Her first impulse was to shoot the glass. Blast it to smithereens. But, no. Shale taught her better than that. Troll expected better than that.

_Use your head_. _Fight with your head, girl_. _Use your fucking head_!

Star un-cocked the hammers and holstered her side-arms. She smiled at the mirror, and said, "Tell that son-of-a-bitch I'm here waiting for him. Tell Furion, bring it on."

****

"What have ye to report?" Troll asked Sarah as they perused the crowded and bustling _bazaar_.

After a tour with Mariinii, Montalvo returned to the apartment to rest. 'Though healthy and strong for a man his age, the Wachati warrior was still old.

When the sister revealed all she had to say, she didn't bother asking Troll what he would do or think, or even if he would join their cause. She simply said, "That's all that I know," and then shuffled away in that bow-legged gait.

But Troll needed more information. He just couldn't wrap his mind around what was happening. What _was_ happening? Was he the chosen one or had he merely sent his friends off on foolish crusades? But Anne's disappearance was the very same reason he chose this path. Was it all for not? Where the hell was Anne? What had she been doing? Troll didn't know. But he hoped someone might.

"Well?" Troll asked again, "What did ye learn from this morning's meeting?"

"Nothing new," Sarah replied. Usually, she minced around town, head down, and slender hands kneading the hem of her dress. Now, she strode up-right and straight, almost like a grazing deer. Gaze searching the crowd, collecting every rich detail of the empire as her arms swayed carelessly along her sides, as if a different person. Sarah lightly touched her finger tips to her breast and sighed. "Parliament seems to squabble over nothing more than how much they should raise _taxe_ and _tribune_. And of course, rumors circulate everyday about this so-called real empress who riles the people into protest."

"So-called?" Troll asked. "By ye'r tone, I presume ye think these rumors untrue?"

"I'm not saying that. It's just that, in all these months, people have stood up and spoken out on behalf of this so-called empress, and those people were punished...severely."

For a moment, Troll stood behind the mass of angry citizens of Silverdale as they cheered and laughed while the Dog hung from the gallows.

"Please, continue," Troll said, literally shaking the reverie away.

Sarah brushed back her wavy red-hair, and said, "But no one has ever seen or spoken to this empress, or if they have, they don't talk about it."

Troll stroked his beard, and said, "Perhaps, they fear what would happen if they came forward."

"But why would the people still speak out on behalf of something that has yet to be proven? These people die for this empress and for what? Why has she not put a stop to all this?"

Troll whirled toward her. He gently grasped her shoulders, and said, "Sarah, do not lose ye'r faith. Not now."

"I...I..." Sarah averted her gaze. Hands nervously kneaded the hem of her dress. She gazed up at him. Tears shimmered in her eyes and streamed down her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Troll hugged Sarah and she cried in his arms for several minutes.

She wiped the tears and snot away with her sleeve, and sniffled. Cheeks red and puffy, she laughed, and snorted, "Sorry."

"Think nothing of it."

They walked on in silence.

After a street or two, Troll asked, "What did Anne do in her spare time?"

"What?" Sarah asked. "Uh...I don't know. Played with her friends, I guess. She has many here, ye know. With work and searching for ye and Star, we didn't really have a lot of free time."

"Of course, but, when ye did, whom did Anne play with, do ye know?"

Sarah said, "Well, there's Reyna, Sirii's new _dischaag_ , I'm sure ye've met her. There's also Diego, the son of one of the _d'el gaurdii_ who found us and brought us here, later, he and the Dog found ye and Star."

Troll ran a hand down his scar and scratched his beard. "Ah, yes, I have met the father, fine fellow indeed. Who else?"

Sarah replied, "Do ye remember the outburst yesterday when a native cried out against the _tribune'iste_?"

"Aye," Troll said. "As I recall, they arrested that man."

"And his whole family," Sarah replied.

"Really?"

Sarah continued, "They came and took the family away."

"And when ye say, they, who do ye mean?"

Gaze averted, hands kneading hem, Sarah replied, "I don't know."

This was the Sarah he knew.

She continued, "The _d'el guardii_ , I guess."

"And the children of this family, they were Anne's friends?"

Sarah nodded, and swept away a lock of wavy red-hair.

"Is that all of Anne's companions?"

"Why, no," she replied, "Anne has many friends here." Sarah sighed, head slightly tilted, she gazed off into the crowd, and said, "She seemed to make a new one every day." Her smile faded. Lines formed on her freckled forehead, bottom lip protruded, she added, "Or at least, she did, before she was taken."

"Have any of Anne's friends been taken during ye'r stay here?"

"A few," Sarah replied. "But that was a few months ago."

"How many specifically?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Does four sound about right?"

Sarah pressed a finger to her lip and tipped her head. "I suppose."

"And tell me, how did Anne take it, these disappearances of her friends?"

"I remember her having this sad and serious look upon her face, like when ye and ye'r friends left Silverdale."

"And what about thee, my dear, have ye any friends of ye'r own?"

"Not really, I mean, I suppose ye'r all my friends, and I suppose Sirii is too."

"Do ye trust her?"

Sarah halted mid-stride, head down, hands pressed against hem. "Aye, I suppose so."

Her hesitation didn't instill Troll with a lot of confidence.

"Thank ye, my dear. That is all the questions I have for now. Would ye care to share a _fiesa_ with me before ye return to the citadel?"

Sarah whirled toward him, gaze narrowed, teeth slightly barred. "Is that all?" she snarled.

"My dear, why are ye still so angry with me?"

Sarah stepped combatively toward him, head craned upward, she said, "Why have ye not told me this information ye claim to have?"

He sighed, steadied himself upon his staff, and said, "Because I am a man who likes to play his cards close to his chest. And before I reveal those cards to anyone, I have to be certain I can trust them. But something is troubling me, holding my hand at bay, as it were."

"What?" Sarah asked.

Troll sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow, and said, "Thee."

****

"So, where'd you go off to this afternoon?" 'Ro asked Star as she trotted toward the group.

Early evening, the sky washed over in orange and violet as the stars and moon became clearer.

The camp's occupants huddled around the fires in their respective sectors. The remaining king's men just couldn't seem to let go of the old ways.

The Jessips commandeered the officer's quarters (a small area of tents), and kept a keen watch over it.

Star replied, "Went for a walk." She didn't tell them about her visit to Furion's mirror. For some reason, she just didn't want them to know about it, at least, not yet.

Star asked Ally, "Any sign of the other platoons or scout parties?"

Ally combed his fingers through his hair, sighed, and said, "Still nothing, like they just dropped sheer off the face of the Earth."

Twirling her compass chain, Star said, "Strange."

What could this mean?

She turned to Sandy and Mia, and asked, "What y'all find out?"

Sandy took out a folded, yellowed piece of parchment, and handed it to Star.

Star glanced at it and stuffed it in her pocket, she could examine it later.

Scanning the group, Star asked, "Where's Roy?"

'Ro replied, "He's off getting big Zeke's mystery man."

Big Zeke sat on the ground, rubbing ol' Paulie's spectacles as he stared into the campfire's flames.

Star asked, "Who is this mystery man?"

'Ro nodded behind Star, and said, "Why don't ya ask him yourself? Here they come now."

Roy and a man clad in armor ambled toward them.

The king's man appeared in his late forties. His grey-hair cut short like all the other soldiers. His long, grey and white beard kept wild and untamed. His mark branded into his receding brow. Hoop jewelry in both ears. Knuckles bones pierced through his nose.

Roy said, "Fella's, this here is John Archer, oldest king's man in the camp."

"That's Jon Archer third class, unit 17," John said, his voice unnaturally smooth for a man his age. "And with twenty-five years under the mark, I am the oldest soldier around -- that I know of."

Hand hovering over her holstered hip, Star asked, "That mean you're the most loyal?"

"Not at all," Archer replied. "They may have taken me at a young age. But I wasn't so young that I don't remember what they did to my family when they took me. And just because I'm good with a bow, doesn't mean I enjoy the things they make us do."

Star eased up, but only a little.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to sit next to the fire.

Star said, "Go ahead."

Archer asked Star, "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Should I?"

"I was in Coffin Nail, in the bleeding house the day it was destroyed. I begged you to help me. Then, that vampire handed Marcus Porter a lantern and a stick of dynamite. You probably didn't even know his name. You and the vampire flew out of there in a flash. But with all the strength I could muster, I was much younger then, keep in mind, I ran after you. I got out of there before it was destroyed. I managed to sneak away during the chaos that followed. But after only a few days, I was found by a scouting troop of the king who noticed the fires and explosions from miles off. But they didn't kill me. They asked about you."

Star asked, "And what did you tell them?"

Archer rubbed his armored knees, and replied, "Only that I had seen you, but I didn't know what happened to you."

"And when they asked about me, you knew who they were talking about? You remembered me?"

Mouth slightly ajar, a reminiscent gleam spangled his faded green-gape, Archer replied, "Of course. I watched every match of yours until I became too weak to leave the bleeding-house. I was a big fan."

Gaze narrowed, 'Ro asked, "And then you re-joined the army?"

Archer replied, "Had no choice, either that or torture and execution."

Bottom lip protruding from her slender, tawny face, Sandy asked, "And you never tried to escape again?"

Archer replied, "There seemed no point to it."

Star ran a hand through her hair and twirled her compass chain. Thoughts of Tahl, Shale, and Mikhail danced through her head.

_You'll come back to me_!

_Scrippity-rickity-crack_!

_They always come back to me_!

Sandy asked Archer, "So, how long have you known Fedic?"

"Not long, a few months," he replied. "But that's as long as anyone's known him. He came here seemingly overnight."

Star asked, "What do you know about him?"

"Only that he's the youngest king's man to arrive to the rank of commander. Also, his name is unusual."

Brow furrowed, Ally asked, "What do you mean?"

Rubbing his knees, Archer continued, "When a man takes the mark, their last name becomes their occupation in the army."

Hickey spat, and sneered, "Tell us something we don't know."

Archer continued, "But take Commander Valcor for example, what position is a valcor? There isn't. If you're selected to enter into the officer's training program, you are allowed to choose a _darknom_ , or, dark name, one that you'll be known as for the rest of your days."

Mustache dancing, Roy added, "But Commander Fedic's _darknom_ is Fedic, his real first name." The campfire light glinted in his dark, beady gaze.

"Right," Archer replied. "See, Fedic chose his own name to be his _darknom_."

"So?" Hickey snorted.

Archer continued, "So, the taking of a _darknom_ is a symbol of choosing to forget everything you once were, and committing yourself totally to the king."

Roy added, "Keeping any part of your original name isn't just unheard of, it's not allowed."

The group (Archer included), sat quiet and contemplative for several moments.

Star didn't know what any of this had to do with anything, or if this even information she could use. What did it mean? Something vital? Or could it simply be some weird coincidence? Perhaps, the name Fedic held some sinister significance that would qualify it as _darknom_. But if a soldier couldn't use any part of their original name, then how come Fedic could keep his? What made him so special?

"Where is he now?" Star asked. "Fedic, I mean."

Ally replied, "Bunking down with the unit below his, now that you took over the officer's quarters." His arm draped over Sandy's bony shoulders.

Star said, "You mean when we took it."

Shaking his head, Ally replied, "No, I mean you."

From beneath the brim of his hat, 'Ro glanced at Star. Brow cocked. An odd, unreadable look painted his face.

Sandy smiled, and said, "Don't worry. We got the twins keeping an eye on good ol' Futnick."

'Ro dipped his head and kneaded his hand together until his fingers juxtaposed dead-white and beet-red pigments.

Perhaps Fedic wasn't the one she should be worried about.

Star leaned toward Archer, and said, "Look, I'm gonna lay this out straight. Me and my friends mean to go against the king, his Hellions, and everyone loyal to 'em. We got a fortified city, the start of an army, and a hell of a good plan. But we need more fighters, and as you probably already know, that's why I'm out here.

"Now, I'm telling you all of this because I like you. I don't know why, but I do. I got a good feeling about you. A friend of mine would call it a twinklin'. And I've learned to trust 'em.

"Now, what I need from you and the twins--"

Mia blurted, "Don't forget Xaza." Head back in pride, Mia brushed away her short black-bangs.

Hickey sneered, "Does he even know what's going on?"

'Ro replied, "Does Zeke?"

Zeke sat on the ground; humming, and rubbing ol' Paulie's spectacles; seemingly oblivious to the conversation at hand.

"Hey, Zeke," 'Ro said.

Nothing.

"Hey! Big Zeke!" 'Ro called again. "Ya there, Zeke?"

Zeke blinked, shook his head, and glanced around. Fire light danced off his egg-shaped cranium. "Hmm? Huh?"

'Ro waved his hands in in front of Zeke's face, and said, "Tell me again, who told you about ol' man Archer, here?"

"Paulie," Zeke replied. Then resumed his humming and rubbing of the spectacles.

Arms out, 'Ro said, "See."

"Never mind that," Star replied. She turned to Archer, and said, "I need a day and a few people I can trust to help me find any soldiers that would be willing to fight for us. Can we count you in?"

Archer knelt and covered his heart with a fist. Head bent, he said, "Ms. Star, I have been a faithful believer in you and your friends' cause ever since the first time you freed me."

****

Journal entry,

My mind seems as clouded as it did under the veil of hex that enshrouded Silverdale.

Anne, the hermanii, the alliance. Oh Lord, what am I to make of all this?

I must say, dear journal, right about now, I'm feeling rather foolish. Perhaps, I need not have sent my one true love off into the wilderness on a fool's errand. Perhaps, I need not have sent my most trusted companion into the depths of Hell, or Sarah into the bed of swine. Perchance, had I waited only a little while longer, then an entire army would have fallen into my very hands. But once again, dear journal, I waste far too precious a page on my own doubts and short comings.

Still, I pray to God for strength and guidance and still the Good Lord provides me with nothing but silence. I'm beginning to wonder if the voice I heard that led me to Montalvo was ever really the voice of the one-true God, at all. But I digress, dear journal, for it matters not. Things have already been set in motion, and now there is no stopping that which is to come. I only pray I have the strength to see things through.

What really bedevils me is Sarah. No, I don't mean her constant mood swings and resentment toward me. 'Though equally disconcerting, such resentments are to be expected under the circumstances. What troubles me is, if what they say is true about Anne forming the alliance, then why doesn't Sarah know about it? How could she not?

On a lighter note; Montalvo seems most happy as of late. In fact, I dare say, this is the happiest I have ever seen his soul. And yet, how my thoughts constantly return to my dear, Star. Oh Myriam, where art thou? How I detest myself for this. My thoughts are plagued by my love, and yet I should also be thinking about the Dog, Sarah, and Anne. I should be focused on the task at hand. And yet, I cannot seem to rid me brains of reveries of my beautiful Star. Oh Lord, what am I to do?

****

Anne sat alone in the darkness picking at the locks on her shackles with a small piece of tin she found.

The other members of her team all fast asleep. Either that or they simply pretended.

Several hours passed since the guards retreated to the surface caves of the mines, marking what Anne could only presume as the fall of night.

Still no singing.

Anne's stomach gurgled.

Earlier, Anne found a good sized beetle. She held it up to her face, turning it this way and that as its legs twitched franticly in the air.

"Ya gonna eat that?" whispered an elderly woman chained next to her.

"Not sure," Anne whispered back.

Drooling, the woman replied, "Well, ya should. That's good eatin' there."

Anne brought the bug up to her nose, sniffed, and glanced at the woman staring at her.

At least it wasn't Quinn.

Anne had eaten bugs before. Down here, she didn't really have much choice in the matter. How long was she a resident of the mines? She didn't know. But it wasn't long enough for her to get used to the food.

"Go on," the woman said, gesturing, "Eat it. You need your strength."

Anne held her nose and tossed the bug in her mouth, it squirmed in panic as she crunched it to death with her teeth. Then she swallowed it.

The old woman whispered, "That's a good girl." Then she resumed her own scavenging.

To Anne's surprise, the beetle seemed to wet her appetite. Anne dug through the dirt for more bugs. Unfortunately, she didn't find any more that night. But she did unearth a small, warped piece of metal.

Now, Anne continually wedged the tip of the sliver into the lock; working it this way and that. She constantly glanced over her shoulder at the faintest of sounds. Not that she could see anything.

The piece of metal bent and snapped, lodging the tip into the lock. If only she something sturdy to use.

Frustrated, Anne tossed the piece of tin away, buried her head in her hands and knees, and cried.

Her whimpering echoed off the tunnel walls.

Would _he_ hear?

Did she even care anymore?

Anne sniffled and wiped the tears from her grimy face.

There, lying in the dirt, and glittering in the dark, was a small dagger. The very same knife Sandy gave her when they parted ways from the Jessips.

How did that get down here? Had it been on her when she was first taken? Did she have it this whole time? She didn't think so.

She picked up the dagger by the blade and rotated the handle.

It certainly looked like hers. But how? It just didn't make sense.

Anne shrugged, and continued picking away at the lock, trying to dislodge the sliver of tin. She counted twenty-six attempts before a shuffling emanated from behind. Blade out, She pivoted.

There, standing before her, loomed a shadow so black it was clearly visible in the gloom.

Anne quavered, "Who are you?"

"It knows a name," the figure croaked in a gravelly voice that did not echo.

Stabbing at the dark, Anne shrieked, "Get back!"

The figure scuttled toward her, and purred, "Oh, it's so sweet."

Anne backed away.

"Can we keeps it? No, not yet. Can we eats it? No, it needs to ripen."

"Leave me alone!" Wildly thrusting the dagger, Anne leapt at the shadow. Anne screamed. Her skirls reverberated off the cavernous walls. Anne stabbed until a hot, sticky liquid sprayed and oozed down her hands.

The creature slumped listlessly to the ground.

Breathing heavily, heart racing, Anne stood there. She shut her eyes.
Silence.

A thunderous laughter startled Anne. She opened her eyes. Day. She stood in a larger multi-leveled chamber light with stringed work-lights.

Soldiers and slaves pointed and guffawed.

Anne glanced down at the creature at her feet, the woman who told her to eat the beetle. Her teammate.

The dagger fell from Anne's blood-soaked hand and clattered off the rocky ground.

The slaves and soldiers howled louder.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

They did, and stared at her with black, lifeless eyes.

From somewhere down a tunnel, a child's voice echoed in song, " _Sweetie-man_ , _Sweetie-man_..."

One by one the soldiers and slaves sang along, swaying in mindless cadence, " _Come and catch me if you can_..."

Anne blubbered, "No. No. No!" She pressed her palms over her ears as they caroled over and over again.

"... _Hide and seek_ ,

_Trick for treats_ ,

_Give you something good to eat_...

... _Sweetie-man_ , _Sweetie-man_..."

From the deepest recesses of the mines, an ear-splitting shriek that echoed not, coursed through the chambers.

In unison, they soldiers and slaves turned toward Anne, and in an eerie monotone, sang, "... _Nice and sweet_."

And then Anne screamed.

****

The draperies blew ominously in the morning's chilly breeze from the archway that led to the sultan's stone patio. Outside, the sun rose, forcing the sky to change from indigo to a soft yellowish-orange.

Sarah sat on the edge of the curtained-bed she shared with Rome.

She tried to think back on just how she got there. Not just on the edge of Rome's plush mattress, but all of it. A lifetime ago, she had been a young girl blossoming on the cusp of women-hood back in Silverdale. Now, she was here in this lavish palace next to a man she didn't love but forced to give herself to time-and-time again. And for what? She thought she was doing this for Anne. But now, it seemed Troll cared more about infiltrating Al'ber Que's hierarchy than finding her. And now, apparently he didn't even trust _her_. Perhaps, Troll should be sitting in Sarah's position. She smiled. And what about Anne? Was she still alive? Was that even possible? Troll and Star returned after a longer period of time, and facing worse odds. But they were the chosen ones. The triumvirate. All others were destined to fall by the waste-side. At that moment, she realized she loathed Troll more than she did herself.

Rome stirred next to her, stretched, yawned, and rubbed the sleep from his wrinkly eyes with ham-like fists. Voice groggy, he said, "Morning, _Madi_...I'm mean, my dear, Chestnut."

"Good morning," she replied. Her gaze glued to the fluttering draperies.

Rome rattled the phlegm from his old lungs, and sat up.

It reminded Sarah of Mayor Godfrey.

Rome hurriedly dressed and ordered room service. He dipped into his _pulprit_ for a quick _tiempestii d'el ruega_. By the time he returned, room service had arrived.

Sarah brought the covered silver-platter along with the bottle of wine Rome ordered over to the table. Sarah playfully asked, "Wine? For _fiesa mananii_?"

"It's a fine year," Rome replied, "An acceptable addition to a morning's palette."

"Aye," Sarah conceded. She fixed Rome a plate and poured him a glass before serving herself.

Rome stuffed a napkin into his collar, and said, "Speaking of fine things. Have you seen my rug?"

Mouthful, Sarah asked, "What rug would that be?"

"The rug that sat under this very table for many years. My mother's rug. Have you seen it?"

Sarah slurped, "That old, faded rug? I believe the _obrii d'el repiriiddii_ took it away to have it cleaned."

"They would not do that!" Rome roared. He slammed his hammy fists upon the table, shaking the cutlery. He sighed, breathing heavily. His face resembled a deep, sanguine hue.

Sarah's heart galloped faster than Dasher during their exodus from Silverdale.

He glared at her, and said, " _L'obrii d'el repiriiddii_ have specific orders not to touch that rug, not even for cleaning."

"Perhaps they forgot, after all, t'is only a rug--"

"Do not talk with your mouthful," Rome growled through clenched teeth. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and said, "It seems the only one forgetting propriety is you, _Madirii_."

_Something is troubling me_ , _and it is thee_.

Anger flared within her, making her skin hot and flush, and the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

Sarah thrust her silverware upon the table, stood, and smashed her plateful of food on the cobblestone floor.

Rome stood and placed his hands upon the table. Cheeks bright-red, Sweat beaded his puffy face. He glowered at Sarah, and said, "You stupid insolent whore!"

Sarah slapped him as hard as she dared, and fled out of his chambers, slamming the door behind her. She raced down the cylindrical staircase. She halted after only a few flights as her stomach bunched up in tight, little knots.

What was she doing? Anne, Star, the Dog, they were all gone. Troll abandoned her because he could not trust her. Because she no longer even knew if she could trust herself. Something within her had changed. _She_ had changed. And now there no turning back. Poisoned by pleasures of the flesh, she had failed.

She clung to the cold, ashlar wall and vomited. When she regurgitated breakfast, she dry-heaved. Her stomach painfully balled up. Trembling in a cold sweat, tears and snot ran freely down her face.

When she settled, she expected to find Maddy. But once again, that didn't happen.

She suddenly felt much better. She had no reason to, nothing changed. But she did. In fact, she felt a lot better.

And then she was hungry again.

****

Troll said to Ayanii, "Before we go any further, I want to meet this alliance."

Troll and Montalvo awoke just before dawn, shared a small _fiesa_ , and then shuffled toward the southeastern borough where they met the plump and buxom sister, Mariinii, who escorted them back to the liar of the _hermanii_.

"Impossible," Ayanii replied. Her beak-like nose wrinkled, as did her v-shaped chin. "There are far too many to meet without arousing suspicion. Besides, I'm sure you met some of them already, but didn't know it."

Troll asked, "Who?"

Ayanii replied, "They prefer to remain anonymous until you formally agree to join our cause."

"I see." Scratching his beard, Troll turned toward Montalvo.

Montalvo nodded. A bright gleam spangled his dark-brown eyes.

Troll said to Ayanii, "I don't understand. If Anne has been doing this the entire time, then why did those closest to her not know about it? Sarah, Sirii, the Dog?"

"Your Dog did know," Ayanii replied. "And as for her friends, most were kept out of the loop purely for their own safety."

"What is it that Anne feared?"

Ayanii said, "Many who have spoken out against parliament are arrested."

"Some are killed," Natiis added. Her heart-shaped birthmark bobbed as she spoke.

"Others just disappear," Mariinii chimed; cheeks rosy, as if always blushing.

Troll asked, "Is it only alliance members who are taken by this harvester?"

Ayanii replied, "No, many others, natives and _teran-oht_ alike, have gone missing."

"Certainly, but surely ye must agree, having random people going missing would throw alliance members off from the fact they were being targeted."

Narrow brow cocked, sapling-like arms crossed, Natiis asked, "What makes you say that, _easta_?"

Troll replied, "Because, that's the way I would do it."

Ayanii asked, "So, will you help join our revolution, overthrow the sultan, and take back the empire before its invaded?"

Troll paced back and forth, scratching at his beard. He knew he would join them. How could he not? This was why he was here for. But things seemed so up in the air.

Troll asked, "Tell me, if the sultan were to be overthrown, who would take his place?"

Ayanii assessed him with a beady gaze, and said, "We _hermanii_ have discussed that greatly along with many alliance members. If she agrees, we would like the _Madiriiette_ , the real empress, who unified the people, to take over."

"She is rather young, don't ye think?"

Exposing rotting teeth, Ayanii smiled, and said, "In body, but her innocence, purity, and compassion for all, is what brought us all together in the first place."

"I would agree," Montalvo chimed. "Even a child can lead."

"And what if she is found dead, or not at all?" Troll asked. "Who would lead then?"

"Perhaps one of us hermanii," Natiis replied.

Ayanii frowned at her.

"Ah, yes," Troll said. "As long as ye return to a matriarchal society, correct?"

Ayanii nodded, and replied, " _Si_ , essentially."

Troll said, "I only have a few more question before I make my decision."

Ayanii gestured invitingly.

Troll continued, "If thee sought me out, then I presume it is to lead this alliance, this army that Anne has begun collecting. I would further presume that if this the case, then any request I would make would be viewed as a military order and meant to be followed without question."

Ayanii said, " _Si_ , of course."

" _Si_ ," the others sisters replied.

Troll continued, "We may have the start of an army, but what of weapons, armor?"

"There is an armory within the citadel," Ayanii replied.

Troll said, "I would need to tour it, if possible. Secretively, of course."

Ayanii raised a veiny, bony hand, and opened her mouth, as if to speak.

Troll said, "I understand, that before the corruption of Al'ber Que, there were those proficient in sciences and mixology."

" _Si_."

Troll fetched a small pouch from his cloak, and asked, "Be there any left?"

"A few," Ayanii replied. Wrinkled brow furrowed, she asked, "Why?"

Troll handed her the pouch of peppery scented granules, and said, "I need to know if this can be replicated."

She asked, "What is it?" Ayanii loosened the draw-string and peered inside.

"I call it, flash-powder. When combined with liquid, it creates a heated smoke that can start campfire with even the wettest kindling. However, if thrown into a flame, it creates a fiery explosion. The more powder used, the bigger the blast. I need it produced on a grand scale."

Ayanii asked, "How grand?" She secured the draw-string and set the pouch on the table.

"A few dozen kegs full, at least," Troll replied.

Birthmark bouncing, Natiis asked, "For what purpose, _easta_?"

Troll's thoughts drifted back to Silverdale. And in his mind he was actually there, sitting cross-legged on the ground, showing the children of Silverdale his magical flash-powder. One of the local children declared it witchcraft. And the detestable Silas Withers had taken advantage of that and used it to decimate the town's orphanage and (still under construction), church. No reason why Troll couldn't do the same now.

Troll smiled, and said, "Trust me. For, while ye may have been building an alliance and an army, if have been preparing plans of my own." He turned to Ayanii, and asked, "So, can it be done?"

"Such a request would take quite a bit of time," she replied.

"But it can be done, correct?"

Ayanii said, " _Easta_ , anything can be done."

Natiis asked, "So will you join us, then?"

The _hermanii_ smiled at him. Their hands penitently folded.

Troll said, " _Madiriis_ , I already have."

****

'Ro's ears still rang as the dust settled.

He always knew a fight would come. He just didn't expect it so soon.

The morning started out much like the previous. Ally, Hickey, the twins, and a handful of others rode out; scouting for signs of the army.

Fedic stayed behind this time.

Star wanted to keep an eye on him.

'Ro could not agree more.

Sandy and Mia saw the boys off and then continued their inventory, this time tallying the medical supplies, MREs, and water.

Not long after that, 'Ro spotted Zeke stumbling around.

Odd. Except for chow-time, going to the bathroom, and sleep, Zeke never wandered around. He just sat there, staring off into nothing. Drooling, and rubbing ol' Paulie's spectacles with a thick, greasy thumb.

Even more, Zeke's staggering gait seemed to have a purpose, a destination, like dream-walking.

'Ro waved his arms in the air, and called, "Hey, big Zeke!"

Nothing.

'Ro trotted over and clasped Zeke on the shoulder. "Hey, Zeke, where ya taking off to?"

Zeke shook his head, blinked, and gazed at 'Ro. His eyes half-open and glazed, as if drunk, or still semi-somnambulate. Voice drowsy, he asked, "Hmm, what?"

"I asked where you were going?"

"Where am I going?" he vapidly repeated.

"Yeah, man. What are you doing?"

Zeke said, "Paulie was calling me." He pointed off into the sands, and away from camp.

"What do ya mean, Paulie was--"

"Hey, 'Ro!" Sandy said, trotting toward him.

Star, Mia, Roy, Fedic, and Archer followed after her.

"What's up?" 'Ro asked.

Sandy said, "We was seeing off Ally and the boys when we noticed some of the horses gone. We checked around and found out we're missing guns and ammo too."

'Ro asked, "How much?"

Mia said, "Enough to know there's less than yesterday without having to count 'em all again."

'Ro asked, "Well, who do ya suppose--"

A small, green, egg-like object fell between their feet.

Star pushed the others away, and yelled, "Grenade! Run!"

"No time!" Archer roared, throwing himself on the explosive.

Sandy screamed, "No! Archer do--"

_Boom_.

Archer's torso took the brunt of the blast.

The group was tossed several feet.

Sand and a fine, pink mist filled the ear-shattering air.

A few more grenades fell from the sky.

_Boom_. _Boom_. _Boom_.

The Jessips and soldiers scattered for cover.

The dust settled.

Silence.

"What the fuck was that?" Roy asked, loading a scatter-gun.

The neighing of horses. The plodding of hooves. Voices whooped and hollered. True king's men on horseback rode in with guns ready and swords drawn.

'Ro and his group steadied their arms; preparing to fire all at once.

Other soldiers readied to fight alongside them.

_Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop_.

Bullets riddled the ground. Sand flew. A few soldiers went down.

Star roared, "Snipers! Everybody down!"

From the ground, the Jessips took out the first wave of riders while'st scurrying for cover. Star, 'Ro, Roy, and Fedic hid behind a water trough and reloaded. Where were Sandy and Mia? He couldn't see. Too much smoke and sand.

"Thought you said you'd worn us if Furion came back," Roy roared over the shouts and reports. A grenade and another group of soldiers were blown to bits.

"It ain't Furion," Star said.

'Ro asked, "Then who?"

Quavering, Fedic nodded at one of the king's men they'd taken out, and said, "I know that guy. I mean, actually know him. He was in the camp yesterday. I thought he was my friend."

"Well, now they're trying to kill ya," 'Ro said. "How's that for a slice of pie?"

More shouts. More neighs. The rush of stamping hooves.

Star said, "We got incoming."

A small band of riders touting shooters emerged from the haze.

Roy pressed a scatter-gun in Fedic's arms, and roared, "We gotta move!"

The Jessips skittered away.

Fedic stayed.

'Ro turned back. "Come on!"

"I can't," Fedic trembled.

The riders closed in, aiming at 'Ro and Fedic.

"Then shoot 'em!"

Fedic cried, "I...I...I can't!"

_Pop-pop-pop_.

The sand around 'Ro's feet sprang to life. Fortunately, these particular king's men weren't prolific shoots on horseback.

'Ro aimed.

_Blam-blam_.

Two riders fell. Another took aim and fired.

'Ro dived out of the way.

A grenade rolled between the legs of the lead horse.

_Boom_.

More riders advanced.

Roaring, Star, the others, and a few soldiers rushed out of the smoke and plowed down the incoming troops with a wall of gunfire.

Smoke. Sand. Silence.

Sandy called, "Star, 'Ro, where are you guys?"

"Over here," 'Ro yelled back.

The air cleared.

Sandy and Mia ran toward them.

The ground peppered with gunfire. Sandy dove to the sand. Mia raised her scatter-gun and fired. The sniper fired back. A fine, pink mist and chunks of bloody flesh flew from the side of Mia's face. She went down. Sandy screamed. 'Ro stood and fired at the sniper, but he couldn't see him.

Speed-crawling toward Sandy and Mia, 'Ro cried, "Cover me!"

"What the fuck ya think we're trying to do?" Roy yelled, also firing at the hidden gunman.

From the other side of the camp, king's men rushed out; carrying guns and swords, boxing the gang in between them and the snipers.

Star roared, "Fire on the front line!"

A soldier asked, "What about the snipers?"

_Boom_.

A small explosion off in the distance and two king's men clad in heavy armor (hopefully the snipers), flew through the air.

'Ro's group fired on the front line. Many king's men went down. They turned, meaning to retreat. Ally and the boys rode up behind the fleeing king's men, boxing them in.

'Ro's group advanced, as did Ally's.

When the smoke cleared and no king's men remained alive, the Jessips found themselves standing side by side with the turn-coat soldiers.

"Ally! 'Ro! Star! Somebody! Help! Mia's been hit!" Sandy cried, still holding the bleeding, motionless girl.

The Jessip's raced over, as did a few soldiers.

"Make way! Make way!" said a tall, stringy soldier with short-brown hair. "Give the girl some space and let me have a look-see."

Glaring at the soldier, Hickey asked, "Who the fuck are you?"

"Griffin Doctor," the soldier replied.

They gave the doctor some space.

Doctor pressed his forefingers to Mia's jugular.

Sandy quavered, "Well, is she...?"

"She's still alive," Doctor said.

Sandy buried her face into the crook of Ally's arm and cried.

Doctor turned to the twins, and said, "Quickly, get a cot, or something we can use to get her back to the medic tent."

The twins nodded and hurried off, along with a few other soldiers.

'Ro presumed that after this, they were technically Star's soldiers.

Hickey asked, "Everybody else okay?"

Sandy in his arms, Ally replied, "We should probably get a couple of guys to go around and make sure."

Nodding, Xaza said, "D'ah."

Her back to them, Star asked, "Where's Zeke?" Foot tapping, she gazed around the campsite; one hand over her eyes to block the sunlight, the other rested on a cocked hip.

The Jessips glanced around.

"He's probably just sittin' around somewhere," Hickey snorted, "Probably missed the whole fight."

'Ro said, "No, wait, I saw him just before all Hell broke loose. And he wasn't sitting around. He was ambling about, like he was asleep, or drunk, or something."

Mustache dancing, Roy said, "That's weird."

"Gets even weirder," 'Ro replied. "He was walking away from the camp. Said Paulie was calling him. Ain't that something?"

Star's eyes grew so wide they nearly bulged out of the socket. Her mouth dropped open. Her chocolate brown skin seemed to pallor, as if she knew something the others didn't. She uttered, "Oh, shit!"

****

Troll and Montalvo meandered around the crowded _bazaar_ until he felt certain Sirii would be at her shop. Of course, he couldn't physically see her. He made certain to steer clear of her and the _tiendii_. But a twinklin' told him it now or never.

The two made their way through the festering southwestern borough; stopping only briefly so Troll could pass out a few loaves of bread to the impoverished children. Then, the two slipped behind the narrow alleys, through the hole in the great wall, and to _El Na'tirii Tawa_.

Evidently Khariiff expected them. For, instead of sitting deep in meditation, Indian-style on his rug, he stood in the center of the dome-like cavernous room, his hands folded, eyes open

"I humbly beg ye'r pardon, good sir," Troll said. "I hope we are not troubling thee, but we've come to speak with thee in confidence.

Khariiff spoke.

Montalvo translated, "He says he's been expecting us."

"To that, I have no doubt."

Khariiff gestured for them to come and join him on his rug.

They did; sitting cross-legged before the high-watcher.

Troll said, "I hope ye can understand why we sought ye'r council without Sirii."

Montalvo translated, "He says, of course, and he will answer any questions as best he can."

Troll clapped, and said, "Excellent. Why did you send Sirii to us?"

Montalvo translated, "Because the voices told him so."

"Ye have no connection to the _hermanii d'el_ Al'ber Que, or the alliance?"

"No? But he trusts they have presented themselves to you."

"Indeed," Troll replied. "But, ye know of these groups, correct?"

"He does," Montalvo confirmed. "And he says he is ready to aid you in any way."

Khariiff nodded in affirmation.

"What about Sirii?" Troll asked.

Montalvo translated, "She has heard rumors of both the alliance and the sisters. But as far as he knows, his daughter has no knowledge of any connection between the two, or Anne and your friends. She merely brought you here because Khariiff asked her to."

"Because the voices told him to?"

" _Si_ ," Khariiff replied.

Troll ran a hand down his scar, and scratched his beard. He leaned toward Khariiff, and asked, "What have ye learned from the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_?"

Utilizing wild hand gestures, Khariiff spoke rapidly.

Montalvo translated, "He says many of the texts are readable yet scrambled, like riddles. And while they make many detailed mentions of you, your friends, and this Wraith, no king is ever mentioned -- anywhere. It is most strange."

"Aye," Troll said, "Peculiar, indeed. And, what of this great battle to come? What of the fate of Al'ber Que?"

"He says the texts are rambling jargon. All he knows for sure is that there shall be a great battle, great loss, and a great divide between the triumvirate. And this Wraith and his minions shall grow strong, weeding out the weak."

Troll's heart sank as his thoughts turned to Star and the ill-fated mission he sent her on. Oh, how foolish he was.

Troll asked, "Do the texts say when the battle shall begin?"

Montalvo translated, "No. The texts are written in scattered fragments with no clear sense of time line." Montalvo turned to Troll, and said, "But probably sooner than we will be prepared for."

"I would agree," Troll said. He asked Khariiff, "Have ye learned anything else? Anything at all no matter how strange or random it may seem?"

"Yes," Montalvo translated. "This Wraith, this demon, it wants one of you. One of the triumvirate."

"Why?"

Khariiff spoke, his face paled, gaze averted.

Montalvo translated, "The texts do not say. But this Wraith's plan is already in place."

****

When 'Ro said that Paulie called Zeke, Star knew just where the big galoot was heading. Star raced across the camp to Furion's invisible tent. She knew its location by heart now.

She tore open the hidden flap. A small sliver of the tent's flooring could be seen among the ubiquitous desert background, as if she just pried open a doorway to another realm.

Just as she expected, there, standing before the mirror like a zombie, was Zeke.

The mirror's once shiny surface now appeared an unreflective opal-black.

"Zeke," she called.

Nothing. Not even a small muscular twitch at the sound of his name.

Creeping toward him, Star said, "Zeke you shouldn't be in here."

In a voice not his own, Zeke sang, " _Twinkle_ , _twinkle little star_ , _how I wonder what you are_."

One hand on a pistol grip, Star inched closer. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. What sort of trickery was this? "Zeke?"

Nothing.

"Zeke, get away from that...thing." She pulled her shooter. She gently rested her other hand on Zeke's burly shoulder. "Zeke?"

Zeke pivoted. His skin veiny and purplish. His eyes were deep, black hollows. Greenish-guck dripped from his mangled and rotting teeth. He smacked her away with incipiently super-strength.

Star sailed backward, and crashed into the gossamer flooring. Shooter knocked away. She scrambled to her feet, and drew the other.

Zeke leapt upon her from across the room, driving her back.

Star grabbed his clawed hands by the wrist as he pressed all his weight into her.

The Zeke/thing snapped its festering jaws at her. Green slime trickled and sprayed on her face.

"They always come back to me!" the Zeke/thing skirled. "They always come back to me!"

Star tried to push him away.

But the Zeke/thing seemed impossibly strong. He wrapped his claws around her throat and squeezed.

Star chocked and kicked. She attempted to pry his hands away. No use.

'Ro, Ally, and Fedic burst into the tent. They instantly froze. Gapes bulging, their jaws hung slack.

Struggling, Star gasped, "Help!"

The others rushed over and grabbed Zeke.

He pivoted, and swatted them away like flies.

'Ro rolled to his feet, charged into Zeke's mid-section, and knocked him off Star.

Star writhed on the ground, clutching her throat, and gasping for air.

Zeke grasped 'Ro by the collar and flung him like a rag doll.

Ally and Fedic scrambled to their feet. Ally drew and aimed.

Fedic just stood there. His gaze wide, mouth ajar in disbelief.

Zeke turned, but it wasn't Zeke, it was Grey. Arms out, he said, "What'cha gonna do boy, shoot me? Put me out of my misery? Your faggoty-ass couldn't do it before. What makes you think you can pull the trigger now?"

Shooter shaking in his grip, Ally said, "Stop it!"

"Oh, what's a matter boy, too much of a pansy to put metal where your mouth is?"

"I said, stop it!"

'Ro said, "Just shoot him!"

Star rose, and said, "Ally, that's not your father. That's not even Zeke no more."

Smiling, the Grey/thing ambled toward Ally, and taunted, "Come on boy, put me out of my misery."

"I can't," cried Ally.

'Ro yelled, "Just fucking shoot him!"

Star drew, cocked the hammer.

Ally whirled around, aimed at her.

Star said, "Ally, don't!"

"Do it boy!" the Grey/thing said. "Do it! Kill her!"

Ally quavered, "I can't."

The Grey/thing roared, "Fucking shoot her you faggot-ass-piece-of-shit!"

Ally cocked the hammer and stepped toward Star. His eyes narrowed. A queer, evil grin infected his face.

Star said, "Ally, no--"

'Ro strode within point blank range of the Grey/thing, and unloaded the entire chamber into its head.

What remained lying on the floor was nothing more than a faceless Zeke.

Ally shook his head and blinked, as if awakening from a deep sleep. "What...what...?" His lips quivered. Tears filled his darting gaze as the gun slipped from his hand and fell to the floor in a muted clatter. Ally dropped to his knees and sobbed.

'Ro holstered his shooter and wiped the sweat from his brow.

Fedic stood in the corner, chest heaving wildly.

Star glanced at the mirror, which now appeared nothing more than a common, every-day looking-glass.

****

Evening. Sarah returned to the sultan's chambers before he did. She even checked his _pulprit_ just to make sure.

Hungry, temper flaring, she sat at Rome's table with her hands folded neatly in front of her. She was famished. And she could have ordered room service, but Rome possessed a wide variety of refined tastes that varied from day to day.

She just couldn't get over the way Troll mistrusted her. The way Rome treated her behind closed doors. The way the _obrii d'el repiriiddii_ talked about her behind her back. As if she didn't know. The loss of Anne. It all mad her...just so...angry. She paced about the room. Every time she passed by the tapestry of The Sultan, a cold chill coursed through her. She glared at the painting; daring it to move, daring it to materialize into Maddy the rag doll, with his dead-black doll's eyes and crimson-stitched smile. Mocking her. But that didn't happen.

Rome returned, panting and huffing; face sweaty, red, and puffy. He slammed the chamber door behind him. " _Biente noche_ ," he said.

"And a fine evening to ye, m'lord," Sarah replied. "Shall we order _fiesa noche_?"

Rome said, "Already taken care of, my dear, Chestnut. It should be arriving momentarily." Rome undressed in front of the mirror; glancing at Sarah via the glass' reflective surface. "I'm sorry for this morning," he said. "The pressure of leadership is so immense...well...I make no excuses for my boar-ish-ness."

Sarah replied, "Think nothing of it." But really, this apology seemed to infuriate her more than any insult incurred.

Room service arrived and they dined.

Rome glowered at Sarah as she ravenously ate. Staring hungrily at her, he chewed with his mouth open.

A pleasant chill rippled down Sarah's spine. The thrill of anticipation. If she truly abandoned then, so be it. She would take care of herself. And right now, being the sultan's mistress (while publicly defamed), didn't seem so scandalous.

Sarah dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, and said, "I suppose we could always eat later. After all, the food's not going anywhere."

Rome leered at her, licked his lips, and said, " _Si_ , I suppose we could."

****

"How's she doing?" Star asked Doctor as she approached the medic tent.

"It was a fairly deep graze to her temple, but only a graze." He cleaned his sinuous hands with a rag and basin of water. "She lost a bit of blood, but nothing serious." Like Xaza, Doctor's mark ran alongside his slender neck. A kindness lurked behind his green-eyes; one that she had never seen before in a king's man.

"Is she awake?" Star asked.

"She was earlier," he said. "Had a bit of a headache but she was coherent. She's resting now. Should be good as new in a day or two. She got lucky. King's men don't usually miss"

Star rested a hand on his trim shoulder, and said, "Thanks, Doc."

The day's heaviness weighed down upon her. But throughout it all, trying to explain what happened to Zeke was by far the most difficult.

Star went for a walk around the desert while the Jessips grieved yet another loss to their gang. When she got back to camp, she found the Jessips, Fedic, the twins, and Xaza sitting around the fire.

Arms crossed, 'Ro asked, "You mind telling us how you knew where Zeke was? And why we found y'all in some kinda...doorway or something."

Star plopped down in the sand, and said, "It was an invisible tent. Furion's tent. I knew it was there 'cause I found it a few days ago, 'fore we even took the camp. Like I said, I can feel him. I followed this...sense or whatever...and found the tent. But he wasn't there. And he hasn't since probably before the twins even heard about it and deserted."

Brow cocked, Ally sighed, and asked, "When were you gonna tell us about it?"

Star replied, "I didn't think it was information that needed to be shared, especially since he wasn't even there."

Silence.

Roy shook his jar-shaped head, and said, "I can't believe it, poor Zeke, what the hell do ya think happened to him?"

A round of shrugs and furrowed brows coursed through the group. 'Ro and Ally hung their heads.

Star opened her mouth to say something, and then stopped. Didn't they know about the mirror? During all the commotion, had they even seen it?

Star asked Ally, "How'd y'all know to come back when ya did?"

"Just got lucky," he replied, combing his fingers through his hair, "We weren't too far out when we heard the explosions."

'Ro asked, "You never saw the deserters coming back? Not even in the broad light of day."

"No," said Ally.

'Ro continued, "And nobody saw 'em sneak away or raid the storage tents?"

The others concurred this.

"What exactly are you trying to accuse us of?" asked one of the twins.

Star still couldn't tell them apart.

'Ro continued, "I ain't trying to accuse no one of nothing. I'm just pointing out the fact that these fuckers can seem to come and go at will, entire platoons even. And then we find they got invisible tents."

Star knew what he was thinking. She didn't like it. This line of thought usually led to irrational action.

Toying with her stringy hair, Sandy asked, "You think there might be more?"

"Shit yeah!" 'Ro said, arms flaunted, "I think they got a shit load of those magic tents."

Sandy said, "They could be watching us right now, surrounding us."

The group's collective gaze suspiciously darted around.

'Ro stood, towered over Fedic, and said, "What about you, Futnick? What'cha know 'bout these magic tepees?"

Fedic shrank back, and stuttered, "N...nothing,"

'Ro growled, "Really?"

"Honestly," Fedic replied. "They don't tell us nothing. Just orders. I was just as shocked as you."

'Ro snarled, "Yeah, except we did something about it, we acted. How come freaky shit always seems to happen around you, and then people die in the most horrible ways?"

Had any of them seen the mirror?

Fedic stammered something.

'Ro kicked him swiftly in the thigh a few times.

Sandy stood, and said, "Jethro Allen Jessip! Stop it!"

'Ro pivoted and pointed at Sandy. His finger trembled. "Don't you call me that! Don't you dare call me that! You ain't my old man."

Star hopped to her feet, and yelled, "All right, knock it off! What are we, a pack of rabid dogs? Us turning on each other ain't helping nothing. That's exactly what _they_ want."

The group settled and took their seats.

Heatedly, 'Ro continued, "All I'm saying is that they already got the drop on us once. And as long as Furion ain't actually with them, as long as Star can't sense 'em, then they can do it again without a moment's notice."

Fedic said, "I agree."

"Shut up," 'Ro growled.

Sandy said, "It's true though, I say we take a day at most for Mia to recover, get our shit in gear, and then make a mad dash for this Abbacabba."

"Al'ber Que," corrected Star.

Sandy said, "Even better."

Ally asked the twins, "How many of the soldiers left here do ya reckon would join us?"

Fidgeting with an earring, one of the twins replied, "I'd say that anyone who stood beside you today, and are still here now, are yours."

"Ya got that right," added the other.

Nodding, Xaza chimed, "D'ah."

Star said, "There's only one problem, we can't leave. Not yet."

Mouths clamped shut, they stared at her with wide gapes.

'Ro asked, "Why the hell not?"

"Because, Troll hasn't called me back yet."

"What the fuck does that mean?" asked 'Ro.

"Yeah," one of the twins said, "How you supposed to hear him calling you way out here?"

Star replied, "It's not like that. Look, I know it sounds stupid. That's why I didn't tell you--"

'Ro blurted, "Just like you didn't tell us about the invisible tepee?"

Star continued, "Listen, you have to trust me."

"You have to trust me," Shale said.

Suddenly she was back in Coffin Nail. In Shale's shack. The scent of distilling liquors hung thick in the stagnant air.

_Scrickity-rickity-crack_.

Star snapped back to reality.

'Ro said to Star, "Right now I trust Futnick more than you."

Jet-black brows arched in half-moons, Fedic asked, "Really?"

"Fuck no," 'Ro spat. "And I thought I told ya to shut the hell up."

Star stepped combatively toward him, and said, "Look, you knew what you were signing up for. You knew there'd be casualties. This is war. There ain't no rules."

'Ro shuffled nervously in place, ran a hand through his greasy, dirty-blond hair, sighed, and said, "All right. All right. So, let's say we wait for this call, how long do you suppose that'll be?"

"Few days," Star said, "Maybe less. My guess is that, if Furion and the army ain't here, and the only ones to attack so far are defectors of the platoon we took over, then they must be busy elsewhere."

Toying with an earring, one of the twins said, "Like, maybe they're looking for this hidden city of yours."

Hickey grumbled, "Or maybe they already found it and are surrounding it." He chewed on a plug of tobacco, and cleaned the dirt from underneath his fingernails.

The other twin asked, "Then why hasn't Shroud come back for us? It just doesn't make sense."

Popping his knuckles, Roy said, "It does if they already know we're here."

'Ro blurted, "I've been saying this is a set-up since day one."

Ally asked, "So why haven't they sprung the trap yet?"

"That doesn't matter," replied Star.

"Maybe they think we don't matter," Sandy added.

Star said, "Look, it's been a hell of a long day. I say we try to get some rest and start getting ready to move tomorrow. We'll post extra watch tonight just in case." She turned to Fedic, and asked, "You and your men will help, I trust."

Fedic replied, "Those king's men today who were shooting at us. I knew some of those guys, I mean, really knew them. And they tried to kill us all along with you. You can count on us."

"Good," Star replied. "Y'all work out a watch schedule. I'll volunteer for first shift. The rest of you, try to get as much sleep as you can. We're gonna need it."

The group stood, stretched, groaned, and ambled off.

'Ro leaned toward Fedic, and said, "See ya 'round, Futnick."

Star waited until the others shuffled away before jaunting toward Ally. "Hey," she said. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." He turned toward her. His arms around Sandy.

Star continued, "This afternoon in the tent, did you see anything weird?"

Ally cringed.

Sandy squeezed him tightly.

Star continued, "I mean, do you remember seeing any fixtures or furnishings?"

Brow furrowed, sucking his teeth, Ally said, "I'm not sure what I saw in there, but I sure as hell didn't see no fixtures or furnishings. Why?"

Why they hell hadn't they seen the mirror? Were things that chaotic? What about afterward? Had they still not even noticed it then?

Twirling her compass chain, Star said, "Never mind. Just looking for clues, details, you know."

Ally's brow narrowed as he stared at her. He nodded and Sandy led him off to their tent.

Star gazed out into the darkened deserts, wishing Troll with her. Why hadn't he called her yet? She had an army. As many soldiers as she could gather, anyway. Why the wait? Had something happened?

Star closed her eyes and focused on Troll's face, his voice, the touch of his skin. But in her mind's eye, she only saw Furion's mirror.

****

Journal entry,

So many things be on my mind. Still so many questions. Still no answers from God. Everywhere I turn, someone stands there eager for me to join them, lead them in revolution. Each has their own purpose. Yet, all agendas inevitably lead to the same outcome. The only problem is that said outcome cannot be seen. Who is to know what shall happen in the days to come? God, perhaps. But it seems he's keeping that information to himself. Some sort of inside-joshing, as it were.

_I cannot stop thinking about Star. And as much as it pains me to admit this, the others seem very far from my thoughts. Oh, how I loathe myself. What has happened? Where did I go wrong? It seems we exited the trials of Silverdale as an unstoppable juggernaut. How did it all fall apart so quickly? How and when did I lose the faith? I would say it was during that ten-and-a half-month lapse in time and memory, but no. God stopped responding to my queries long before that. Or, perhaps it only seems that way. In any event, I can only hope_ \--

Troll stopped writing. His heart sank into the deepest bowels of his guts.

Montalvo tossed and turned on the ground in troubled sleep, muttering, "Bitter...bitter...toil...whither...Star now...forever shivers..."

Troll dropped the book and jumped to his feet. His knees popped and ached.

Montalvo shifted amid his blanket but did not wake.

There, propped along the far corner amidst the shadows, sat Maddy, the rag doll. With his dead-black doll's eyes and crimson-stitched smile, Maddy stared straight into Troll's soul.

In his mind, Troll heard Maddy cackle in a voice that rumbled like boulders grinding together. Troll clutched at his breast. His heart galloped arrhythmically. He trembled as his skin flushed; breaking out in a cold sweat. His left shoulder pulsated until his entire arm tingled and throbbed.

Troll shut his eyes. In his mind he saw beady red-eyes and rows of razor-sharp teeth so bright they spangled in the dark. The fluttering of leathery wings.

Troll's heart raced until his chest pounded in pain. "Get away from here demon!" Troll blurted. "Ye have no business here. In the holy name of God, I banish thee from my sight, low spirit." Troll opened his eyes, finding nothing but Montalvo chortling on the ground, arm draped over his wrinkled and haggardly face.

Troll collapsed back on the bed, and clutched at his palpitating heart. Still trying to catch his breath, Troll gasped, "Lord, be with me."

This Wraith, this demon, it wants one of you. One of the triumvirate. And its plan is already in place.

Troll rested his sweaty head against the cold pillow. The combined frigidness made his head ache. In barely a whisper, he amended, "Lord, be with us all."

****

8

Beth said, "I love you Jimmy."

"How can you?" Jimmy asked. "I don't even know what I am!"

"What do you think you are?"

"I don't know...some kinda...monster."

"Listen to me, Jimmy, and you listen good," she said in her thick southern accent. "You're weird as hell, I'll give you that. The dogs follow you around like you're their master. You spook the horses. And you're the clumsiest man I've ever met. But you're _not_ a monster."

Beth took Jimmy's hands, and gestured for him to sit down next to her on the bed. She pressed his palm gently across her belly, her other hand nestled around the bundle of joy blooming within. "Look, I don't care what TJ or anyone else says, you're a good man. Uncle Jim knows it, that's why he ain't shot you yet." Blushing, she swept back her wavy dirty-blond hair, smiled, and said, "And what's more, you...you light up my life in a way I never thought possible. After my folks died, it changed me, it...I wasn't sure if I could ever truly open myself up to anyone again. But...but that doesn't matter anymore. Not the people we lost. Not the terrible things we've been through. The people we once were. Nothing but this," she compressed his hand against her stomach more firmly (but still gently).

The baby kicked.

A rush of excitement and bewilderment filled Jimmy; quickly replaced with a sense of dread.

What if it was like him?

"This is what matters," Beth repeated, rubbing their hands on her stomach, "This is the only thing that matters. And no matter what happens, wherever you go, or whatever you do. You'll always belong here with us, Jimmy. We're your family now. Even Uncle Jim. And no matter what, we'll always be here for you."

But they weren't.

Only a few short days later, men came looking for Jimmy. They didn't know what he was. Not even Jimmy knew that. But unfortunately, TJ saw him in that _state_. And even though Jimmy made a shaky pact with the town bad-boy while Beth's bar burned to the ground, TJ just wouldn't leave them be.

Jimmy had been out fishing with the dogs when TJ and his posse came by the farmhouse. They took Beth and beat Uncle Jim within an inch of his life. Poor Jim only lived long enough to say a few brief words by the time Jimmy found him.

They burned Beth and her unborn baby alive at the stake like a witch.

Jimmy they hunted down like a dog.

The hell of it was that all occurred way back in the early 21st century.

"We are your family now. And we will always be here for you. No matter what," Beth's voice, along with her face, faded like rolling fog.

William James Mather, aka, Jimmy, aka, the Dog, awoke in a start. Half-feral, dirt clotted to his sweat-soaked skin.

Had he been sleeping? Preposterous. The Dog never slept (not technically, anyway). He could slumber as humans do. But he didn't need to. Whenever feeling lethargic, the Dog climbed someplace high, secluded. He'd just get real still; drifting off somewhere between a state of subconsciousness and hyper-awareness. And even on the rare occasions he did sleep, he did not dream. Not, anymore. In fact, he couldn't be certain he ever had a single one. But Beth wasn't a dream. Rather, a memory. One so vivid it was almost palpable. But Why? He left all that behind him.

Yet, Beth's image haunted him. Her face hung precariously in the back of his mind's eye. He shook his head fiercely to either put it back together or force it out of his thoughts completely. He couldn't bear to see her like that. Not even in his mind.

The Dog remembered her; the way her hair smelled like green apples, the touch of her silky, tan skin. Her blue-eyes. Her awkward smile, as if the act were foreign to her. But who was she? He couldn't recall. He couldn't remember because a few hundred years ago, the Dog had given up on humanity after they destroyed themselves and the world along with it. No more would he pretend to be one of them. No longer would he be hunted and dogged. He wandered out into the wilderness, choosing to live as an animal, choosing to forget everything.

The Dog glanced around. Still in the mines. He gazed up. A thin beam of starlight stretched down to him. Where he still was. At the entrance of the mines. Still night. But the Dog no longer felt afraid.

_No matter what happens_ , _we're your family_. _We'll always be here for you_.

Unfortunately, Beth wouldn't always be there for him. She was human, and he an immortal (though he didn't know it at the time); impossible for Beth, their baby, and Uncle Jim to be around forever. But, the Dog had a new family now. And they were counting on him. He still had a job to do. Anne had been taken and it was his fault. They were in Al'ber Que all that time with Anne doing all those dangerous things that only he knew about. He guarded her and been at her side throughout it all. And the one time he let her out of his "sense-zone", she went missing. This, the Dog would not allow.

From somewhere emanating deep within the mines, voices rose in song,

" _Sweetie-man_ , _Sweetie-man_ ,

_Come and catch me if you can_ ,

_Hide and seek_ ,

_Trick for treats_ ,

_Give you something good eat_..."

Dog growled. His stomach groaned. His heart raced. Ears and nose elongated. Hands and feet turned into ragged clothes as his body covered in a dense, dirty, wiry fur. The once palpable fear ensconcing him faded like Beth's face on the window in his mind. Now, all that remained was hunger, and the thrill of the hunt.

****

The armory was bigger than it appeared from the outside. Hundreds of stacks and rows filled with helmets, chest armor, swords, bows -- you name it. They hadn't come to pilfer anything. Not yet, anyway. Troll just wanted to see what would be available once the king's army descended upon the city. And a twinklin' told him that would be soon.

Just after dawn, Troll and Montalvo met Natiis and Zashiirii in the nearly deserted northern borough.

Troll knew very little about Zashiirii. At the age of twenty, she was easily the youngest of all the _hermanii_. Her slender, elegant, oval face always wore a stern look. Her effeminate curves rivaled even Star's. Her right eye drifted lazily. She also appeared the quietest. Troll never heard her utter a single word.

Troll felt nervous converging without the coverage of bustling crowds. But Natiis said this would be the best time to tour the armory, as there would be only one _d'el guardii_ on sentry during the hour just before dawn.

The four ventured behind the citadel without so much as a word to each other. Two ashlar buildings stood behind the citadel; the empire's waste and water management facility, and the armory. Both appeared rectangular and the color of sandstone. Lancet windows dotted the exterior. Just as every building (except the citadel), constructed within the empire.

As the four approached, Troll's imagination ran wild with all the possible armaments, gadgets, and gizmos that might linger inside.

A young, native _d'el guardii_ with a round face and shaggy black-hair stood in front of the large double-doors of the armory. The _d'el guardii's_ posture straightened, grip tightening around the double-headed axe he held.

The _d'el guardii_ cried, " _Arretta_! Stop!"

"Pay no mind, my good, _dan_ ," Troll bellowed as the four continued without wavering in stride. "We mean thee no harm, but I regret to inform ye that we must gain access to this building."

The four marched up the stone steps and stood before the sentry.

Fumbling with his axe, the _d'el guardii's_ gaze darted among them.

The boy didn't appear old enough to shave, let alone wield such heavy weaponry. Did he even possess the nerve to use it?

The sentry said, "I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that." And he really did sound sorry.

Sapling-like arms folded snug across her thin waist, Natiis scowled, and said, "Ezra Phiffer Dahalii, you should be ashamed of yourself!" Her heart-shaped birthmark stretched and squeezed as she spoke.

Shuffling his feet, gaze averted, he asked, " _Madirii_?"

Natiis continued, "How can you waste your time hassling us when you should be taking up arms against those who seek to desecrate that which is Al'ber Que, your home? There are _tribune_ hikes, imaginary storage facilities, and even people going missing. Citizens are rioting in the streets and here you stand, you, a sworn _d'el guardii_ , giving us lip-service while you stand idly by and let your home crumble to ashes."

"She's right, ye know," Troll amended, "ye really should be ashamed of ye'r self. And to think, a man of ye'r caliber. Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Lips trembling, gaze darting, Ezra stammered, "Well, I..." He bounced anxiously in place.

Natiis asked, "Well, what are you standing there stuttering for? Off with you."

Ezra stood there a moment. Peering at the four through narrowed gape, he clutched his battle axe.

"Well," added Zashiirii, "you heard her. Away with you."

" _Si_ , _Madiriis_ ," Ezra replied. He turned toward Troll and Montalvo, bowed, and said, " _Eastas_." Ezra shambled down the steps and glanced back.

The four all gave him a round of dour looks and hand gestures that suggested he get his tail out of there -- and on the double. Ezra scampered off, leaving the four standing there at the top of the steps.

Grinning through a sea of wrinkles, Montalvo said, "That was easy."

"Aye," Troll replied, "Almost too easy." He scanned the area. The citadel. the water facility. The armory. The wall. All seemed clear.

Birthmark bounding, Natiis asked, "Shall we go inside then?"

Troll said, "Well, we certainly didn't come all the way out here for nothing." He reached for the handle. Unlocked. He swung the door open and peered inside. Dark gloomy. 'Though no _d'el guardii_. They went inside, bolting the doors shut behind them.

Troll perused the aisles, taking mental notes of everything the great empire had to offer in battle. Many weapons and suits of armor, but not a single gizmo or gadget to be found. He asked Natiis, "Has any member of the alliance agreed to meet with me?"

"We have yet to receive a response," she replied.

Troll glanced at a chest plate that appeared too small to fit any adult.

Zashiirii said, "It's a child's size."

Troll said, "I didn't know children were required to fight in Al'ber Que, t'is most refreshing."

Natiis said, "When called upon, all who are able most join in arms to defend the city."

Troll picked up the armor and inspected it. A _vulturii_ (wings spread), stamped in the chest-plate, as it was on all Al'ber Quearian armor. Both the chest and back-plate appeared thick enough to protect the vital organs beneath, but the sides were open. Except for the fabric straps that connected the two plates, when wearing the armor, one's liver and kidneys were left vulnerable to an inside attack. No sleeves to the suit, only small, curved plates that rode upon the wearer's shoulders. A scabbard fashioned to the back-plate, as it was on all body armor.

Troll said, "This might be the perfect size for someone I know."

Montalvo asked, "Your dog?"

"Rightly so."

"Then take it," Natiis said.

"I believe I will," Troll replied.

Montalvo offered a small sword, and said, "Here, this looks like it will fit the sheath."

Troll slid the sabre into the built-in sheath.

Perfect fit.

Troll said, "Thank-ye, my friend." Then tucked the armaments safely amidst the other sundries nestled within his cavernous cloak.

Zashiirii asked, "So are we done here?" Her gape wide (except her lazy eye), slender mouth puckered tight. No doubt, terrified of what the consequences might be for breaking into and stealing from the armory.

"Almost," Troll replied. He turned to Natiis, and said, "Tell me, are those the longest bows ye have?" Troll nodded toward the bow racks.

" _Si_ ," replied Natiis, "Why?"

"I was just thinking that our archers atop the city's walls could use a good long bow, aye, so they could. Twice as long as a man's height, I say."

Zashiirii swept back the bangs 'neath her shawl, and said, "There are giant crossbows atop each of the watch-towers facing the desert."

Troll clapped, and said, " _Excellente_."

Aye, things were progressing smoothly.

Almost too easy.

****

Star sat on the edge of Mia's cot. She took Mia's dainty hand, and asked, "How you feeling?"

Mia groggily replied, "Like I went on a drinking binge to end all benders last night." She winced, slender nose wrinkled. She looked paler than usual. "How'd we do?"

Star sighed and tried running a hand through her hair, forgetting it tied back. "Along with Archer, we lost big Zeke and about a dozen soldiers."

"Anyone I knew?"

Star shrugged.

"Wounded?"

"Just you," Star replied. "They weren't looking to wound, so neither did we. I'd say you got damn lucky, but under the circumstances maybe dead is better."

Ignoring the jest, Mia asked, "Did we get back any of the supplies they took?" She sat up, arms quivered to support her. She winced again.

"Easy now," Star said, helping her up. She unscrewed the top of her canteen and offered it to Mia.

Mia accepted. Slurping loudly, water drizzled down her slender chin.

"We got back most of it except the ammo. They used that during the assault."

"Was it Shroud?" Mia wiped the water from her lips, "Furion?"

"Nope. Just the guys who left after we took the camp. I guess they didn't like the idea of a woman being in charge for once."

"Guess not," replied Mia. She handed back the canteen. She squinted and rubbed the bridge of her nose."

Star said, "I'm sure Doctor's got something for the pain, if you--"

"That's okay," she smiled weakly. "I'll be fine. Really."

Star said, "Sure." She reclined back on the cot's edge.

Mia asked, "What'cha smiling at? Does it look that bad?" She pawed at the gauze wrapped around her head. "Doesn't make my hair look funny, does it?"

"No," Star replied, smiling wider. "You just remind me a lot of myself not too long ago."

"Before you met your friends, these prophets?"

"I take it you don't believe in it." Star leaned forward, back bent, elbows rested on her knees.

Mia opened her mouth. Her gaze darted from side to side. "I don't know, I...I guess...no, I don't. Sorry."

"So, why are you here?"

Mia replied, "Well, at first, it was just kinda luck or fate or something like that. You know, I met Xaza and the twins, and then the Jessips. I never really meant to stay with them. But the army was so close and we kept having to move. I guess I just never got around to the doing of it, as 'Ro would say.

"I suppose I could have left when you freed the camp, but...I don't know...you're just such a badass. And then there's Sandy. You know, we've gotten close, and...well, I guess I just didn't have no place else to go." Wincing, Mia leaned forward. She stared into Star's eyes, and said, "Listen, I'll fight. You don't have to worry about that."

Star chuckled, "Yeah, I figured as much."

An awkward silence elapsed.

Star said, "You know, we've never really had a chance to talk, just you and I. What were you doin' out here by yourself when you met the others."

Mia turned her head away. Skin paling, she trembled slightly.

Star patted Mia's leg and stood. Giving assuagements had never been a strong suit of hers. After Diamond's death, she pretty much gave up on them entirely.

Unable to meet Star's gaze, Mia asked, "So what's next?"

Star replied, "Rest up. I need you sharp."

****

Troll blinked, his eyes hurt from the flood of light now that his captors removed the bag from his head.

After exiting the armory, a small band of masked _d'el guardii_ fell upon Troll and his friends. Ezra was among them.

Four men grabbed Troll and tried throwing a potato-sack over his head. After several failed attempts, Troll stooped and said, "Allow me."

Then they tried tying Troll's hands behind his back.

After a few moments of fumbling, a _d'el guardii_ asked, "What's wrong, _dan_?"

The man attempting to restrain Troll said, "His wrists are too thick. The bonds are not big enough."

"I told you we should have brought a rope, _dans_."

Troll said, " _Dans_ , if one of ye would kindly escort me, t'would be my pleasure to join ye. As ye can see, I have no objections. And by the sound of the commotion, or rather, lack thereof, I would make it a fair bet to presume the same for my friends. Not that I am a betting man, that is."

After a moment's hesitation, a _d'el guardii_ replied, "Very well."

They hurriedly shuffled Troll and his friends through the narrow streets before the citizens rose for day.

They didn't travel long.

Probably still in the northern borough.

When the bag removed, Troll found himself in a simple, barren, stone room brightly lit by candles. Not unlike the room the _hermanii_ colluded in.

Montalvo, Natiis, and Zashiirii stood behind Troll.

It appeared the _hermanii_ hadn't been bound or bagged at all.

Montalvo rubbed his sore wrists. A snarl on his leathery lips, he scanned his surroundings. His silvery hair cascaded over his lean, but muscular shoulders.

The masked _d'el guardii_ stood in formation before them; almost like a human fence.

Ezra motioned for Troll to follow him.

Montalvo took a few steps forward.

A _d'el guardii_ said, "Not you. Only _d'easta_. Only the giant."

In his mind, Troll heard Khariiff's words dictated by Sirii, "Only the triumvirate. Only the trinity. All others are destined to fall by the waste-side."

Troll glanced at Montalvo.

Ever vigilant, Montalvo stood steady and calm.

Troll followed Ezra down a short, stone, windowless hallway lit by wall sconces. Troll stooped the entire way, and he prayed his cloak didn't brush against the candle flames on the sconces and set the massive furs to burn.

A plain, wooden door awaited them at the end of the hall. Ezra opened it and gestured for Troll to enter.

A candlestick (placed in the middle of the room), illuminated the gloomy, unfurnished chamber. At the other end stood a man wearing skinned-pantaloons, Al'ber Quearian chest armor, and helmet.

He could have been anyone.

Troll asked, "Who are ye?"

"Who I am is not important, _easta_ ," he replied.

"Why have ye brought us here? What do ye want?"

The man folded his arms behind him, and said, "The wants of an individual are paltry notions compared to the needs of many."

"Okay," Troll sighed, ran a hand down his scar and beard, rolled his eyes, and said, "Allow me to rephrase my quandary. Who is it that ye represent, and exactly what is that they need?"

"Ah," the man raised a finger, "Now you are asking the rights questions, _easta_. I represent the people of Al'ber Que. All the people. And what we need is liberation and unity."

"Ye do not represent the alliance?"

The man replied, "The alliance represents the people, more so than parliament would ever dare to do. Therefore, I represent the people."

Scratching his beard, Troll said, "I see. And, how can I be of assistance to thee?"

"The people grow restless and angry. All we want is a chance to be heard and the opportunity for those still true to our mother, Al'ber Que, to return her to her former glory."

"And how do ye intend on doing that?"

"With a vote," the man replied, "a series of them. The opportunity for the people to have a say in the way the empire is run. Like it used to be before the sultan came into power. We have a list of demands." He pulled out a crumbled piece of parchment and held it out to Troll.

"What am I to do with that?"

"We have been watching you and your friends for some time. We know you have somebody very close to the sultan at this very moment. Perhaps, she can bring these articles before parliament."

Troll was stunned. But should he have been? After all, if Anne helped unionize the alliance, then it only made sense they would keep tabs on Anne and her friends, especially after she went missing.

Troll accepted the parchment and stashed it in a cloak pocket without even glimpsing at it. "Let us say I do this thing, then what? Furthermore, what if parliament doesn't agree to faceless demands?"

"They won't," the man replied. "That's the point. We make a move. They react. Then we make another."

Troll chuckled, "Aye, great battle strategy, I especially like how ye've managed to hammer out all the details in such a short amount of time."

"Are you mocking us, _easta_?"

"Not at all," Troll replied. He bowed, and said, "My sincerest apologies. Tell me, how shall I contact ye after the deed done and the response received."

He folded his hands behind him once more, and said, "We shall come to you, _easta_."

The lambent candle light flickered of the helmet the masked-man wore. Could Troll trust him? Should he?

Troll ran a hand down his scar and beard, and said, "Aye, of course, how silly of me? But supposin' I don't much care for bondage, bags, and back-door howdy-do's. How would I get ahold of thee then?"

"For the time being, it is safer for certain members of our organization to remain anonymous."

Arms crossed, Troll snorted, "What is it, a matter of trust? Have ye not been watching us this entire time? Do ye not know me a prophet? Why, great men shall write of my doings some day! Do ye not know that? Do ye not believe that? If not, then why have ye come to me and my friends in the first place?"

Palms out, The man backed away. The over-sized helmet he wore wobbled on his lean shoulders. " _M'pardonii_ , you misunderstand _easta_. It is unsafe for _me_ to be seen with _you_. Even among the _d'el guardii_. We believe there may be people among our organization who are not what they appear to be."

Troll asked, "How long have ye suspected such dubious treason?"

"Ever since the _Madiriiette_ has gone missing?" he replied.

"And why not come to us before?"

"You were not around. _Easta_ Dog and the _Madiriiette_ were well involved. _Madirii_ Sarah did not seem to share the same convictions. When you and your _Madirii_ arrived, we were about to present ourselves to you and _Madirii_ Sirii and her father. But the _Madiriiette_ went missing, then _easta_ Dog, and _Madirii_ Star. We were afraid to bring in anyone else close to the _Madiriiette_."

"So, ye do believe this harvester is taking random people as a cover for targeting alliance members?"

"People have always gone missing, _easta_. Al'ber Que is very old and many ghosts still haunt her. But recently, yes, we believe the takings are rising for as you put it, cover. Although we have no evidence of this. Of course, you went missing not long after that. We feared you had been taken. None taken have ever returned."

Stroking his beard, Troll said, "And ye were suspicious of this, of course."

"We had to make certain you were you."

"Very well," Troll replied, "And the next time we meet, how shall I address thee?"

"A name is irrelevant. But if you really must ascribe me a title, you may call me whatever suits you."

"Then, I shall call thee...Buckets," Troll said, clapping.

The man reared back. Helmet bobbling, he asked, "Buckets?"

"Can ye present another?"

Buckets hung his head, shoulders slouched, helmet riding forward. "Unfortunately, we are not permitted to have names."

Troll rubbed his palms together, and said, "Aye, then Buckets shall suffice quite nicely, indeed."

****

Byron slung the pick-axe into the rock-wall again. His shoulder ached and burned, but he could not stop. He would not give the guards the satisfaction of a-whippin'. The pick dug deeper into the soft bedrock. Byron hoped it would collapse along with the rest of the tunnel, but it didn't. An elderly man with long white-hair and beard shoveled the loosened rubble into a cart while other members of their team did the same. Byron didn't know his new teammates' names. He didn't even care.

Shoulder throbbing, he swung the mattock again.

The guards paced back-and-forth; keeping sentry, stroking their whips and batons like beloved house pets.

The team was reassigned from general population into a new tunnel. They were always digging new tunnels, supporting them with beams, stringing lanterns. Always working.

At night, Byron scrounged for bugs and cowered in the dark. Sometimes strange things happened. Very strange, indeed. Were they real? Did he care? Each day, Byron felt his grip on reality slipping further away. Growing mad. Working and hiding. This had become Byron's routine. This was his life.

A young emaciated boy with dark, shabby hair ceased his picking mid-swing.

"What are you doing?" a woman around Byron's age asked the boy.

Would the guards hear? Did Byron give a damn?

The boy staggered. He dropped his pick-axe. Gape growing wide, he said, "It's gold! Oh, my God! It's gold! It's gold!"

"Shut up, kid," said the old man shackled next to Byron.

The boy continued, "But it's gold! I'm rich! My family--"

Trouncing toward the boy, a guard snarled, "What's going on here?"

The boy fell backward and covered his face with an arm.

The soldier raised his baton and swung.

Byron leapt in the way. He took the blow to the side of his forehead. His ears rang like swarms of black flies; vision blurred, head fuzzy. But he didn't lose consciousness. As a slave, he'd been hit a lot harder before. Byron rolled his eyes up into his skull and dropped to the ground in a slump, face down.

The guard nudged Byron with his foot.

Byron lay motionless.

The guard kicked him swiftly in the ribs.

Still nothing.

The crunching of dirt and pebbles as another guard trotted over, and asked, "What happened, you kill him?"

"I don't know," the first stammered. "I didn't think I hit him that hard."

"What are you looking at?" the second guard growled, "Ain't like you've never seen a dead body before. Back to work!"

Picking, shoveling, the sound of cascading dirt into metallic carts.

Another pair of encroaching feet.

"Unshackle that corpse and get rid of it," another guard called. "Go, we'll keep watch. Just hurry back."

" _Ar - ar_ ," barked the soldiers standing over Byron.

Byron kept his eyes shut, breath shallow. He stayed motionless and limp as the guards rolled him on his back, and unshackled him from the team.

Not many people could play possum while being drug over dirt and stone. Luckily, Byron had been whipped and beaten so many times that he lost all sensation in his back.

The soldiers grunted and groaned as they hauled Byron for several long minutes. They dropped Byron. Huffing and panting.

Byron felt a chilly draft. He knew the guards brought him to a fork in the mines; no-doubt, at the opening of a deeper, darker tunnel.

"Go on," a guard said, "drag him in there."

"Uh-uh, I'm not going down there," the other replied. "Why don't we just grab an end and toss him in?"

"I'm not gonna throw-out my back for this dead scab."

"We could roll him--"

Byron sprang to life.

Hands up, the guards staggered back.

Byron snatched a dagger from the belt of one of the guards. Roaring, he drove the blade up into the space between the guard's helmet and chest-plate. Blood spurted. The guard twitched. Byron pushed him away. The guard fell on his back, clutched at his throat.

Charging, the second guard yelled, "Hey!"

Byron sprinted into the darkened cave, and ran several yards before glancing back.

The guard stood there peering into the tunnel.

"Well, what are ye waiting for?" Byron called, voice echoing. "Come and fetch me ye coward!"

The guard glanced down at his buddy.

Byron smiled as a vengeful fire burned within him. He sang, " _Sweetie-man_ , _Sweetie-man_ , _come and catch us if ye can_. _Left ye treats_ , _come and eat_ , _these guards are oh_ , _so nice and sweet_..."

"Stop it! Stop it!" The guard quavered so much his armor clanked.

A shrill skirl thundered all around them, but did not reverberate.

The guard pivoted.

The lantern lights in the tunnel above flickered and then went out.

Darkness.

The soldier's whimpers echoed off the rocky walls. "Who's there? Hello?" And then he screamed.

Smacking, sucking, and crunching.

Byron crept toward the mouth of the tunnel.

"Come and eat, Byron Herder," said a voice like grinding boulders.

Byron inched closer toward the figure so dark it clearly visible in the gloom.

It smiled at Byron, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth so white they glittered in the dark -- usually. Now, they were smeared with a thick, black, runny substance. Human blood.

Byron's stomach groaned hungrily.

"Come and share sweeties, Brother Byron."

So, Byron did.

****

The sultan slammed his hammy fists upon the podium, and roared, "There was another riot in the _bazaar_ today! I just don't understand, what is happening to our people?"

Sarah stood outside the parliamentary meeting doors just as she did her first time eavesdropping. The door cracked ajar, Sarah peered inside. She couldn't just emerge from underneath a bench, not if she was going to do what Troll asked of her. But she didn't even know if she was going to do it. Not yet.

Of all the things Troll charged her with since she'd known him, this seemed by far the strangest.

Shadeem asked, "Our people?"

Sarah couldn't see him. Through the narrow opening, only the sultan was visible.

Shadeem continued, "Those people out there are fighting their own government. They refuse to let the _tribune'istes_ make their collections. There's rioting in the streets. Why, poor Micah is afraid to even leave the citadel."

"Is this true, _Dan_ Micah?" asked the sultan.

Silence.

Sarah reached a sweaty hand into the pocket of her dress; feeling the crumbled piece of parchment Troll entrusted her with. Of course, as a woman from Silverdale, she couldn't read. But Troll relayed exactly what it said, word for word. And such demands were not easily forgotten.

Shadeem continued, "Micah told me he was afraid to leave, not just for his own sake. But he fears what others might do to his family. Those people have stopped being our people the moment they started trampling _tribune'istes_ to death in the _bazaar_."

The sultan asked, "What do you suggest we do about it?"

Shadeem replied, "Perhaps a few public executions would settle the people down some."

Franz yelled, " _Easta_! Killing people because they are unhappy is not just insane, but evil!"

"You misunderstand," said Shadeem. "I'm not talking about killing those who, as you put it, are unhappy. I'm talking about punishment befitting those who have already shed blood."

Franz asked, "And what of Dennison Martin? You put him and his entire family _en carcilii_ for simply speaking out. Have they been released? No. How long do you intend on imprisoning them?"

"What does that matter?" Shadeem asked. "They are being fed, a roof over their heads. What to do with deviants veils in light of a much bigger problem."

Franz asked, "Which is?"

Sighing, the sultan replied, "How do we stop them from rioting and protesting in the first place?"

Shadeem said, "Exactly!"

"And how do we stop them?" Micah asked.

Shadeem roared, "By putting the fear of the Gods into them!"

Sarah couldn't do this. How could she? First off, she was spying on them, and then what would happen if she brought these treasonous demands from this mysterious alliance? They would kill her, that's what. Murder her. They would say she just disappeared, taken. And no one would ever know.

Perhaps, she could bring it to the sultan alone in his chambers. But no, that would make her vanishing all the easier.

Damn Troll for asking this.

Franz said, "I do not believe scare-tactics and fighting fire-with-fire will solve anything."

Brow arched, the sultan scratched his pillowy beard, and asked, "Oh, and what do you suggest, _dan_?"

Franz continued, "I think of these things at night, and I ask myself, what would the empress do?"

A snort of derision.

Probably Shadeem, or Tisk, or Task.

Franz continued, "She would ask the people what they want. After all, the people are protesting because they are angry. Perhaps, if we ask them what is troubling them, then we could fix it."

"Oh, please," Shadeem scoffed, "Those people don't know what they want."

The sultan asked, "Say, we did this, how would we go about asking all the people what they wanted in an orderly fashion?"

That was Sarah's cue. Before she had even truly decided, she thrust open the doors, and marched straight up to the parliamentary bench.

All gazes wide and on her. Their mouths hung open and loose.

Sarah said, "I beg ye'r pardon good _eastas_ and _dans_." She turned to Task, and said, " _Madirii_." She swallowed deeply, mouth dry. She stared at the sultan, and said, "I could not help but over hear ye'r conversation, and I believe I may have the answer ye'r looking for." She held out the piece of parchment.

The sultan glowered suspiciously at her. He took it; mouthing the words as he read. "Is this for real?"

"Aye, m'lord, I believe so," she replied.

"What is it?" Shadeem asked. "What does it say?"

The sultan asked Sarah, "Where did you get this? Who gave it to you?"

Sarah fought the urge to avert her gaze and knead her hands in the hem of her dress. She stood straight, met the sultan's stare, and declared, "I found it pinned to the outside of ye'r chamber door. I thought it most urgent if someone would go through all that trouble. I hurried down here to give it to ye personally, that is why I heard ye'r conversation."

Stroking his smoothly shaved chin, Shadeem asked, "How much did you hear?"

Sarah replied, "Just the part about wanting to know what the people wanted. Why, did I miss something interesting?"

Tisk and Task leaned toward each other and muttered in their alien language. The gems in their heads glinted as they moved.

The sultan scanned the parchment once more, and asked Sarah, "Have you read this?"

"No, m'lord," Sarah replied, bowing her head, "I'm afraid I can't read. Where I'm from, we women really didn't have a need for it."

Pillowy eyebrows arched into half-moons, the sultan asked, "So, you probably didn't even realize it was written in Al'ber Quearian, did you?"

"No, m'lord, to me, all scripts look like weird, funny loops and doodles."

Tisk and Task snickered.

Micah scratched his short, curly beard, and asked, "What does it say?"

The sultan sighed, ran a hand through his frizzy, white-hair, and said, "It says, we the people of Al'ber Que are tired of the way things have been going ever since the sultan took over. The way parliament has been running the empire is poisoning our beautiful Mother's soul. This can go on no longer. For, it was decreed my Madirii, the first empress, that it is not only the right, but the civic duty of the people to rise up and protect the empire from corruption. Even if the danger be from the empress, herself.

"Here now, are a list of our demands: 1.) We the people, demand a re-vote to allow outlanders to become true Al'ber Quearians. 2.) We the people, demand that each and every seat of parliament, with exception of Sultan Rome Cesaro, the true heir, be given up, and the people are given the right to elect a parliament that actually represents the people they claim to. 3.) We the people, demand a say on whether or not parliament is allowed to raise _taxe_ or _tribune_. 4.) We the people, demand the empire's storage facility be revealed to the people and all its contents within be made public record. 5.) We the people, demand an honest and thorough investigation into this so-called harvester and the disappearances of citizens and outlanders.

"For every day that our demands are not met, and the cries of the people go unheard, we shall rile more and more against you.

"Signed, the Al'ber Quearian alliance."

Shadeem roared, "Ludicrous!" His long blond-hair cascaded over his wild eyes and beet-red face.

The other members of parliament sat quit and contemplative.

"Perhaps, we should discuss these things," Franz said, running a thumb and index-finger down his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. "Most of these demands do not seem so outrageous to me."

Shadeem growled, "Except giving up your seat!"

Micah said, "I would not mind. If the people voted me out and wanted someone who they think could do the job better, then I would not refute."

"Nor I," the sultan replied.

Shadeem sneered, "That's because you wouldn't have to give up your seat,"

Franz asked Shadeem, "Who are you to complain? Technically, you don't even have a chair to lose."

Sarah asked, "May I leave?"

Parliament ceased their blathering and gazed at her, as if they forgot her there.

"Yes, of course," the sultan replied. "Scurry on now. I shall see you later."

"Don't scurry too far," Shadeem hissed through his teeth.

Sarah curtseyed, and said, "Fine members of parliament." She glowered at Shadeem, and said, " _Easta_."

Face red, neck-vein throbbing, Shadeem glared back.

****

Dusk. Chow-time at the camp.

The soldiers didn't even bother with going to the mess-tent; most just sat around their respective quarters. No different for Star's group, except, once again, Fedic joined them.

'Ro asked Star, "So, any word from your friend, yet?"

"No," she replied, twirling her compass chain. "Besides, I don't think Mia's strong enough yet."

Mouthful, Mia said, "Excuse me?" Gauze still wrapped around her head. "I'll tell ya when I'm strong enough. And like I said before, I'm fine.

Star and her soldiers spent the day getting packed up and ready to move out. But Troll still hadn't called her. And she had been instructed not to do so until that happened. But the Jessips, 'Ro in particular, grew incipiently antsy at the prospect of another sneak attack.

Fedic said, "We're ready to move out as early as tomorrow morning."

"I told ya, we can't do that," Star replied.

'Ro nodded at Ally.

What was that about?

Ally (Sandy forever hanging on his arm), hung his head.

'Ro said, "Go on bro, tell her."

"Tell me what?" Star asked.

Ally cleared his throat, gazed at her, and said, "We followed you today, 'Ro and I, we saw you go back to Furion's tent."

Star's heart sank; blood running cold. She thought she had been careful. "Why'd you follow me?"

Ally said, "At first we was just curious why you'd up and leave the camp without say-so."

"Yeah," 'Ro added. "But, what was even more curioser, was why you went back there in the first place."

Sandy gently touched Star's arm, and said, "Honey, is there something you need to tell us?"

Star said, "I went back in search of clues as to what happened in there." And it was true. She didn't know what happened. Somehow, the mirror had gotten to big Zeke. Somehow, something got inside him. But where had it gone? Did it die with Zeke? She didn't think so. Of course, when she went back, nothing seemed out of the ordinary except the glass, itself. Instead of her reflection jumping to life, the glass simply mirrored her every move as she searched around the tent. Except, the reflection wasn't her. It was her younger self. But Star couldn't tell them that. No one saw the mirror but her and Zeke.

Cleaning the grit beneath his fingernails, Hickey hawked a loogie, and asked, "What did you find?"

"Nothing," Star replied.

'Ro combed his fingers through his hair, and said, "Look, I don't want ya to think we're turning against you or nothing, it's just that...some weird shit went down in there. And as our leader, I just don't think it's safe for you to go back, at least not by yourself. Furion might not be there, but I got a bad feeling about that place."

"Really?" Star asked, "You think I'm your leader?"

Mia shrugged, and said, "Yeah, who else?"

"Well, this is really all Troll's doing," Star replied. "He's the real master-mind here, not me."

Mia said, "Well, I'm sure he's a fine man who's done some pretty nifty stuff, but I don't know him. I haven't seen him in battle. I haven't seen him free people and lead men. As of lately, the only one I take orders from is you."

"Yeah," Roy chimed, cracking his knuckles, "As long as you swear to steer clear of that tent, I'll follow you through-and-through."

Sandy kissed Ally on the cheek, and said, "Us too." She turned to 'Ro, and asked, "What about you?"

'Ro nodded and tipped his hat to Star.

"Fucking-A," Mia chimed.

Fedic said, "I think I speak for all of the soldiers when I say, you can count us in."

Star felt flushed with an amalgamation of emotions. Pride. Fear. Hope. Doubt. A longing for Troll. She never wanted to be the one calling the shots.

'Ro said, "But you gotta understand that we can't just sit out here in the open."

"But we can't go back," Star replied. "Not yet."

"Yeah, I get that," 'Ro said.

Ally said, "Maybe we could just kinda hop around from place to place like we did before."

Mustache dancing, Roy asked, "What about them invisible tents they got? If they's hiding out in wait and we start moving around, they'll spot us plain as daises."

"So, what are you saying?" Star asked. "That y'all are scared to sit tight, but are too afraid to move? That's what I call a self-inflicted-lose-lose scenario."

The gang hung their heads, too proud to admit they were afraid.

Great. Just great. She was the leader of a legion of cowards. But that wasn't fair. These men (and women), had been tested and proven true. Still, it seemed only rational that they should be leery of crossing the king. Any sane person would.

Yet, Star needed to instill confidence in her troops. Troll would know just the perfect thing to say right now. But, Star blurted, "Well I'm not afraid. And until I hear otherwise, I'm staying right where I am."

And she meant it.

****

Journal entry,

Things are progressing faster than anticipated. But with Anne gathering the alliance in my absence, I guess such speedious events are to be expected. So many factions. So many forces at play. The alliance. Parliament. Teran-oht. Natives. Montalvo and Nou'heim Du'tawa. Sirii, her father, and El Na'tirii Tawa. No-doubt, there traitors on both sides of the fence. This disturbs me greatly. For, if we have been watched for some time, and not even Buckets trusts those within his circle, than who am I to trust. Alas, dear journal, I knoweth not.

Worst of all, I have placed Sarah, a girl, in the middle of all this. Each time I see her, the light that once shined so brightly in her eyes, has dampened a little more. No-doubt, the things I have asked her to do have darkened her soul. What shall become of her should she survive our trials here in Al'ber Que?

Every day I pray for strength and guidance, and still God hasn't spoken to me since first drawing me away from the empire.

Please, Lord, tell me, what am I doing wrong?

****

A few hours before dawn 'Ro and Mia smoked cigarettes upon a sand dune overlooking the camp. 'Ro carried his pistol and a speed-shooter. Mia touted a sniper rifle.

The gauze still wrapped around her head, 'Ro worried she wasn't strong enough to post watch yet.

But Mia assured him (along with the others), that she rested more than enough the previous day to stand third-watch.

'Ro asked, "So, what'cha think about all this?"

Mia exhaled a plume of grayish smoke, and said, "I think the past few months have been the most exciting in my entire life."

'Ro scratched his stubbly chin, and said, "You know, you never did tell no one what you were doing out here alone in the first place."

Nose scrunched, slender eyebrow cocked, she smiled at him, and said, "Kinda like the way you never talk about why you were the only one captured back in that town, what's it called?"

"Silverdale," 'Ro replied.

"Yeah, that's the one." Mia brushed her jet-black bangs away from her pale, oval face.

'Ro said, "Tell ya what, I'll tell you how I got locked up if you tell me where ya came from and what brought you out here."

"All right," Mia said, "You first."

'Ro ran a hand through his greasy hair, butted out his smoke, and said, "We'd been watching the town for a few days. They had this big wooden fence around it, but if you climbed a high enough tree, you could see right over. We found a few farm houses that cured chicken and goat meat, they had eggs, milk, cheese, that's where we struck. We came in guns blazing, took 'em totally by surprise. The raid itself went smoothly. We was riding out when the sheriff came after us. He fired, spooked my horse. I was thrown off the saddle and my horse took off. Craziest damn thing, that horse, Shit-kicker was his name. Well, Shit-kicker had been in dozens of gun fights. Never spooked before. I was about to run after. People were running all around, women and children. The sheriff aimed at me, and some kid ran right between the shot. I tackled the kid to the ground, and next thing I know, the sheriff's got a gun to the back of my head. Simple as that. The others didn't even know I got left behind until they made it back to camp."

"Why didn't they come back for you?"

"They did, but they didn't know where I was being kept until the town tried to execute me."

Mia tossed her smoke, and hung her head.

"Shit-kicker's dead now, by the way," 'Ro said, "So, come on, what's your story?"

Slightly quavering, Mia sighed, and said, "I come from the east. My father died when I was young and my mother took a new man into her bed. I remember being so angry. It wasn't long before I discovered he had a thing for little girls. Me, my sisters, I...I'm just a run-away, plain and simple. Been be-bopping around ever since."

'Ro didn't know why, but he didn't believe her. She wasn't lying. 'Ro knew when people lied to him. Yet somehow, Mia wasn't being completely honest. But why?

Thin brow arched, nose wrinkled, she asked, "What about Fedic? Do you really think we can trust him?"

An odd subject change.

"I don't know." 'Ro lit another smoke, and said, "I got a bad feeling about him, but for the moment, I guess we got no choice."

Grinning, Mia said, "There's always a choice."

"How do ya mean?"

She leaned toward him, her gaze narrowed. A wicked smile curled her lips. "We could kill him, me and you, and just pretend like he took off. Hell, we wouldn't even have to say anything. As soon as the others realize he's gone, they'll just figure he took off like the coward he is. Everybody knows he hesitated the other day. He couldn't even save himself. And then toward the end of the battle, when shit got real, he didn't even fire a single shot. Tell me, how do you think he managed to become a commander with such a yellow-belly?"

'Ro rubbed his stubbly chin in thought. But he didn't ponder the strangeness of Fedic. What worried him seemed far more complex.

How did Mia know Fedic hesitated? How did she know he hadn't fired a shot? The group got separated during all the smoke and sand, and then Mia got hit. Sure, maybe she overheard it somewhere later on. And maybe some soldiers knew Fedic didn't fire. But before that, everyone had been separated. The only one who witnessed Fedic hesitate to protect himself was 'Ro. And he hadn't told a soul.

****

Troll and Montalvo strolled along the western edge of the great wall. They just came from visiting Khariiff in _El Na'tirii Tawa_. Unfortunately, the wise old sage discovered nothing new in the texts of _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_. The three shared a small _fiesa_ , and then Troll and Montalvo took their leave as Khariiff observed _tiempestii d'el ruega_.

The two steered clear of the _bazaar_. With all the protesting and rioting, Troll felt simply perusing the markets became increasingly dangerous -- for everyone. But he knew Sirii needed to support her father.

Troll and Montalvo passed a watchtower. In the courtyard below, a small band of _d'el guardii_ trained with swords.

Troll held out a hand and said to Montalvo, "Hold up, I want to see this." They stood behind the _d'el guardii_ encircled around two men, who swiped and danced their blades.

One of those men, a young, bald native wearing a neatly trimmed goatee, leaned forward too far and fell on his face.

The surrounding _d'el guardii_ laughed in thunderous guffaws.

Troll strode forward, and said, "Do not mock ye'r comrades. T'is not their fault they've been improperly trained."

"Excuse me, _easta_ , but I am the one who trained them," said a tall native with grey, balding, curly hair and beard.

Troll said, "Well, well, well, if it isn't my old friend Diego. T'is good to see thee." Troll offered his hand and Diego shook it.

"It is good to see you too, _easta_. So tell me, what exactly is wrong with the men's training?" Wrinkles lined his brow and pointy chin.

Troll handed Montalvo his staff and hobbled into the center of the circle. "For starters, ye'r men seem to be leading from the wrong foot, and over compensating. If I may?" Troll held out his hand and Diego put a sword in it. Troll waved on the _d'el guardii_ who had fallen on his face.

The _d'el guardii_ glanced at Diego with uncertainty dancing in his dark-brown eyes.

Diego nodded, and said, "Go ahead, Lamar."

Lamar raised his sword and squared off.

Troll asked, "Is ye'r right hand dominant?"

" _Si_ , _easta_ ," Lamar replied.

"Then why do ye lead with your left foot?"

Lamar glanced down at his feet. Squinting, grinning awkwardly, He gazed up at Troll.

Troll continued, "And furthermore, while I understand that Al'ber Quearian steel is smaller than conventional swords, but ye should be holding the blade with both hands, especially against an opponent my size."

Troll's thoughts drifted back to a much simpler time, when he instilled similar skills to the Dog. Oh, the Dog, where was he now?

"Come now," Troll said. "Strike at me."

Lamar gripped the hilt with both hands.

"And the feet," Troll said.

Lamar shifted his stance; leading with his dominant foot. He thrust his blade outward.

Troll stepped to the side.

Lamar overcompensated again. Unbalanced, he tottered. Troll grasped him by the shoulder-plate of his armor, and steadied him.

Troll stepped back, and said, "Widen ye'r stance, and swing from ye'r hips, do not thrust. As ye can see, the blade is too heavy for such an attack, it forces ye from ye'r balance. Now, once more, again!"

Lamar did as Troll advised. Stance widened, he swung from the hips.

Troll parried.

The ringing of the swords clanking together reverberated through the courtyard.

"Very good," Troll said, smiling, "Much better."

The _d'el guardii_ clapped and cheered for Lamar.

Chest puffed out, Lamar stood straight. The sunlight bounced off his shiny, bald head.

In a booming voice, Troll called, "Come now, all of ye, pair up and do as I have instructed thee. Diego, you with Lamar. Come now, no time to waste."

The _d'el guardii_ stared at Diego.

"All right, _dans_ ," Diego said. "You heard him, do you want to learn to defend our blessed Mother, or not?"

Troll receded and stood beside Montalvo as the paired-up and practiced.

The clanging of metal filled the courtyard. Even those posted atop the watchtower gazed down to observe their fellow _dans_.

Troll crossed his arms and smiled. His thoughts turned toward Star and the Dog. Oh, how he missed them.

Montalvo (still holding his staff), tapped Troll on the arm, leaned in close, and whispered, "Others are watching us, as well."

Troll replied, "I know. I want them to."

****

In the short time Sarah lived in the citadel, the sultan never held meetings in his private chambers -- until now.

Once again, when Sarah awoke, the sultan had already left. Not long after dressing, a dizzying wave of nausea swirled within her stomach. After a few agonizing minutes, the feeling passed. And then she was hungry. Sarah ordered room service and made her way down to the parliamentary meeting room. Empty.

Odd. She hadn't seen a single member of parliament stroll the citadel halls. But if not in session, then where were they? Would they really be so bold as to tour the rioting streets when members of parliament were so afraid to leave the citadel, they spent the past two nights in plush guest rooms as averse to sleeping in their cramped living quarters with the rest of their families? That seemed highly unlikely. So, where were they?

Sarah left the citadel, but stopped halfway down the portico's cobblestone stairs when she heard the shouts and chants emanating from the _bazaar_.

What to do? She didn't want to hide away like Rome in his _pulprit_ , but were the markets safe? What if someone recognized her as the sultan's...whatever?

Sarah hurried back up the steps, through the portico, and into the citadel.

People ambled around as if the chaos outside ineffectual, as if they above it all, as if they hadn't a clue about what living in the boroughs was like. And perhaps they didn't. Many of the people who worked within the capitol building also resided there. No need to visit the _bazaar_ when anything one desired could be brought to one's chamber doors.

Sarah shuffled up the spiral staircase toward the sultan's private quarters. She grabbed the door handle and then froze when she heard the muffled voices heatedly debating within.

"I just can't believe it!" the sultan roared. "How dare they make demands to me?"

Shadeem said, "I warned you this would only escalate if we did nothing. I have seen it before."

The sultan barked, "May I remind you that our orders are to do nothing!"

"I have not received such orders," Shadeem replied. "I have only been instructed to keep the peace. An instruction that I have failed due to your ambivalence."

The sultan yelled, "How dare you--"

Choking.

Sarah pressed her ear against the oaken door.

Shadeem snarled, "I am not a native! I am not _teran-oht_! I only serve one master, and it is not you."

Scuffling. Gasping.

"All right, all right," the sultan wheezed, "If we are to do nothing, than what would you suggest in light of these demands?"

"It's simple," Shadeem replied. "Give the people what they want. A vote. But since most of these so-called demands are native issues, proclaim that only the Al'ber Quearians may participate in the votes."

"But why?" the sultan asked.

Shadeem replied, "Don't you see? Currently the _teran-oht_ outnumber the natives three to one, there is no way any of these issues will pass. I shall see to that personally."

"Very well," the sultan said. "You are dismissed."

The shuffling of feet.

Shadeem said, "You do not dismiss me."

Plodding footfalls approached.

Sarah fled down a half-flight before turning around and trudging back up.

Shadeem marched toward her, and growled, "What are you doing here?"

"I suppose I could ask the same of ye."

Shadeem grasped her shoulders and slammed her into the circular stone-wall.

An arch of pain coursed down Sarah's shoulder blades and to the small of her back. Her heart pounded wildly in her heaving chest.

Shadeem leaned in close. His breath stank of rotting meat.

Sarah gagged, and turned away. She struggled to get free, but Shadeem pressed her firmly into the wall.

"Don't think I don't know what you've been doing, you little whore," Shadeem snarled through clenched teeth.

It reminded her way too much of Constable Withers.

Shadeem continued, "I've been watching you. I know you've been spying on us. If I actually believed you were a threat, we wouldn't be having this little talk. You'd already be dead and gone."

Sarah's heart raced faster. A sinking feeling rippled in the pit of her stomach.

Shadeem released her, and said, "I don't want to ever catch you anyplace you don't belong, ever again. Do you understand me?"

Sarah settled her nerves. He wasn't going to hurt her. He couldn't. It wasn't part of the plan. She hoped. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress, stepped combatively toward him, and said, "Considering that I room with the sultan, and he does not take meetings in his private chambers, I would say that at the moment, ye are the only one who is somewhere they are not supposed to be."

"We shall see, _Madirii_ ," Shadeem grumbled. "We shall see."

Shadeem trounced down the stairs.

Sarah waited until his footfalls fully receded, then she collapsed in tears.

Damn Troll for this. Damn him to Hell.

****

The Dog hunkered low in the darkness; not totally lost, yet uncertain of his current location.

As the soldiers roused for the morning, the Dog targeted a group of four and filled up on blood. He discarded their remains in a lower, darker region of the mines. As the sun rose above and the slaves and soldiers started another day, the Dog ventured deeper underground.

He couldn't see down here in the blackness. The ubiquitous bedrock seemed to muffle his senses. No matter, the Dog discovered another way to navigate in the gloom. Totally by accident, of course. Some time ago, he tripped and hit his head against a stone. The dull thudding echoed through the tunnels, creating a partial schematic in his mind.

The Dog whistled shrilly, ears twitching as he waited for the reverberation. Much like a bat's sonar, when the sound returned, a map formed within his mind's eye.

Up ahead, the tunnel forked. Two paths routed back toward the surface, one led even deeper into the earth.

The Dog crawled silently upon all fours, whistling and listening every so often as he made his way further into the abyss.

The tunnel bottomed out, and the Dog leapt down into a lower, larger chamber untouched by the army and their lantern lights.

The Dog whistled. Vastness. Up ahead, the tunnel led even deeper into the dark.

The Dog sniffed the cool stagnant air. Byron? Was this another trick of the mines, or had he finally latched onto the brother's scent? Dog didn't know. But he was going to find out.

The Dog journeyed on, whistling and following Byron's acerbic aroma. This was probably a trap, but the Dog could not afford to be afraid. Not anymore. The Dog growled and turned fully feral. This time he would not fail. This time he would not give up. This time he would not allow his fear to conquer him.

Consigned to track-down Byron as far as the trail went, the Dog ventured deeper underground.

****

Despite the fact that Star swore not to visit Furion's tent, she just couldn't endure another boring day of drills and waiting to move out. She had absolutely nowhere to go until Troll called her, but just hanging out, reminded her far too much of Silverdale.

Sometime between breakfast and changing sentries, Star slipped away. She wasn't worried about being followed. Unless physically tailed (which she wasn't, this time she made sure), no one but her could find Furion's invisible mew unless drawn there. Despite the fact that 'Ro, Ally, and Fedic visited there before, Furion's quarters were out in the middle of nowhere, and not exactly next to an obvious landmark.

Star, on the other hand, found it easily.

Without fumbling or hesitation, she drew back the hidden flap and crawled inside.

Why was she here?

The mirror reflected everything but Star.

Star marched right up to the glass, and said, "No more fucking around, I want to know where Furion is, and I want to know right fucking now!"

The mirror's surface fogged over. A younger version of Star materialized within. The reflection stood there, hands on hips, hat riding low over its eyes. "Do you?"

Star aimed a shooter at her own reflection, and said, "Enough games, if you can't tell me what I want to know, then you're of no use to me." She cocked the hammer.

The mirror hazed, and then faded into a scene showing the Jessips (and Fedic), sitting in a circle at that very moment.

Gape narrowed under the brim of his hat, 'Ro stroked his stubbly chin, and said, "I don't trust her. She's gone too far."

Hickey expectorated tobacco-juice. A brown rivulet drizzled down his square chin. "I agree, Star's a loose-cannon. And she's been keeping shit to herself."

Clutching to her husband's side, Sandy asked, "So what are you suggesting?"

Ally hung his head in dejection.

Mia said, "There's only one thing to do. We kill her, and just pretend like she up and left us hanging in the winds."

Star's heart grew heavy and cold. She swallowed her fear, glared into the mirror, and said, "No, this isn't real. Quit trying to trick me."

The vision faded, a younger Star materialized in the foggy glass, and said, "Okay, okay, I'll admit, that was a bit of a stretch. But even you have to admit that not all of them are behind you and your cause. You must be blind if you think that."

"I don't think that," Star replied. "I _know_ it."

The reflection chuckled, "Then you're more lost than you even realize."

"Enough!" Star roared. She fired a shot through the top of the invisible, silken tent.

A single ray of sunshine beamed down on the mirror and Star's (younger), reflection recoiled away from the light. "You bitch!" the reflection shrieked.

Star aimed at her reflection's head.

The image stilled, and smiled shrewdly at Star.

"Go ahead," the reflection chuckled. "Take the shot. See what I care. You'll be just as lost and alone as you were as a child. You're nothing without me!"

Star remembered her first visit to the mirror. How the reflection aged and festered, and then she did too. But it had all been an illusion, right. Of course, it had. Star strode closer to the mirror, and said, "You are nothing without _me_. Keep playing mind games with me and I'll fucking break you. I don't care if I die or not. I will fucking kill you. Now, tell me where Furion is!"

"He's coming back for you. He let you go gallivanting around. But now, he wants you back."

Star snorted, "I've heard all this shit already. Tell me something I don't know."

The younger Star crossed its arms, leaned back, smiled, and said, "Okay. How about this for a slice of pie. There is one among you who is a traitor. A _real_ traitor. They have been brought here to seemingly join you and your cause, but they will kill you."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I cannot lie," the reflection replied. "I am you."

Star scoffed, "Sure, just like you were Zeke?"

"We showed him what he wanted to see. Unfortunately, he couldn't handle it."

"What _did_ you show him?"

"Like I said, no more than he wanted to see."

Star roared, "I want Furion!"

"I thought you wanted to go home?" the reflection replied.

A coldness tore at Star's heart. For the first time in her life, she felt truly conflicted. She thought she wanted to go home, back to Krin, if it even still existed. She thought she wanted to kill Furion and avenge her people. But right then, she desired nothing more than to be with Troll again.

The reflection chuckled, smiled, and said, "Face it girl, you don't know what you want."

Star muttered, "You're wrong." She holstered her shooter, and attempted to run a hand through her hair before remembering it tied back. "I want Furion's head. And if I have to come back here, I'm gonna take my vengeance out on you. Understand?"

The glass faded back into a normal reflective surface, mirroring everything except her.

Star said, "That's what I thought." She left the mystic realm of the invisible tent and ventured back into the sunlight and desert's penetrating heat.

As she trudged back toward the camp, Star pondered the mirror's words. She knew she shouldn't entertain _anything_ that damnable glass said. But something just struck home with her.

_There is one among you who is a traitor_. _A real traitor_.

Part of her had always known that true. The only question was who?

****

"Come 'round, come all," a crier called to the masses. "I've something to proclaim to you all!"

Troll didn't know his name but recognized him as the clamorer in over-sized clothes and grease-paint form the carnival. Now, he wore simple earth-toned clothes. He appeared a short, skinny _teran-oht_ with curly-red hair, freckles, and fair skin.

After meeting with Sarah and giving her the parchment, Troll and Montalvo lingered around the outskirts of the _bazaar_ , waiting for the sultan's response to the alliances' demands.

After yet another _tiempestii d'el ruega_ , Troll, the alliance, and the rest of Al'ber Que received their answer.

People gathered around the crier.

From across the way, Sirii exited her shop and stood at the edge of the crowd.

Troll nodded at her.

She nodded back.

The crier declared, "Earlier today, parliament received a list of demands from an unknown group of people calling themselves, the Al'ber Quearian alliance."

Murmurs and confused looks circulated among the ruck.

How many were alliance members?

The crier continued, "Parliament is heart-broken to discover the people's discontent."

"I bet they are," Troll muttered.

The crier continued, "Parliament has heard your pleas and is proud to declare that they will allow certain issues to be voted on. In three days' time, Al'ber Que will have its second vote ever."

Mumbling and shuffling.

The crier continued, "Citizens of this fair empire will have a chance to vote on three key subjects. Number one, they will have a re-vote on whether or not us _teran-oht_ may join the rest of you as true citizens. Issue the second, the people will vote for whether or not they would like to elect a new parliament, with the exception of the sultan. Should the vote pass, there will be other elections to see who shall be chosen to serve. And the final issue, you will vote on whether parliament can raise _taxe_ and _tribune_ without first consulting the people."

Waves of excited chatter and clapping spread through the throng.

Montalvo whispered, "Interesting they mentioned nothing of the storage facility or these disappearances."

Stroking his beard, Troll replied, "Indeed, but this is a start. Buckets thought parliament would deny their demands out-right."

"I suppose it's time for our friends to make another move."

Troll laughed and patted Montalvo's shoulder.

The crier called, "There is just one more thing, only natives may vote. No one else. No _teran-oht_."

Boos and groans. Gripes and grumbles.

Pencil-drawn eyebrows furrowed, thin lips puckered tight, even Sirii looked displeased.

Troll cupped a hand over his mouth, and yelled, "Yes, boo! Parliament taxes us as much as the natives! Why should we not get a say?" He rhythmically pumped a fist in the air, and roared, Let us vote! Let us vote! Let us vote!"

The crowd chanted along, "Let us vote! Let us vote! Let us vote!"

Trembling, eyes wide, the crier shuffled off his soap-box and rallied along with the rest of the crowd.

_Tribune'istes_ scurried out of the _bazaar_ while they still could.

_D'el guardii_ encircled the roarous ruck in an attempt to keep the peace. But even _d'el guardii teran-oht_ , who, vowed to uphold and protect the empire despite having no rights, shouted along.

Troll turned to Montalvo. He dusted his hands off on his kilt, and roared over the crowd, "Well, I believe our work here is done."

****

Dusk. Rome stood out on his balcony gravely assessing the situation outside. Below, in the open courtyard in front of the citadel, people gathered, chanting, " _Dejarii vos votii_! _Dejarii vos votii_! _Dejarii vos votii_...!"

Sarah sat at the sultan's table, gorging herself. My, she certainly worked up an appetite today.

Rome, on the other hand, seemed so stressed he was not only missing diner, he had failed to observe evening prayer. In fact, all native protestors failed to do so.

Sarah blotted her greasy chin with a napkin, and called, "Rome, _ca-mangii_. Ye'r _fiesa's_ getting cold."

After a moment, Rome shuffled back into the room. Face red and sweaty, he paced in front of the table. Pulling at his white, frizzy hair, he said "I just can't believe it. We try to do right by the people and they gather in protest, demanding we let them all vote! Not just the _teran-oht_ who have been here long enough to apply for citizenship, but even the ones who've been here for only a few, short days! Let them vote! The nerve!"

"Perhaps, ye should." Sarah bit into a fluffy, moist biscuit.

Veins throbbing, eyes bulging, Rome glowered at her.

Sarah covered her mouth, quickly chewed and swallowed. She dabbed at her mouth with the napkin again, and said, "Let the people vote I mean."

"Is that what you think?" Rome asked with a sideways stare. "And I suppose if you were in my position you wouldn't find it a tad suspicious that you were the one who brought this information to my attention."

Sarah replied, "Well, if I were in ye'r position, then I couldn't very well be the one to bring the information to myself." Troll's words out of her mouth. She reclined in her chair, gazed at Rome, and said, "And no, I wouldn't find it at all suspicious that I was bored, came back to the chambers, found the parchment, and brought it directly to you. And aye, I think that if ye'r going to _taxe_ the _teran-oht_ then ye should at least let them vote." Sarah wiped her hands on her napkin and resumed eating.

Rome continued pacing and tugging at his hair.

Was he on to her? Shadeem was. But the sultan? She always knew Shadeem suspicious of her, but she thought her seductions would occupy Rome from seeing the truth. Had it worn off?

Rome sat down.

Sarah stood, mouthful, said, "Let me fix ye a plate m'lord."

Rome glared at her briefly.

Sarah quickly finished the food in her mouth as she prepared his dish. "How would one apply for citizenship if the vote were to pass?"

"Hmm, what?"

"How would one gain citizenship?"

"Why do you ask?"

Sarah placed the dish in front of him, sat down, and said, "Perhaps, I might like to apply one day. How would I go about doing so?"

Rome chuckled, his color returned to a slightly normal hue. "Why, my dear, Chestnut, you are with me, the sultan, you never have to worry about another thing again, citizenship included."

"Does that mean ye mean to make an honest woman of me?"

Rome blushed, sweat beaded his forehead. "Well...I...uh..."

"Pardon my candor m'lord. I did not mean to put ye on the spot. Merely food for thought." Then she continued dining.

They ate in silence; listening to the chants outside, " _Dejarii vos votii_! _Dejarii vos votii_! _Dejarii vos votii_...!"

Rome blotted his chin, and said, "On a brighter note, you will be most pleased to hear that tomorrow, the storage facility shall be revealed and made public record. Since you've expressed an honest interest in it, and because I promised you," he patted her knee under the table, "I was wondering if you would like to join me when this happens."

Sarah dropped her silverware. It clanked and rattled. Nearly choking, she gulped, and said, "The storage facility? Ye mean to give me a tour?"

" _Si_ , my dear, Chestnut," he replied, shoveling food in his mouth, "That is, if you still desire to see it."

Sarah's heart leapt. She jumped to her feet; rattling the cutlery once more. "Oh, Rome! Ye've made me so happy!"

Gaze glued to his plate, he grunted, "Hmm?"

Sarah sauntered toward him, salaciously taking the fork from his hand, she said, "And because ye've made me happy, and because I know all the stress ye'r under, I'm going to make ye very, very happy."

And then Sarah slid off her dress.

****

Journal entry,

Chants of furor and revolution fill the streets from the bazaar to the boroughs. Why, even as I write this, Montalvo stands out on the balcony, watching the people burn parliament in effigy.

What shall be the alliance's next move? Unfortunately, until Buckets sends for me, this is one question (among many), that shall remain unanswered.

Though my doings here, entertaining as they are, veil in comparison to what is happening all around me. Back in Silverdale, t'was I and my friends who elicited change within the people. Without us, they'd still be dwindling in the darkness that enshrouded them. But here in Al'ber Que, it's as though our presence seemed unnecessary. Sure, Anne brought the alliance together. But as swiftly as things are progressing, I presume it would have only been a matter of time before similar upheaval began swelling upon its own.

It seems so long since I've seen Star and the Dog. Have they performed the tasks I set them upon? I wish I could call them back to me, Star, the Dog, Anne, Byron, Sarah, all of them. But me twinklin's say otherwise. I know I should be patient, and every day I pray to God for as much. But I feel that at any moment things could spin dangerously out of hand, and I shall be left standing there alone, unprepared.

On a lighter note, after a successful training exercise, Diego asked if I would come back tomorrow and impart some more of my wisdom and unique fighting skills upon the d'el guardii. Of course, I readily agreed. T'is the most action and excitement mine eyes have seen in a long, long time.

****

The sultan grunted and grimaced at the needles' touch. "I can't believe it," he said.

Sarah peered through the crack in the heavy oaken door of the _enfermerii_ , or, infirmary.

The sultan grabbed the sides of the bed he sat on as the _enfermeri'iste_ stitched the gushing wounds in his side.

Shadeem stood in the corner somewhere.

Sarah couldn't see Shadeem, but she watched him enter the _enfermerii_.

Did he know she was spying on them -- again? She hoped not.

After an early morning romp (and they were real good lately), Sarah and Rome shared a hearty breakfast.

Rome observed his morning prayers while Sarah stood out on the balcony, gazing down on the gathering crowd, still chanting, _"Dejarii vos votii_! _Dejarii vos votii_...!"

When finished, Rome emerged from his pulprit, smoothed out his garish clothes, and asked, "Are you ready, my dear, Chestnut?"

"Aye," she replied. She trotted toward him; shivering as she passed the tapestry entitled, The Sultan. Sarah wrapped her arm around his, and said, "I must admit, I'm very excited."

By Rome's flush-red face, sweaty hands, and awkward smile, Sarah suspected he a bit excited, as well. Or nervous.

She asked, "Is the storage facility far?"

"Not at all," he replied.

Strange. If there really no storage facility, then where was he taking her?

The two made their way downstairs and strolled the halls hand-in-hand.

A random _obrii d'el repiriiddii_ (one Sarah didn't recognize), bumped into the sultan. The stranger pulled a curved blade from out of his sleeve, and stabbed the sultan in the gut several times.

For a moment, Sarah just stood there watching in quiet fascination. As if the events surreal.

No one else seemed to notice.

Grunting, the sultan crumbled to his knees. The attacker whirled around, grabbed the sultan's frizzy white-hair, pulled his head back, and brought the blade to the sultan's neck.

A sense of anger and protectiveness stirred within Sarah. Roaring, she grabbed the attacker's hand and the hall's attention.

Everybody stopped and gawked as Sarah struggled with the sultan's assailant, but nobody actually made a move to help her.

The attacker snarled, "Let go, _Madirii_! You don't know what you are doing." He pushed Sarah away and she fell to the floor.

Grunting, bleeding, and writhing in agony, the sultan collapsed.

The attacker grabbed him by the hair again. He brought the blade high over the sultan's head.

Sarah hoped to her feet and did the only thing she could think of. She kicked the would-be-assassin square in the genitals.

He keeled over.

Tisk and Task emerged seemingly out of nowhere and leapt upon the attacker. And then more _d'el guardii_ fell upon the melee; separating the people involved and protecting the sultan. And then, just as soon as it started -- it was done.

The attacker was hauled away.

Sarah followed behind the sultan, who was helped to the _enfermerii_.

She waited a few moments, making sure no one watching, and then shuffled toward the door.

Shadeem said, "We have the culprit in custody."

"Who was it?" the sultan asked.

"Tristan," Shadeem replied.

"Who?"

"Tristan, he's a cook here within the citadel."

"I've never heard of him." Rome grimaced as the _enfermeri'iste_ continued stitching him up.

"Tristan Phiffer Satirii, I believe he's a relative of Micah's," Shadeem replied.

Sarah still couldn't see him.

"That whelp!" the sultan growled. "For all I've done for that ungrateful family. The nerve! Trying to kill me! To murder me! He should -- Ow! Watch it!"

"So sorry, _dan_ ," said the _enfermeri'iste_.

Sarah couldn't see her either; only her sinuous hands.

"What do you want me to do with him?" Shadeem asked.

Foaming at the mouth, the sultan roared, "I want him dead! But slowly, and after hours, no, days of long torture. I want his head on a spike in the middle of the _bazaar_! And his family, friends, and anyone who ever knew him, banished to the deepest, darkest parts of the mines!"

Gasping, the _enfermeri'iste_ reared back, and dropped the needle.

The sultan stared at her, his eyes wide, mouth open, as if he forgot her there.

Shadeem strode into view, pulled his blade, and decapitated her in one fell swoop. Shadeem held the tip of his bloody blade toward the sultan, and said, "Mind your words."

Terror spangling his brown-gape, the sultan stammered, "You...I can't believe...you."

Shadeem said "This poor maid is dead by your hands, from your lack of discretion."

"But I...you..."

"And you may be sultan, but I am no native and the next time you put my master's work in peril, it shall be _your_ head that rolls."

Sarah's heart beat wildly in her chest. Her stomach bunched up into tight, little knots. She felt dizzy and faint, nauseated.

Rome sat there motionless, staring at Shadeem. His bottom lip quivered.

Shadeem sheathed his weapon and strut toward the door.

Sickened and petrified, Sarah couldn't move

Shadeem whirled toward the sultan, and said, "I wouldn't even be telling you this if not for my concerns that your narrow-mindedness might bring unwanted attention our way. But it was I who sent the assassin."

"B...but...I thought...you tried to kill me...?"

Shadeem scoffed, "I never had any intention of killing you."

The sultan pouted, "Then why?"

"To make the people think it was the alliance, that's why. In order to gain sway in our direction. And of course, in order for such a heinous act to be believable, you couldn't possibly by privy to it beforehand."

"I...I...don't understand."

Shadeem snorted, "You really are a fool."

Shadeem strode toward the door and Sarah sprinted back down the hallway. She darted into the lobby, collapsed in a far corner, and cried.

What would have happened to her if the sultan died? What would have happened if Shadeem caught her spying?

Sarah jumped when she felt a light tapping on her shoulder. She expected Shadeem, but when she turned around, she found an old, native woman standing before her. The woman's sunken eyes so dark they appeared almost black. Old, wrinkled, with a v-shaped chin. The very same woman who caught Sarah spying outside the parliamentary meeting room.

The woman asked, " _Madirii_ , you are the hero who saved the sultan's life, are you not?"

Sarah stood, sniffled, and dried her nose on the sleeve of her dress. "Aye," she replied. "But I would not call myself a hero."

" _Madirii_ , you did more than anyone. When everyone else just stood around, you acted."

For some reason, this stung at Sarah's heart, and fresh, hot, salty tears streamed down her face.

"Why do you cry?"

Gaze averted, kneading her hands in the hem of her dress, Sarah said, "I was just thinking how sad it would be if the sultan had been murdered."

" _Si_ ," the woman replied. "But all is well. A _Madirii_ as beautiful as you should not cry about such things, and..." the woman stepped back, eyes wide, mouth agape, exposing rotting teeth. " _Madirii_ , you are glowing!"

"I'm just so happy that the sultan is all right," she replied.

"No, _Madirii_ , you do not understand, the gift of new life grows within you, I have seen it many times in my life."

"Wait," Sarah said, shaking her head in confusion, "What are ye saying?"

The woman held her hands out as if in prayer, gazed toward the heavens, and said, " _Madirii_ , you are with child."

****

With most everything packed up and ready to go, Star's soldiers continued on as if this day any other. Drills. Chow-time. Down-time. Since they couldn't see their invisible enemies coming until it too late, there seemed no need to send anyone off on scouting missions.

Arms crossed, foot tapping, and twirling her compass chain, Star glanced about at the people scurrying around the camp. The soldiers running drills. The Jessips playing cards and cracking wise. Which one was the traitor? More to the point, what if there was more than one?

Star scanned the myriad of faces. Which one would it be? As far as she knew, each and every soul within the camp had devoted themselves to following her. She soon realized there no way to find out who the would-be-traitor was without knowing each and every person within the camp. But she simply didn't have time for that. Even if she did, how would she go about attaining such information? Go straight up to each and every one of them, pull a gun on them, and flat out demand to swear upon their life's that they weren't traitors? Perhaps, she could try a more subtle approach, but she wasn't exactly a people-person. She wasn't Troll.

What about one of the Jessips? Did it really seem so far-fetched that the reason she met them so long ago, was because one or possibly all of them were just waiting for the right time to strike? Star remembered telling 'Ro, "This is war. There are no rules."

How would Troll go about such business? How did he handle such things back in Silverdale? She didn't know. Troll kept his cards so close to his vest they left imaginary imprints on his barrel-like chest.

Conflict and doubt settled upon her trim shoulders. Star checked her compass. Unlike before, the needle did not bounce and weave. It stood still, pointing in the direction of Furion's hidden tent. The first time the needle ever pointed in a steady direction. Should she follow it? What would she possibly find in the tent that she hadn't before? What if the needle wasn't actually pointing to the tent, but something else? But what?

Star was drawn from her thoughts as Ally and Sandy ambled toward her.

Could they be the traitors? What about 'Ro?

"What's up?" Star asked.

Ally hooked his thumbs in his buckle, and said, "Everything seems in order. We're ready to move out at any time. Heard anything yet?"

"No," Star replied.

Nodding, Ally said, "Well, we're all kinda bored here."

"Yeah," Sandy chimed. "Anything you want us to do?"

Star wanted them to help her find the traitors, but could she trust them?

"No," Star replied. "Not that I can think of."

Sandy frowned, and asked, "Hon, is everything all right?"

"Yeah, why?"

Ally said, "'Cause you look like 'Ro right before he's about to do something crazy."

Was she? She didn't think so. Star meant to run a hand through her hair, once again forgetting it tied back. "Can ya'll keep an eye on things for me?"

"No problem," Ally said. "Anything we should be lookin' for in particular?"

Star replied, "I just need someone I can trust to hold down the fort for a spell."

Sandy and Ally exchanged an uneasy glance.

Star said, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna go back to Furion's tent. I just need some time to think. Sort things out. You know."

Sandy smiled, and said, "No problem, hon. You can count on us."

"Thanks." Star strolled off. She heard Ally and Sandy exchange a few words but unable to make out what they said.

Star wandered off into the desert in the direction of Al'ber Que. When certain alone, Star sat cross-legged in the boiling sand, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and quieted her mind.

She didn't know if this would even work. But Troll did it once before, and intended on doing it again.

With all the concentration and focus she could muster, she visualized Troll in her mind; his smile, his laugh, the cocky way he hobbled around town and preached to the masses. The musky aroma of his skin.

With all her might, Star funneled her thoughts toward Al'ber Que.

Troll, where are you? I need you. Why haven't you called me?

No answer.

****

The sun stood high in the cloud-less, crystal-blue sky.

The ring of Al'ber Quearian steel echoed throughout the small courtyard near a watchtower in the north-western end of the empire.

Smiling, arms crossed, Troll watched the _d'el guardii_ practice with swords and shields. He hadn't taught them anything new. Not yet. First, he wanted to observe the _d'el guardii's_ current fighting style.

Then Diego separated the men into two groups, and divided each group into three rows. The first row butted shields against their opponents'.

Diego (standing beside Troll), ordered the first row to drop, and the second and third rows to thrust their swords.

According to Diego, this was the oldest fighting style in Al'ber Quearian history, something referred to as _d'el falanjii_ , or, the phalanx.

Once again, Troll's thoughts circled back to when he trained the Dog. He just hoped that the Dog not only remembered his tutelage, but utilized it.

Hand raised high, Troll bellowed, "Halt!"

Montalvo stood by his side.

The _d'el guardii_ ceased their practicing, and gazed at Troll.

Troll said, "Ye'r doing much better, but it is important not to study one thing for too long a time. One must be a student of all things. I want ye to remember ye'r teaching, as well as my own, and practice them, but now perhaps it would behoove us to move onto something else."

Scratching his bald, oblong head, Lamar asked, "Like what, easta?"

Troll hadn't learned all their names yet. Perhaps he never would.

Troll replied, "Like, hand-to-hand combat. One does not always have weapons at his side. Ye should know not just how to defend ye'r selves, but to fight back as well. With nothing more than ye'r own bodies, of course."

The _d'el guardii_ shuffled toward the watchtower, racked their swords and shields, and jogged back into the courtyard.

Montalvo tapped Troll's shoulder and nodded toward the boroughs.

Sirii's _dischaag_ , Reyna, Diego Jr., and a handful of random people (natives and _teran-oht_ ), whom Troll never met ambled forward.

Troll hobbled toward them, and asked, "What's this?"

Reyna said, "We were wondering if you could teach us some things, also, _easta_."

"Should ye not be at Sirii's shop?" Troll asked.

" _Fiesa merendarii_ ," Reyna chirped.

Troll didn't have to check his journal to know what that meant. He understood "lunch" in any language. His belly rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Diego came from behind in a trot and hugged his son. Round heads. Narrow chins. Chiseled cheeks and dark, sunken eyes. Their resemblance to each other seemed strikingly uncanny.

Troll asked Diego, "What does parliament have to say about _Madiriis_ joining the _d'el guardii_? Or children and civilians, for that matter?"

Diego replied, "Although uncommon now, women have served in the _d'el guardii_ before. Civilians, as you call them, may join at any time. And as for the _niniis_ , in times of peril, all are called to defend our blessed mother."

"Ah, yes, of course." Troll ran a hand down his scar and scratched his beard. "Have ye any objections?" he asked Diego.

"No, _easta_ ," Diego replied.

Troll clapped, and said, "Very well, come join us! The more the merrier!"

The group (led by Troll), marched toward the _d'el guardii_.

Troll said, "All right, everyone line up. Back into formation with ye. I presume ye _d'el guardii_ will show our volunteers what to do." He said to Montalvo, "Perhaps ye should join in, as well."

"As you wish," Montalvo replied.

As the _d'el guardii_ helped the others into proper formation, out of the corner of his peripherals, Troll saw a shadowy figure dart into an alley and back into the boroughs.

His thoughts drifted toward the Dog's re-purification, and the Wraith perched atop Silverdale's town meeting hall; acting through the nefarious Constable Withers as if the constable the puppet and the demon the puppeteer.

And Troll shivered.

****

The Dog voraciously licked his mustache like a dog lapping its chops; savoring the fresh, hot blood splatted across his furry face.

Byron's scent weaved in and out of lower and higher levels, chambers, and tunnels.

Why? Was Byron searching for an escape? Was he merely juking and jiving, trying to survive? Or was he running from the demon lurking in the deep, deep dark?

The Dog didn't care about the answer. He would follow Byron's trail to the ends of the earth if that's what it took.

Still no sign of Anne. Was she even down here?

But, the Dog now had another mission as well. Hunting the Sweetie-man. And the Dog had a strategy.

The Sweetie-man was an eater, and as such, it loved to gorge.

So, the Dog began laying traps. He hunted down isolated guards, attacked them, dragged them down into the gloomier chambers of the mines, and fed on them. The Dog hoped the piquancy of fresh blood would draw out this cursed demon. So far, no luck.

The guard's breath shallowed. He would soon be dead.

The Dog sunk his fangs deeper into the guard's spurting jugular, and siphoned out the precious fluid.

The crunch of gravel.

The Dog tilted his head slightly in the direction the sound came from and waited. Nothing.

The Dog bore his fangs into the tender flesh of the soldier's exposed belly (Dog stripped the soldiers of armor before dining).

The soldier gasped and gargled in an attempt at screaming.

Dog drove his fangs deeper.

The guard's pulse raced wildly, slowed, and then faded.

"That's no way to get his attention," a voice said. Startled, the Dog ripped his gnashing teeth from the guard's guts.

The guard's mouth opened so wide his jaw unhinged. He trembled violently, and then lay still.

The Dog whirled around. There, standing before him was a little girl -- but not Anne.

She didn't look like either a slave or a soldier.

The Dog sniffed, but he couldn't pick up her scent. As if she weren't really there.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the little girl, "I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Quinn. And you must be Anne's puppy, right?"

Even though the majority of her face veiled in darkness, the Dog sensed her smiling. The Dog possessed impeccable night-vision, and yet, this girl seemed immersed in darkness, as if nothing more than a shadow, herself.

Quinn said, "She'll be so happy to see you. Come on, I'll take you to her." Quinn turned with the slow malaise of an impending nightmare and trotted down a darkened tunnel. The Dog just sat there on his haunches.

Should he follow?

Quinn reemerged from the shadows.

Probably because he wasn't accompanying her.

"Oh, aren't you so cute," Quinn cooed. She patted her leg, and called, "Come on boy. It's okay. Here boy, come on."

The Dog crawled toward her on all fours as a dog worms toward its master when it's done something wrong.

"That's a good boy. Come on now." Quinn jaunted into the gloom.

The Dog followed; creeping along on all fours, and peering over his shoulder every few moments. Not that he could actually see anything, of course.

Quinn ranted as she made her way deeper into the mines. And even though the Dog possessed impeccable hearing; he wasn't able to decipher what the girl said, as if her voice echoing off the cavern walls somehow distorted her words. But it sounded like she was talking to herself.

The Dog followed Quinn further until they came to a fork in the road.

Quinn whirled toward the Dog, and shouted, "Catch me if you can." Then she raced off into the darkness.

Against his better judgment, the Dog gave chase.

****

Marching toward the gang, 'Ro asked, "Anybody seen Star?" He wore king's men's armor.

Suspicious of Mia, 'Ro joined her in drills. And just like she and the rest of the troops, he did so in full body armor. He didn't know why, but he sort of liked being in uniform, even if he wasn't actually a soldier.

Evening chow-time and the Jessips, plus the twins, Mia, and Doctor (checking in on Mia), helped themselves to a few MREs. With most everything packed up and ready to go, the foil-sealed meals were all that was available.

Chewing, Ally said, "She took off a few hours ago."

Sandy patted his knee, and added, "Yeah, she asked us to keep an eye on things until she got back."

Masticating a plug of tobacco, Hickey asked, "Ya don't suppose she went back to Furion's tent, do you?"

"Mmm," Ally said, shaking his head, "I don't think so."

'Ro asked, "But you ain't sure?"

"Not entirely, no," Ally replied.

Doctor unwrapped the gauze around Mia's head. The wound had nearly completely healed. "Any headaches or pain in your eyes?" he asked her.

Mia replied, "Nope, think I'm all good to go."

"Glad to hear it. And I don't think you'll be needing this anymore." Doctor discarded the blood-soaked bandages. He wiped long, slender hands on a rag and opened an MRE.

Now that Mia was all healed, would she try and go after Fedic? Would she ask 'Ro to help her? He needed to talk to Star, and preferably sooner than later.

'Ro combed his fingers through his greasy hair, and said, "Can y'all just kinda sit tight and keep an eye on things?"

" _Ar - ar_!" the twins barked in unison; pounding the scratch-mark on their chest-plates.

For a moment, 'Ro thought they were mocking him until he remembered he too wore the king's armor.

'Ro marched away from the camp and out into the desert. He shielded his eyes from the setting sun with his hand, and gazed out into the sands. Should he check Furion's quarters anyway? Where was it? He could only find it when following someone. Now, he didn't know where it stood. He tried to recall which direction it lay from the camp, but he couldn't, as if it didn't want to be found. As if the tent sentient.

A gust arose and pelted 'Ro's face with sand and grit. He put the wind to his back and kept walking. After several long minutes he spotted a figure rising out of the shimmering heat-waves. It could have been a mirage.

'Ro trotted toward the figure.

Star sat cross-legged in the swirling sand. Her eyes closed.

As if sensing his presence (or hearing his footfalls), Star asked, "What's up?"

He replied, "Been looking for ya. What'cha doing out here all by your lonesome?"

"Meditating, or, trying to, anyway." She opened her eyes, stood, and dusted the sand plastered to her pantaloons. Hands on cocked hips, she nodded toward him, and said, "Nice duds."

'Ro said, "Thanks. Listen, we need to talk."

"What about?"

"Mia."

"She doing all right?"

"Doctor says she's good as new, but that's not what's concerning me."

"Okay, I'm listening."

'Ro sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and said, "The other night, while on watch, she was talking about taking-out Fedic. Making it look like he just ran off."

"Why would she say that?"

"I guess she doesn't trust him," he replied.

"Yeah, but neither do you, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm not talking about killing him unless I got a good enough reason to. If we're really gonna go against the king, then we're gonna need as many abled-bodies as we can get, right? Isn't that the plan?"

Star's brow furrowed, she tilted her head, shielded her eyes with a hand, and said, "What are you getting at?"

"Look, it's no secret that I don't trust Fedic. Hell, I don't even like the guy. But that don't mean I think he'd actually try to betray us. He's kind of a pussy."

'Ro thought she would laugh, or at least chuckle. She didn't. She stared at him, concern etched deep into her beautiful, brown face.

She asked, "But you do think there might be traitors among us?"

'Ro shrugged, and said, "Maybe. I don't know. Or maybe that shot to the head changed Mia somehow. Rattled up her brains and her way of thinking."

Was that even possible? He'd certainly never heard of something like that happening to anyone before.

Star dipped her head, one hand on her holstered hip, the other twirled her compass chain. Foot tapping mutedly in the sand, she asked, "So, what are you saying?"

'Ro replied, "That maybe Futnick ain't the one we should be keeping an eye on."

Foot rapping faster, Star gazed off into the distance. She turned to 'Ro, and said, "Tell you what, you watch Fedic, and I'll talk to Mia."

****

Sarah sat at the sultan's table. Her plate untouched. Disgust held her hunger at bay like a pack of wild dogs staving off a predator. She glared at Rome resting comfortably in his bed.

He had been given something for the pain, and now he dozed in and out of inebriated consciousness.

What a vile, loathsome man. He demanded swift and cruel punishment to anyone even associated with the assassin. But Micah's family and friends were outside. Were they still in danger? What about Micah? Could they actually make a member of parliament just disappear?

Sarah couldn't bear to look at Rome. And to think, his seed now grew within her womb. How could she have been so blind? She had seen pregnancies many times. She knew about morning sickness. How could she not have known?

She rose from the table, felt a chilly draft as she passed The Sultan, and crept out onto the balcony.

Dusk. The clangor of the belfry's carillon called for evening _tiempestii d'el ruega_ , and still people crowded around the citadel, chanting, " _Dejarii vos votii_! _Dejarii vos votii_! _Dejarii vos votii_...!" The mob appeared larger than the previous day.

Were the markets open anymore? She knew the _tribune'istes_ hadn't dared to enter the _bazaar_ since the rioting began. Many workers within the citadel had taken up temporary residence within; terrified to leave.

She pressed her palms upon the still warm stone railing, and leaned over. Could she really go through with having the sultan's baby? She leaned further, trying to judge how far down. Perhaps she could end it all. Who would care? Certainly not Troll, he was too busy turning the empire against itself. And for what? Things only started getting worse after he began meddling with affairs better left untouched.

Something had carved out the light within her; leaving only a cold, hollowness in its wake. Ambivalent to the thought of taking her own life, she leaned over even further, her feet rose from the cobblestone balcony.

No one below seemed to notice. No one cared.

Why shouldn't she kill herself?

A cold, gentle wind arose.

Sarah shut her eyes, and in her mind she saw Anne, her face tear-streaked, bottom lip quivering. Anne's eyes appeared as deep, sad wells.

"Don't do it," Anne blubbered. "Please, we need you. I need you. And I always will."

Sarah let go of the railing and collapsed back on the balcony. She pressed her hands against her face and cried so hard she felt ill.

When she had no more tears to cry, Sarah wiped her nose on her sleeve and gazed up.

There, propped against the archway that led back into the sultan's chambers, sat Maddy the rag doll, smiling at her with its crimson-stitched lips and dead-black doll's eyes.

Sarah's screams were drowned out by the roarous crowd below.

****

Journal entry,

Not long after today's training session, Montalvo and I met with Khariiff to find out if he had learned more from the Nou'heim-Du Tawa. Unfortunately he has not. I asked him why and he read a passage to me, translated of course by Montalvo. Something about different lives. Or living different lives beyond the ones we know. Alas, dear, journal, I can't correctly recall the words. The passage was most dubious indeed, almost written in the form of a riddle. Even after a few minutes of thought, I found myself straining to attain some meaning from the texts.

After a quick fiesa, Montalvo and I toured the bazaar. The markets seemed most barren with people gathering around the citadel in protest. Shops and stands left deserted except for the few remaining bazaar'istes attending them. While in the bazaar, Zashiirii, the youngest of the hermanii, approached me and informed me of two things. The first was that my powder kegs had been made, and the hermanii were ready for my next charge. I told her to have the kegs prepared in such a fashion as to have them ready to be quickly transported, and when that accomplished, I would give my next command.

The second thing she told me was that someone tried to kill the sultan, and for now, the gates of Al'ber Que would be closed to newly arriving tern-oht until things returned to normality within the empire. 'Though an unexpected development, the closing of the walls falls happily into my plans.

I thanked her for the information, and then Montalvo and I continued our stroll through the city.

It wasn't long before Lamar approached me and said my friend Buckets wanted a word with me. Once again, Montalvo and I were bagged, but not bound. We were taken to a different location this time, 'though the dark room in which I met my would-be friend appeared very similar. Once again, Montalvo was not allowed to meet with Buckets, only I.

We talked of the implications the assassination attempt would have on the alliance. Obviously, it was a ploy to sway the people's attention from protesting against parliament. Evidently, it did not work. Why, there seems to be more people gathered around the citadel than before, 'though I may have already mentioned that.

I informed Buckets of what the hermanii and I were plotting, 'though only in summation. Obviously, I could not reveal every detail of my plans as long as Buckets' true identity remained a mystery to me. I suppose I could always use my medallion to hypnotize him, and force him to show his face. 'Though my twinklin's tell me I shall discover who he is soon enough. But, I did tell him that I would by making my next move tomorrow, and that I would need the help of a few d'el guardii that I could trust.

I must say, dear, journal, today was most busy indeed. And tomorrow shall be even more eventful. I for-see it.

***

Alone again, running free through the pitch-black earthen corridors of the mines. Once again, Anne chased after Maddy, calling out his name over and over again, screaming for him to stop, but her pleas were empty vibrations. Once again, something dark and unseen pursued Anne in turn; hot on her heels.

Terror sunk into Anne's very core. Alone, down here in the dark with that thing chasing after her. She wanted Maddy, but the irreverent rag doll eluded her no matter how fast she ran. And likewise, no matter how fast she sprinted through those pitch-black tunnels, she couldn't outrun that demon behind her. And as Maddy got further and further away, and out of sight. Anne lagged farther and farther behind. That thing behind her got closer and closer. It's hot, decaying breath upon the nape of her neck. Anne ran faster, but gained even less ground. She didn't dare glance over her shoulder, but she sensed its talons about to envelope her. It closed in. Claws spread.

The shadowy figure fell upon her. She skirled her silent shrieks. But the only sound that echoed throughout the cavernous mines was a raspy cackling.

Still chained to her team, Anne awoke.

Night. Apparently.

Her team slept, or at least pretended to.

Towering over her, Quinn barked, "Wake up ya little whelp of a whore." Her voice sounded monstrous.

"Oh, it's ye," Anne groaned, "What do ye want?"

Pacing, Quinn chuckled, "Oh, it's not about me, it's all about what you want. You're the star of the show, remember? So, you tell me, what _do_ you want?"

Anne knew what she wanted. She didn't say it, but she thought it. Her fingers felt at the hair line around her left ear; making sure her knife still there. It was.

Quinn nodded, and said, "Ya might as well use that."

"Use what?"

"That blade ya got stuck up in that rat's nest you call hair."

How could she have possibly known that?

Quinn continued, "Ya might as well, 'cause that's your only chance of getting out of here -- alive."

"Nuh-uh, my puppy--"

Quinn blurted, "My puppy will, blah-blah-blah."

"Ye'r just jealous cause'n ye don't have any friends," Anne meekly rebutted.

Quinn roared in laughter, and drawled, "Friends? Let me tell you about your friends. At this very moment, Sarah is sharing a man's bed. Troll has been seen gallivanting about with a slew of women. Disgusted, Star fled the city altogether. And your beloved puppy is cowering in fear, pissing himself. Not one of your so-called friends has even taken the time of day to so much as think about you. Shoot, they still don't even know you're gone."

Anne wanted to scream at Quinn. She wanted to strike out against her, but she couldn't. Deep down, she knew Quinn was right.

****

"How are we feeling today, _dan_?" asked a plump, male _enfermeri'iste teran-oht_ with spectacles and thinning brown-hair.

Sarah sat at Rome's table, picking at her food.

Rome lay in his bed. Squinting, scowling, and moaning. Face flush red. Frizzy, white hair and forehead beaded with sweat.

From outside, the roarous chants of, " _Dejarii vos votii_! _Dejarii vos votii_...!" As if the protestors never left.

Rome groaned, "In quite a bit of pain." He attempted a sit. His face scrunched up as he moved.

Grinning, muscular arms crossed, Shadeem stood at the foot of the curtained-bed.

Rome sustained a number of stitches and a few, nasty flesh-wounds. Nothing serious.

Sarah hoped it hurt like hell. She remembered a time back in Silverdale, where a similar stabbing happened to Troll. Now, Sarah wished neither of them survived the attack, and loathed herself for it.

"Take it easy, _dan_ ," the _enfermeri'iste_ helped the sultan to a sit, "You need to rest."

Smile widening, Shadeem said, "Yes, listen to your _enfermeri'iste_."

"But I am the sultan!" Wheeze. Snarling in pain, he whimpered, "The city needs me."

Shadeem replied, "Surely, parliament and I can run things in your stead. At least until you're on the mend again."

Clutching at his wounds, Rome gasped, "That's what I'm afraid of."

Shadeem turned to the _enfermeri'iste_ , and said, " _Dan_ , perhaps the sultan could take meetings here in his chambers until he feels well enough to reconvene in the parliamentary meeting room."

The _enfermeri'iste_ scratched his whiskery chin, and said, "Well, all right. But, I highly recommend that you keep any audiences with him few and brief."

"Thank you."

The _enfermeri'iste_ said to Rome, "I shall have someone bring you something for the pain."

" _Gracia_ , _dan_ ," Rome replied.

The _enfermeri'iste_ shuffled toward the door. He nodded to Sarah, " _Madirii_."

" _Dan_ ," she replied, nodding back.

Shadeem waited until the _enfermeri'iste_ left, and then whirled toward Rome.

Rome asked, "What do you have to report?"

"Do you really want to discuss such matters with her here?"

Sarah stood, and said, "As I've told ye before, Shadeem, I live here now, and I shall only leave if the sultan requests it."

Shadeem and Sarah glanced at Rome, who flapped his hand in the air in an act of ambivalence.

"Very well," Shadeem said, shrugging, "Until further notice, the gates of Al'ber Que, along with the processing center, have been closed, as per your orders. The _bazaar_ is also closed, but that's only because the people, along with all the _bazaar'istes_ are protesting."

Once again the chants of the crowd filled the quiet room.

Rome groaned, "Send word that all _d'el guardii_ are to be put on active duty until things return to normal."

Shadeem replied, "As you wish, _dan_." He bowed to the sultan and then strode toward the door. His long, wild hair flowed behind him. He glowered at Sarah as he passed.

Sarah glared right back. She waited until Shadeem left, then crawled into the bed, and lay next to Rome. In a soft voice, she said, "Ye know, I could stay here and spend the day with ye, if'n ye wish, m'lord."

"Nonsense," he grunted. "Such a heroine of the people must be viewed spectacly."

"But I would rather stay and attend to ye m'lord."

"No need, you've served your purpose now take of mine that which you think I owe."

Wait. Did he just call her a whore -- _again_?

Sarah sat there a moment, uncertain of what to think, or say, or do. She wasn't even sure if she insulted.

Sarah sprang to her feet, paced around the room, and said, "Why must ye say such hurtful things to me? Am I not good to ye? Do I not cater to ye'r every whim, ye'r every desire? Tell me, m'lord, I pray of thee, what must a _teran-oht_ do to deserve the esteem and respect that the native women are given so...so..." Sarah's voice quavered as she broke into tears. A chill ran down her spine. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on-end. She stood before The Sultan. Vision rheumy and blurred, Sarah gazed at Rome, and asked, "What do ye think I am to ye?"

Rome groaned, "Best you go out today, anyway, _Madirii_. I'm afraid that while you may be the heroine of the hour, I am still the sultan, and my attention is still needed."

Sarah marched toward the door. She halted, pivoted toward Rome. She wanted to say something nasty, but unlike him, she hadn't the heart.

Rome's gape grew wide, pillowy brows arched into half-moons. His face puckered up, chubby bearded cheeks flush-red.

Sarah felt like she was going to sick-up all over the floor. She had to get of there, she just had to -- and she had to do it now. Without a word or glance, Sarah left, slammed the door behind her, and abandoned Rome to his wallowing.

Upset, Sarah skipped breakfast. Nausea radiated out from the pit of her gullet. Good, at least she felt something. She welcomed the pain until it settled into her belly and began to grow. Suddenly she felt real sick. Hot. Clammy. Agonizing stomach-cramps stabbed her intestines. Sarah needed to shit, vomit, and piss -- all at the same time. She rushed to the nearest facility. She barely made it to the toilet when crushing abdominal aches doubled her over. Then she bled out so much she feared she would die. The agony increased as did the bleeding. Sweaty and cold, she wavered on the toilet. Light headed, she collapsed on the floor, and passed out.

When Sarah awoke, she was soaked in sweat. The crotch of her dress drenched in blood -- her blood. She sat there on the ground for a good, long while before struggling to her feet. Her legs dragged along the frigid, cobblestone floor like fat, dead fish. Weakness infiltrated her thin, frail bones. But her pride simply would not allow her to falter again.

In her mind she heard the old woman's words echoing over and over in her head, " _Madirii_ , you're glowing. _Madirii_ , you're with child."

Sarah snuck back to the Sultan's chambers; relieved to find he wasn't there.

Where could he have gone?

But right then, she didn't dare question this little bit of luck. She quickly cleaned herself and put on fresh clothes; terrified that Rome would return at any second. He would burst through those doors and demand she explain what she was doing there. But that didn't happen.

Sarah stopped dead in her tracks. There, propped up-right on the edge of the bed sat Maddy, the rag doll.

He leered at her with those dead-black, doll's eyes and crimson-stitched smile.

Sarah no longer jumped in a start every time that little devil decided to just pop right out of nowhere. In fact, now, it only angered her. She snatched the doll up, stuck it in the crook of her arm, and shuffled out of the chamber.

Once in the main hall, Sarah tossed Maddy in a random basuriia (again). She glissaded outside into the roarous crowd. Once again, not a soul bothered her. She wasn't the one the people were angry with.

Sarah pushed her way through the mob and headed for the _bazaar_. Just as Shadeem assured, it stood empty except for random passer-byers making their way to wherever their destination was.
What was going on? How would the people support themselves with the _bazaar_ closed?

"Disquieting, t'is it not?" Troll's voice.

The very sight of him infuriated her. And before she knew what came over her, she charged at Troll. Screaming in rage, she slammed her fists into his chest and shoulders. She continued pounding him until her hands felt sore and numb.

When done, she collapsed into Troll's arms and cried out all her anger and frustration.

Troll held her, stroked her hair, and said, "Shh, t'will be all right, my dear."

"I just can't do this anymore," she blubbered. "I can't! I'm sorry. I just can't."

Troll wrapped his arms tightly around her as the chants and roars of the people filled the air.

****

"Was Silverdale cursed?" Sarah asked after a long time.

Troll ran a hand down his scar, scratched his beard, and gravely considered the weight of her query. He knew where this line of thinking led. "Aye," he replied, then returned his attention to the viewing monocle and the progress below.

Gaze averted, Sarah kneaded her small hands in the hem of her dress. Her bottom lip quivered slightly. She said, "I feel like I'm cursed. And that everyone else left alive from Silverdale is still and will always be cursed."

Troll put the monocle down, gazed into her eyes, and said, "A curse only works if'n ye believe in it."

Sarah brushed away the red-hair from her face, and sighed. Peering out into the desert, she said, "Aye, I suppose."

Troll continued to survey the work below.

After Sarah collapsed in his arms, Troll knew he couldn't leave her alone. So he suggested she come with him to the southern end of town. Of course, Sarah would have no idea why they were headed there. No matter. She didn't even ask. Sweaty, pale, hands trembling; her eyes seemed like deep hollows of sadness. She appeared not to have slept in days.

The task Troll set her on had done its damage \-- mind, body, and soul.

The two shuffled toward the southern end of the empire in complete silence. Troll didn't even hum. In fact, Troll hadn't sang or hummed in a long time. Not since Star left.

The boroughs appeared completely deserted except for emaciated street-dogs and scavenger birds pecking through the mounds of trash and fecal matter piling up in the narrow alleys. All the garbage-cart workers or, _basuri'istes_ were at the citadel, striking in protest. Even the processing center abandoned. Most of the _d'el guardii_ usually posted along the wall had been called toward the citadel. The few handful remaining, led by Diego, were those lent to him by Buckets. Montalvo and all seven of the _hermanii_ awaited them, as well.

As far as Troll knew, there wasn't a traitor among them.

Troll's two dozen kegs were strapped to mule-drawn carts (a dozen on each).

Troll instructed his group to split into two teams, and walk four-hundred paces from the portcullis, and out into the desert. Then, the drays would depart from each other, much as Troll had from his trio. The teams made a ninety-degree course change (one in either direction). One group traveled north-west; the other south-east. As per Troll's orders, a keg of flash powder was set into the sand every one-hundred paces, until they reached where the wall became the mountains.

If Troll's math added up correctly, and it usually did, they should have just enough barrels to form a perimeter around the wall.

Troll flipped to a blank page in the back of his journal and drew a crude map of the front wall and where each keg had been placed. No need to bury them, the desert would take care of that. Plus, if interred too deeply, they might not explode properly. He needed to make certain the map to scale and that he calculated the distance of each barrel correctly (employing a small compass), or else, all would be for not.

Nearly an hour had passed, best as Troll could wager, and the work almost done. The teams planted the barrels faster than Troll could calculate. In fact, the teams progressed faster than Troll logged his recordings. No matter, he could continue unfettered even if they finished first. All prying eyes and ears were elsewhere. He hoped.

"Do ye believe in Hell?" Sarah asked after a long time.

"Without question," Troll replied. He placed his journal and monocle in his cloak; giving Sarah his undivided attention.

Hands kneading fabric, Sarah gazed out into the desert once more. Her nose wrinkled, as if catching a whiff of a malodor. "Do ye...do ye think I'll go to Hell for the things I've done...the things ye've asked me to do?"

"No, _Madirii_ \--"

Glaring at him, Sarah blurted, "I despise being called that."

Troll chuckled, and said, "Ye and Star both, but as it is a term of endearment and reverence, and as ye come from a land where the role of a woman was minimalized, I suspect such loathing comes from ye feeling unworthy of--"

"I'm pregnant."

And for the first time in a long time, Troll found himself completely bereft of words.

Sarah continued, "I mean, I was. I had a...a..."

Troll said, "A miscarriage."

Sarah brushed red wavy-hair away, and said, "I lost the baby, just earlier today. I never even realized I was pregnant. I would think that the first and only thing a woman would know with absolute certainty is..." Sarah quavered. A few tears strolled down her freckled face.

Could she really conceive and then lose a child during such a short timeframe? Was that even possible?

She gazed at Troll. Anger and hurt shimmered in her blue-eyes. She sniffled and said, "Well, say something! For all ye'r words, have ye none to comfort me now?"

No, unfortunately he didn't. And it hurt Troll's soul in a way that Sarah would never realize.

Troll ran a hand through his hair. Beads rattled. He sighed, and said, "I'm sorry Sarah, for all of this. More than ye'll even know."

She laughed in a gasp, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She peered out into the desert again, and asked, "Do ye really believe this will work, that we can win?"

Troll watched the teams below mustering away with such fortitude they had completed their rounds, and returning to the portcullis. In a somber voice, Troll said, "Yes. In battle the element of surprise is...well, elemental. And trust me, they will be surprised."

Sarah smiled at him, a _real_ smile.

Troll's heart yearned for Star. Sarah cried again and Troll's heart panged within the hollow of his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her as he did Star. "Shh, take heart, child. T'is almost over. I can feel it."

She blubbered into his shoulder, "I just don't know if I can see this through to the finish."

"Ye musn't get so absorbed in winning or losing, starting or finishing. Don't let yourself get swept up into all this ugliness. Ye'r better than that. Ye must be stronger a little while still. And then, when this is over, ye must learn to let go."

Sarah sniffled, "But what if I can't forget?"

Troll lightly grasped her shoulders, gazed into her eyes, and said, "I said to let go, not to forget. One learns nothing by forgetting. Rather, ye should accept the past and move on. Or else, ye'll be carrying this business with ye for the rest of ye'r life. And I don't want that for thee. And ye don't want that for yourself, do ye?"

As if the act foreign, she smiled awkwardly, and replied, "No, I certainly don't."

****

The Dog crawled through the ubiquitous gloom at a slow, shuffling gait; whistling steadily, and following Byron's scent. He'd lost Quinn, but luckily stumbled across Byron's trail again.

_Shwit_. Waiting for reverberation. _Shwit_... _shwit_... _shwit_...

All clear. The Dog wormed a few feet and whistled again.

_Shwoo_. Shorter relay time. _Shwoo_... _shwoo_... _shwoo_...

The tunnel curved and then widened up ahead, but did not empty into a chamber. Not yet.

The Dog crawled further and whistled again, waited for the echo, and for a mental image to form in the map of his mind. He'd been doing this for quite some time. Eons perhaps. Who knew?

A soft murmuring.

_Shwit_. _Shwit_... _shwit_... _shwit_...

Something up ahead.

The Dog scurried stealthy upon the earthen ground. Sniff. Sniff.

"Who's there?" Byron's voice. Byron's scent. The shuffling of dirt and stone. The slap of sweaty skin.

_Shwoo_. _Shwoo_... _shwoo_... _shwoo_...

Someone was definitely there.

Byron lurched forward, and thrust out his arm.

The Dog didn't need to see or use his sonar to defend himself. Now, within close proximity to an actual person, the Dog's senses cleared. Dog swatted away Byron's hand. The clanking of metal against stone. Byron roared and lunged. With one feral claw, the Dog snatched Byron by the throat and held him at bay. The Dog sniffed. Definitely Byron. The Dog growled lowly, but not in a threatening manner.

"Puppy?" Byron choked. "That you?"

The Dog released Byron.

He collapsed in a heap. Skittering to his feet, he asked, "Is that ye? Is that really ye?"

"Yes."

Heart palpitating, Byron breathed heavily. "Have ye come to get me? To take me away from here?"

"No," Dog replied. "Not yet."

Rapid exhalations. As if Byron was about to laugh, or vomit. He trembled, but not in fear. "Why...why not?"

"Not time," the Dog replied.

Byron grumbled, shuffled toward Dog, and snarled, "Beth was right about you, Jimmy. You _are_ a selfish coward."

Growling, the Dog grasped Byron's arms. They felt thin and fragile. Byron seemed covered in some sort of sticky, slimy residue. The Dog released him and sniffed at his hands. Oily. Odious. Like moldered mushrooms. What was that stuff?

Clapping, Byron laughed in a hoarse and rusty voice.

Slime splattered the Dog.

Byron said, "Ye should have seen the look on ye'r furry face."

Could Byron see him? How?

Byron cackled so hard he slapped his knees; coughing in a fit.

"So sweet," a gravelly voice gargled.

Dog pushed Byron aside.

Cackling madly, he fell to the ground.

Dog zeroed his senses on the voice. Nothing.

"So sweet," it said again.

Claws barred, the Dog locked in on the direction of the voice and pounced.

_Bam_.

The Dog slammed face-first into solid rock. His head buzzed, ears rang. He felt along the wall.

What the hell? A moment ago his sonar told him the tunnel kept going.

_Shwit_. Instant echo. _Shwit_... _shwit_... _shwit_... Definitely a wall. Now.

Byron declared, "That's not the way to get his attention." His voice reverberated off the cavernous walls. "Ye've got to call him. Come now, ye know the song, _Sweetie-man_ , _Sweetie-man_ , _come and catch me if ye can_..."

On all fours, the Dog hurried toward Byron and covered his mouth.

Voice muffled, Byron continued singing and laughing. His mouth smeared in runny slime. Tongue also sticky, Byron licked the Dog's palm. Apparently whatever covered him, he'd been eating.

Growling lowly, the Dog whispered, "What have you done?"

Byron shuffled backward, and said, "I've been eating big, fat, juicy spiders down here in the dark. Want some?" He laughed. "I'm sure he'll help us find more."

The Dog thought of his encounter with the monster spiders. Troll stuck to the wall of webs. The Dog having to eat it away. The taste of rotting cotton and vomit. Choking on it. Swallowing it.

Byron stifled his cackling. Heart galloping, he breathed heavily. "Ye'll have to call him out sooner or later, ye know. It's the only way. And when ye do, we can all eat spiders! Big, fat spiders!"

The Dog stood. What to do? He couldn't leave him down here. But he certainly couldn't take Byron with him, not in his condition.

The Dog whimpered lowly, and trudged back the way he came.

"No, don't leave me puppy!" Byron cackled. "Come now, let us feast on the spiders! I shall prepare us a succulent spider stew! The finest ye've ever tasted!"

Dog whined again. That was his friend. _Was_. Now, he'd been tarnished. And it was the Dog's fault. He should have trailed Byron's scent that day when he sensed it around a box-car. But Dog pushed that aside. He had fresher fish to catch. Or, so he let himself believe. But the reason why he didn't track-down Byron was far simpler than that. Simply, the Dog had been terrified to go down there in the deep, deep dark. But the Dog wasn't afraid anymore. And now it was too late.

****

When Troll awoke that morning, he never had any twinklin' he would be arrested. With all the protesting, Troll didn't even think parliament had the gall to apprehend anyone, let alone in public and in broad-daylight.

After successfully planting the kegs and recording their locations in his journal, and after the pestering of a few _d'el guardii_ (and a couple of the younger _hermanii_ ), Troll engaged the group in another training exercise. This time with knives; close range combat.

Not long after that, Reyna, Diego Jr., and another small band eager to be trained joined their party.

Troll gleefully acceded. Not only did he have Montalvo participate in the lessons, but Sarah as well. No-doubt, a little exercise was just what the _enfermeri'iste_ recommended.

And not long after that, Shadeem and a dozen masked _d'el guardii_ armed with rifles approached.

Strange they could make it all the way from the citadel to the main gate without being beaten to death by the rioting crowds. Perhaps, they possessed ways of traveling about the empire without being detected.

Shadeem strode toward them, and cried, "Halt! What are you men doing over here? You have all been called to the citadel! What is the meaning of this insubordination?"

The _d'el guardii_ glanced around.

Shadeem asked Troll, "Why are these men here?"

Troll chuckled, and said, "Well, ye see, my friend, these particular gentleman have already served a full-shift and then some. Technically, this counts as a _fiesa_ , but ye see, these fine men came to me asking me to exercise them. And I humbly obliged."

Scowling, Shadeem turned to Troll's group and yelled, "All you _d'el guardii_ who have abandoned your posts are hereby under arrest, and must accompany us back to the citadel." Shadeem folded his arms behind him. Strutting back in forth, he said, "You may come peacefully, or we can take you. But you _are_ under arrest. And you _will_ be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

Troll said, "There must be some misunderstanding here, I believe I've already explained the situation--"

Shadeem whirled toward Troll. Eyes bulging, he snarled, "You are coming with us, as well."

Troll asked, "On what grounds?"

Shadeem snapped his fingers.

One of his masked _d'el guardii_ marched forward. The watchman was clad in simple pants, chest armor, and helmet.

Was it Buckets?

The unknown _d'el guardii_ handed Shadeem a folded piece of parchment.

Shadeem unfolded it and read aloud, "You are under arrest for the illegal distribution of food and non-payment of _taxe_."

"I beg ye'r pardon?"

Shadeem smiled, eyes twinkling, he said, "You must be licensed and pay _taxe_ to sell food in the _bazaar_."

Wait. Was he talking about Troll handing out pieces of bread to starving children? Troll snorted, "I sold nothing, I freely shared that which was mine."

"But you didn't pay _taxe_ , either," Shadeem replied.

Troll scoffed, "So what, I handed nothing out in the _bazaar_ , whether it taxable or not."

"Take it up with parliament," Shadeem replied.

Troll held out his hands, and said, "Take me to them and I shall. I will not resist."

Shadeem handed the parchment back to the masked _d'el guardii_. He whistled and yelled, "All right, men take these traitors away. The rest of you citizens return to your homes now or suffer a similar fate."

Diego Jr. cried. He clung to his father, who was manacled and dragged away in chains.

Reyna tried to console the younger Diego by stroking his hair.

Gapes wide, mouth slightly ajar, shrugging, Montalvo stared at Troll.

Sarah trembled. Face paling as she stood by Montalvo.

Shadeem strode toward Sarah, and said, "And you should just be ashamed of yourself, _Madirii_."

Troll called, "T'will be all right, my friends."

Then, they took Troll and the rest of the deserters away. Led by Shadeem, the prisoners were escorted back toward the citadel in shackles.

When the protesting crowd saw the _d'el guardii_ with their captives, they booed and jeered; throwing food at the captors.

The ruck pressed in.

The _d'el guardii_ , led by Shadeem, pushed the mob back.

"Hurry!" Shadeem roared. "Get them inside! Everyone get inside!"

The _d'el guardii_ at the front entrance of the citadel fired into the air.

The crowd parted and Shadeem rushed his prisoners inside. He grabbed Troll's chains. He turned to a _d'el guardii_ , and said, "Not him, I want him to see this." His hands in the air, Shadeem turned to the crowd and called for quite.

The people settled.

Shadeem declared, "As you all know, tomorrow is the election."

The mob cheered.

Shadeem continued, "Parliament has heard your demands to let everyone vote. And they agreed."

The denizens roared louder.

Shadeem continued, "But that was before your people, your so-called Al'ber Quearian alliance tried to assassinate the sultan. Now, parliament has decided to re-think having an election at all."

The throng thundered in disapproval.

Shadeem called, "My friends, and fellow Al'ber Quearians, do not blame parliament. For, it was this man here, who ordered and orchestrated such a heinous act," Shadeem pointed at Troll, "Like the snake that tempted the first empress, Madirii, he has cajoled others to his cause. Some of those men are our own _d'el guardii_ , who vowed to uphold our fair empire, only to turn around and plot its downfall in darkened alleyways. Now, the elections must be postponed until we have weeded out all those who dare to poison our blessed mother."

Angry cries and roars. The crowd pelted Troll and the _d'el guardii_ with rotten food.

Shadeem whirled toward Troll, and snarled, "Are you watching?"

Troll nodded.

Where was this going?

Shadeem pivoted toward the crowd, and called, "People, please, stop throwing things. It will be seen as an attack and we'll have no choice but to disperse you back to your homes! Please, people, please!"

The mob still protested.

Smirking, Shadeem strode toward the _d'el guardii_ , and said, "Fire into the crowd."

"What?" asked the masked-man.

"You heard me!" Shadeem growled through clenched teeth. "Disperse the crowd! Now! That's an order!"

The _d'el guardii's_ helmet bobbled as he glanced at his comrades.

It had to be Buckets. But why? What was the point, the purpose to all of...this madness?

Buckets raised his rifle.

"No!" Troll yelled. He lurched forward and shouldered Buckets. The gun bounced out of Buckets' fumbling hands, and clattered on the steps. Helmet bobbing and jiving, Buckets rolled all the way down to the crowd, 'though the helmet didn't come off. The mob closed in. The _d'el guardii_ aimed at the crowd. The mob stepped back, hands high. Troll dropped low. His knees popped. He scrambled for the rifle. Already cocked. Good. Troll's hands were cuffed (luckily in front). The crowd screamed and scattered. Troll aimed at Shadeem. _Pwang_. Cobblestone shrapnel sprang off a step and into Troll's legs. Troll aimed upward. So many _d'el guardii_ posted atop the lowest level of the citadel. Which fired the shot? Troll waved the gun around; targeting each one in turn. Did it matter? Shadeem crashed his elbow into the side of Troll's head. Troll saw stars, ears rang. Troll collapsed, and smacked the back of his head against cobblestone. His vision faded in and out.

Shadeem loomed over him, and asked, "Did you see that? I did warn you to watch."

****

Head pounding, Star awoke in a daze.

Night. She was out in the desert with the Jessips. No camp. No campfire.

Star held her aching cranium, and asked, "What happened?"

"Sorry about that," Mia said, holding her wrist, "I had to deck ya."

"What?" Star rubbed the bridge of her nose and winced at a sharp, stabbing pain. "Why?"

Mia replied, "Had to, you went hog-wild."

Thumbs hooked in his buckled, 'Ro nodded, and said, "It's true."

Then it hit her. Total recall. She went to go have a little chat with Mia. Star had meant to the day before, but by the time she and 'Ro returned from their conversation, Mia was running drills with the soldiers. And after that, she couldn't get the girl alone.

Today, just after noon-chow-time, Star pulled Mia aside and asked to have a word with her.

"Sure," Mia said. She brushed away short, jet-black bangs. "What's up?"

Star ushered Mia into a nearby tent. Mia plopped her skinny fanny upon a cot.

Star crossed her arms, and said, "So, I still want to know about your past."

Mia's brow furrowed, slender nose wrinkled, she said, "What? Why?"

"You know why. You're a smart girl."

Mia reared back, pressed a hand lightly on her chest, eyes wide, she said, "What? You think I'm a traitor?"

Star twirled her compass chain, and said, "If this was a year earlier, I'd say yes."

Mia's mouth hung agape.

Star continued, "But recently I've learned not to jump to conclusions until I get all the info, and have time to mull it over. But the problem is, I've got no info on you, girl."

Mia's head drooped. Her shoulders slouched as she clung to the side of the cot. Mia quavered, "Why do you keep calling me girl?"

"What should I call you?"

Mia stood, and snarled, "I don't have time for this."

Star grabbed Mia's arm, and asked, "What've you got to hide?"

"Nothing," Mia said, pulling away, "Let go of me!"

"Not 'til you tell me something I wanna hear." Star grasped Mia's other arm. Mia struggled, but Star's grip held. She yelled, "Tell me about your past! Tell me where you came from. Tell me what the hell you were doing out here by yourself. Tell me your last name. For Gods' sake, tell me something!"

"I was raped!" Mia screamed. "I was fucking raped by my own father, okay! I'm sure for a woman like you; rape is a common day occurrence. But I was just a little girl. I was just a little girl! So, I left, okay. And I don't talk about that shit, 'cause I don't even want to think about it!" Mia fell to her knees. Trembling, her face warped in pain and regret. "There, now you know. Are you happy? Now you know."

The tent flap ripped open.

Star drew and pivoted.

Fedic stood there, grey-eyes wide, frozen in fear; piercings and pony-tail shivered in tandem with quivering muscles.

Star barked, "What do you want?"

"He's back," Fedic whispered. "He's back."

Star marched toward Fedic, and asked, "What? Who's back?"

"Shroud," Fedic stammered. "General Shroud is back."

"Good." Star cocked the hammers.

Hand outstretched, Fedic cried, "No, listen, you don't understand--"

"Out' a my way, Futnick!"

'Ro burst in, his eyes as wild as Fedic's. He said, "Hey, we gotta go now!"

Star asked, "What the hell are ya talkin' about?" Someone clasped her arm from behind. Star pivoted.

Mia stood there, snarling, teeth barred. Her gape was wild and full of rage, juxtaposing her tear-streaked face. _Pow_.

Star should have been ready.

Star snapped backed to the here-and-now at the sound of Mia's voice.

Still massaging her thin, powerful wrist, Mia said, "Sorry."

Star snarled, "You bitch!" She drew on Mia, and said, "'Ro was right, you are a traitor."

A round of gasps and accusing glances from the group.

Palms out, 'Ro said, "Whoa, hey now."

Mia asked 'Ro, "Did you tell her I was a traitor?" Her eyes shimmered with tears.

Smiling awkwardly, 'Ro said, "What? No, I just told her about how you was talking 'bout taking out Futnick."

"That true?" Sandy asked.

Mia stammered, "Yeah...but...I..."

Star cocked the hammer, and said, "That's all I need to hear."

'Ro and Ally leapt forward and restrained her.

'Ro's eyes appeared calm and steady as ever.

Ally's wide gaze darted about, as if uncertain this the right move.

Mia didn't shrink back in fear. She stood straight, chin up, head held high.

"Are you fucking crazy?" 'Ro whispered. You can't shoot that out here. Hell, you shouldn't even be yelling. We're less than a mile from the camp, and they'll hear you."

"All right, fine." Teeth clenched, Star eased back, and lowered her shooter.

'Ro and Ally released her.

She holstered her pistol, drew a knife, and lurched forward.

Once again, the brothers restrained her; urging for her to cool-down.

Head still high, Mia said, "Let her go. If she thinks I deserve to die, then let her go."

"No," 'Ro stared into Stars eyes, "You don't understand."

Star eased up again, and said, "Okay, make me understand."

The brothers stepped back.

'Ro combed his fingers through his greasy, dirty-blond hair, and said, "Shroud and the rest of the platoon didn't come back. They all came back."

Star asked, "What do you mean?"

Cleaning the dirt under his nails, Hickey said, "All the platoons came back here."

"Why?"

"We don't know," Ally replied, "Not yet."

'Ro said, "But there was way more of them than us."

Star asked, "How many?"

"Don't rightly know the number," 'Ro replied.

Mustache dancing, Roy said, "A shit load."

'Ro said, "Anyway, we had to get you out quick."

The crunch of sand under boots.

Guns drawn and locked, the gang pivoted.

Mia still stood head high.

Star kept one eye one the girl, the other on the group.

Hands up, Fedic dropped to the ground, and said, "What are you doing? I told you I would come with news."

'Ro holstered his side-arm, and said, "Yeah, but ya just didn't say when."

Ally asked, "Anyone else with ya?"

"No," Fedic replied. "It was dangerous enough for me to come by myself. I wouldn't dare bring anyone with me."

"And why are you here?" Star asked.

Fedic gulped, and replied, "Like I said, I'm here to bring you news."

Star sat in the sand, and said, "I'm listening."

The others followed suit.

Fedic continued, "As you know, Shroud returned, but not just with the rest of our platoon, with all of them."

Star asked, "Why?"

Fedic said, "They're back from their scouting missions, tomorrow at dawn, we ride toward Al'ber Que. The plan is to march through the night and attack the empire the next morning."

Hickey spat tobacco juice, and said, "I don't get it, why come back here?"

Fedic rubbed the back of his neck, and replied, "Isn't it obvious? This is Furion's camp. This is where the platoons gather before the invasion."

Sandy whisked back her stringy blond-hair, and asked, "Is he here? Furion, I mean?"

Fedic asked Star, "Can you feel him?"

Star closed her eyes and reached out with her mind. Nothing. "No," she replied. "He's not here. Not yet."

Mustache dancing, Roy said, "Well, that seems strange. Doesn't it?"

All gazes fell upon Fedic.

Fedic's gape grew wide, mouth ajar, he stammered, "What? Me? How should I know?"

'Ro hawked a loogie, and said, "You're the commanding officer. Ya mean to tell us you don't know how the army goes about invading places?"

Fedic gulped again, gaze darting among the group, he said, "Well...I mean, I've been on a lot of operations, a lot."

Star asked, "But this is your first invasion?"

Head slung low, Fedic slouched.

'Ro combed his fingers through his hair, and sneered, "Oh, ya gotta be kidding me."

Star stared at Fedic, and asked, "Is that the only reason you're here?"

Gaze averted, Fedic said, "No."

Star said, "Well then, go on, and spill."

Fedic replied, "We're still willing to follow you. There are more of us now. Those who hate the army and the king. Even low-ranking officers. We will fight for you."

'Ro huffed, "Ya gotta be fucking kidding me! This is all some game! Some stupid trap! Don't y'all see that?"

Star didn't see it that way. In fact, it looked like the best opportunity she had in a long, long time.

Twirling her compass chain, Star asked, "How many?"

Fedic replied, "All in all, we got seven thousand troops, with another ten thousand on the way. I'd say out of those who are here, you got maybe five hundred at best."

'Ro chuckled. It sounded forced. He sighed, and said, "Man, that ain't nothing."

"No," Star said. "That's a good start. I'm sure Troll's got an army at least twice that size just waiting for us."

"So what's our next move?" Ally asked the group.

A contemplative silence elapsed.

Fedic replied, "Like I said, there are those who will still follow you, if you can return before the siege. After that, we'll have no choice but to invade the empire with the rest of the army."

Hands on holstered hips, 'Ro strode toward Fedic, and asked, "What do you mean, if she returns?"

Fedic said, "Of our original camp, I would say there are about a hundred still faithful to you--"

Ally asked, "What about the other fifty?"

"They will follow whoever is in charge," Fedic replied.

Sandy asked, "Did any of them rat on us about what happened when they left?"

Grey-gape wide, jaw trembling, Fedic said, "Hell no! They'd torture and kill each and every one of us just for letting you take the camp in the first place."

Star asked, "What about Valcor, the deserters, or the ones we killed in battle?"

Fedic replied, "They've been deemed AWOL and traitors, if they're ever found they'll receive the same punishment as all traitors."

"If they find them," Hickey spat.

"Good thing we buried 'em all," Ally said.

"Told y'all it was a good idea," Roy replied, tipping his hat, "And ya'll was belly-aching 'bout the doing of it."

Star asked Fedic, "What about the others you claim will fight for us? The ones we haven't met, the ones from other platoons. How can I even trust them?"

Fedic replied, "They believe in the prophecy, and they hate the king and Furion."

Sandy blurted, "But of course, they won't fight for someone they can't see, or can't be sure even exists."

"That's right!" Fedic chimed.

The corner of Ally's lip curled in a grin. He said, "So, now the question becomes, how do we sneak Star back into the camp before the invasion, but early enough to get soldiers on our side."

Sandy stroked Ally's arm, and said, "I guess we could follow the army, but from a distance, and then sneak back in early enough to build a resistance."

Star sat there; running the events through her mind, twirling her compass chain.

Hickey asked, "How the hell are we gonna do that, if they're gonna be marching from dawn 'till they get to where they're going?"

Star said, "That's not the problem."

All gazes fell upon her.

Even Mia, who remained silent since being accused a traitor, looked to Star for answers.

Star continued, "Even if we infiltrated the camp a second time, rebuilt our army, and made it to the invasion without being detected, we still got a major problem."

Hickey spat tobacco juice, and asked, "What's that?"

Star replied, "The only way to actually infiltrate the army is to wear the armor and march along with them. I mean, we could sneak in at some random point. But in the end, we'd have to arrive with the rest of the army just before the invasion."

Mustache dancing, Roy asked, "So?"

"So?" 'Ro snorted, "Don't ya get yet? Let's say we do all this, what's to stop Troll's army from firing upon us just as soon as they see us marching toward this Abbacabba, or whatever?"

Blank stares. Head scratching. Thoughtful quietness.

Fedic said, "Well, you guys have got a day to figure this all out." He turned to Star, and said, "If you can, we're with you. But I've stayed longer than I should. Good night." And then, Fedic trotted back toward the king's camp.

'Ro waited until his footfalls receded, and said, "I still don't trust that little shit."

Star gazed down at her compass. Dreaming of Krin. Thinking of Troll. "Neither do I," she said, "But what choice do we have?"

'Ro replied, "We got plenty of options."

Star scoffed, "Oh, yeah? Offer one. And don't say run, 'cause we've been over that shit. You know we can't do that. Not forever. And I _won't_ do it."

'Ro's shoulders slouched in dejection. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and sighed in utter exasperation.

A long silence elapsed.

They were stuck. Little options. Fewer resources.

And Troll still hadn't called her.

****

Moans and wails. The putrid stench of vomit, fecal matter, and un-washed bodies hung heavily in the stagnant air.

The _hermanii_ told Troll about the dungeons beneath the citadel (where prisoners awaiting trial were kept). The squalor of the boroughs seemed like plush accommodations compared to the _carcelii_ , or prison.

The _carcelii_ was constructed of thick, heavy rock. A narrow, cobblestone walkway cut between the two sides of the long two-story rectangular prison. Troll couldn't calculate the dimensions of the _carcelii_. Too dark. Lambent torch-light flickered weakly among the ubiquitous gloom. The prisoners were packed into their cells so tightly most had to stand. Men. Women. Children. The elderly. Natives and _tern-oht_. Hundreds of souls wedged together within the tightest of quarters.

Strange. Troll had seen very few arrests made.

Troll was put in a cell all to himself and at the furthest, darkest end of the _carcelii_ , probably because Shadeem didn't want him associating with anyone.

Very dark. Only the faintest of an orangish-glow emanated from the left. The eight-by-eight cell was sultry and dank. A small crag carved out of the far wall; an adequate sleeping-bench for a man of normal stature.

Troll sat cross-legged on the stone floor, praying, dear God, bless all those who linger here, and all those suffering above and elsewhere. May ye'r swift and hearty justice yet soon befall us all. Grant me, ye'r humble and unworthy servant, the power to stand up and bring together these people so that they may also have the opportunity to serve ye'r will. In ye'r name I pray, Amen.

The clunking of heavy locks clangored.

The angry roar of rusty gates sweltered.

Shouts and cries from the _carceli'istes_ rumbled toward Troll.

Voices roared, "Shut up! Shut up! _Quietaii_!

Screams. The cracking of whips and the flogging of flesh bounced in the cacophonous air.

Troll sat calm.

The prisoners settled down.

The stomping of booted feet plodded toward Troll's location.

Probably the _d'el guardii_.

The marching abruptly halted.

The clomping of heels as a lone visitor strode closer toward Troll's cell.

Smiling, hands folded behind him, Shadeem appeared in the dim light of the walkway.

Troll nodded, and said, "Shadeem."

"Ox," Shadeem snickered, "Oh, that's right, your name is Lort, or Turd, or something like that, right?"

Troll shrugged, and said, "I believe ye know my name. But even so, it matters not what ye call me. I am what I am."

"Hmm," Shadeem snorted. "I'll be sure to say that at your memorial. Not that there'll be one."

Troll stood and hobbled toward the bars (his staff, hook-cuffs, and cloak confiscated upon his arrest), well out of arms-reach from Shadeem.

Troll asked, "And what of my trial? Surely, anyone accused of a crime is due trial, or they not?"

"What makes you say that?"

"The first time we met, ye said Al'ber Que was a civilized society," Troll replied. "Any such civilized societies I've ever heard of had law and trial."

Glowering, Shadeem sneered, "Good memory. And yes, we do. But as you can see, the _carcelii_ is over-populated. Riots, protests, and acts of violence are being committed by the hour. With the _d'el guardii_ overworked, we do not have time to try every prisoner accordingly. Not yet. But when things return to normality--"

"What do the arrests of the _d'el guardii_ have anything to do with parliament trying prisoners?"

Shadeem's smile faded slightly, feet shuffling, he said, "As you probably know, the upcoming elections--"

"Last I heard, ye proclaimed the elections postponed."

"I did no such thing, it was parliament--"

"I heard parliament make no such declarations. Ye made them. And last I knew, ye are not a member of parliament, are ye?"

Shadeem leaned toward the bars, face immersed in shadow, he snarled, "You insolent sow, who do you think you're messing with?"

"Who do ye think _ye'r_ messing with?" Troll asked. "Ye've been lying, slaying, and enslaving the people for so long; they know what thou art doing! They are not blind! And they have had enough!"

Shadeem chuckled, "Is that supposed to scare me?"

"T'is not I ye should be afraid of, but the very people ye pillage and plunder. For one day, they shall rise up against thee. And it is ye who shall be imprisoned, if ye'r lucky."

Shadeem smiled, and said, "We shall see." He pivoted and marched away.

"Wait!" Troll called. He raced toward the bars, grasped them firmly, and said, "Tell parliament I seek an audience with them."

Shadeem whirled. Snarling, he said, "I told you, there will be no audience! There will be no trial."

"Why not? What crime did I commit? Doling out crusts of bread to starving children? How can ye, in good conscious, possibly see that as a crime?"

Shadeem roared, "You broke the law!"

Troll roared back, "Who's law? God's law? The empire's law? Parliament's law? Tell me, whom do ye really serve?"

"I think you know."

"Then say its name."

Silence.

Shadeem smiled, and said, "He was right about you, despite your brutish exterior, you really are a coward at heart. If you were half the giant you appear to be, you could easily break out of this prison, kill me, and put a stop to all this. But you can't, can you?"

"No, I can't," Troll replied.

"That's right, you can't. And tell me, why is that?"

Troll smiled, and said, "Because God has put me here for a reason. And it is here that I shall stay until my purpose served, no matter how long that takes."

Head tilted, Shadeem cupped his chin, and said, "Hmm, I was wrong, I believe that's what I'll say at your memorial. Not that there'll be one."

****

Night. Sarah leaned over the sultan's balcony as the crowd below roared, " _Dejarii vos votii_! _Dejarii vos votii_! _Dejarii vos votti_...!"

Sarah no longer pondered jumping. Yet, the desire to simply fly away from...all of this, still remained.

Despite being given the best medicines and attention, the sultan groaned and grumbled loudly.

Sarah knew he was just trying to fetch her attention. But she couldn't bear to look at him.

The mob cried out. The sultan whimpered and whined.

God, would this business never be done with?

After Troll's arrest, Sarah followed the troop to the citadel, and slipped back inside along with the rest of the prisoners. Once again, no one noticed. At least, they made no mention of it if they had.

Heart heavy, stomach in knots, head throbbing, and feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders, Sarah slouched back up the cylindrical staircase that led to the sultan's chambers. She felt a bit better when she opened the door to the sound of Rome's snoring.

Sarah sat at the table. What should she do now? Truly, it was all over. What would become of her? Be the sultan's bride? She shuddered at the thought of conceiving (and possibly losing), another of the Rome's ill-gotten ilk.

Despondent, Sarah rose, stood in front of the tapestry, and stared at it. She clutched herself and shivered, as if experiencing the paintings' stormy winds. She could almost hear the screams and wails of those poor, brush-stroke people treading water in an attempt at delaying the inevitable.

Unable to be in the same room as Rome, Sarah shuffled onto the balcony and stared out into the city for a long time.

"Ugh, Sarah," Rome whined. "Are you there, my dear, Chestnut?"

Why couldn't he just be dead?

He continued, "Oh, I am in so much pain. _Por favorii_ , is there no one here to help me?"

Sarah grumbled and marched inside; arms swinging at her sides. "M'lord," she said, trying with all her might not to glare at him.

He groaned, "Oh, my dear, Chestnut, I'm so glad you're here."

"I wouldn't have guessed that, based upon your treatment toward me this morning."

Rome huffed, "Are you still mad about that? I am under a great deal of pressure and in an immense amount of pain. I'm sure whatever I said, I did not mean."

Not much of an apology.

Rome patted the mattress, and said, "Come sit with me, _por favorii_."

Anger and disgust flared within Sarah, but she did as the sultan requested. She sat down gently on the edge of the curtained-bed; as far away as she could get.

Rome struggled to sit.

She didn't help.

Rome put his arm around her.

Sarah wanted to pull away, but didn't. His very touch made her skin crawl.

"How was your day?" he asked.

How to respond? Should she tell him how her day was going great until he treated her like a common whore? Should she tell him about how she lost his baby, even though she never even realized she was pregnant?

She blurted, "My friend Troll was arrested today?"

He kissed her on the cheek, and said, "Well, I'm sure parliament had a good reason."

"Parliament didn't arrest him, Shadeem arrested him for feeding starving children."

"I'm sure the situation is more complex than that."

Sarah turned to him, and asked, "Is it? Do ye really mean to sit there and tell me that ye trust Shadeem's judgment? Come now, we both know he serves neither ye nor the empire."

Rome reared back; pillowy brows furrowed. Through clenched teeth, he said, "Careful, girl. What you say is treasonous."

"Against whom?" Anger flared within her, and she kindled it. She asked, "Parliament? Shadeem is not a member of parliament, and yet, ye allow him into every meeting to bully the others. Micah and Franz are terrified of him."

Rome glowered at her, and asked, "How do you know that?"

Without hesitation, Sarah replied, "Ye cannot hide that which is in plain sight." Once again, Troll's words from her mouth. "And what of the others who have been taken into custody and held without trial? Were they too arrested for helping the poor?"

Stoically, Rome stared at her, chuckled, and said, "You stupid, stupid girl."

Sarah pivoted, and opened her mouth to retort.

Rome lurched forward, wrapped his hands around her throat, and squeezed.

Sarah fell backward on the bed.

Rome crawled on top of her and thrashed her head against the mattress over and over again; throttling her.

Sarah clawed at the sultan's stitches and drew blood.

Hissing, Rome arched back.

Sarah rolled off the bed, hurriedly back-pedaled out of arm-reach.

Clutching at his seeping wounds, Rome yelled, "You stupid girl! All you had to do was keep your mouth shut and stay out of the way."

"What?"

Rome snorted, "Oh, please." He grunted as he positioned himself at the edge of the curtained-bed. "I'm not stupid. I know who sent you and why. I've known this entire time."

Sarah's heart felt faint, bowels loosened. Of course he knew. How could he not?

Grinning, Rome asked, "Did you really think you and your little friends could stand against the almighty king?"

Sarah stammered, "I...I..."

Rome sneered, "You what? Didn't know that we were on to you from the very start. Let me tell you something, not that it matters anymore, but you didn't come here. You were brought here because it was all part of the plan. His plan. And all the while, you thought you could change things. All the while, you thought you could run. And what's more, I know you know what happened to my mother's dinner rug!"

Sarah snorted, "Is that all ye care about, ye'r fancy things and swagger? I actually thought I cared about ye, and that ye cared about me in turn. But ye'r nothing more than a liar and a murderer!"

"You truly are a stupid, stupid girl."

"Stop calling me that!" She was so angry she trembled.

"What? Stupid?"

"No," Sarah said, fists clenched at her sides, tears streaming down her face, "Ye'r right, I have been stupid. So very, very stupid. But I am no girl! I am a _Madirii_!"

Rome snorted, wincing as he clutched his wounds. "You are no mother."

"Ye are wrong."

Rome laughed until he coughed and doubled over.

Quivering with rage, Sarah said, "I was a mother. I was the mother of ye'r child."

Rome halted his laughter, gape wide, mouth agape, he stared at her.

"That's right," Sarah cried. "I was pregnant. I carried ye'r child. And then I lost it. I bled out and I lost it. And ye know what? I'm happy. I'm glad that I won't have to go around touting that wretched seed within my womb until the day it springs forth and robs me of my life! Because I hate ye! Ye hear me? I hate everything about ye. It disgusts me just to look at ye. And if I hadn't lost the baby, if I survived the pregnancy, I would have drowned the baby like a rat. Because I couldn't bear to raise a thing that came from ye!" Skirling, she attacked him.

Rome smacked her hard across the face. Sarah reeled to the side. Rome grasped her arm and threw her on the bed. He pummeled his fists into her face as he screamed obscenities at her. "You bitch! You whore! You worthless piece of borough trash!"

Sarah cried and caterwauled. But no one came to her rescue. Not even Maddy.

And when the sultan finished beating her; when Sarah's face was nothing more than an open, bleeding sore; he raped her.

****

9

Troll sat on the cobblestone floor. His back pressed against the wall. The coolness of ashlar bricks helped sooth his sweaty skin from the sweltering humidity of _l'carcelii_. His mouth felt sticky, dirty. The putrid stench of caged humans soiled the stagnant air.

Probably early morning now, if not dawn. But Troll couldn't tell. Down here, all was dark except for the faint, lambent glow of torchlight.

Coughing, crying, and stirring from the other prisoners.

Troll spent the entire night deep in prayer.

Nothing. No response. No answers. Was God even listening?

Now, Troll sat there, pondering over the meaning of it all. The puzzle. His puzzle. His quest. He mentally pushed the pieces around, trying to make them fit. Willing them to fit. The Dog. Myriam. Silverdale. Al'ber Que. The ten month lapse in time. The _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_. The taking of Anne. The trinity separating only to have an army land upon Troll's kilted lap. Montalvo, forty years older. The stranger in white. He just didn't understand it.

The clunking of heavy locks clangored.

The angry roar of iron-gates skirled.

The plodding of many feet, marched in unison toward Troll's cell.

After a few minutes, Shadeem strode in front of the bars. He stood straight, muscular arms folded behind him. He grinned, and said, "Good morning, I trust you slept well."

Troll asked, "Who is that there with thee?"

Shadeem glanced to the side.

"Come now, show ye'r selves!"

Tisk and Task lurched forward, and briefly exposed their smiling, yellow, diamond-studded faces before receding from Troll's plane of vision.

"What are they doing here?"

"You did request an audience with parliament," Shadeem replied.

"I asked to speak to all of parliament."

Shadeem chuckled, and said, "Regrettably, the others are busy elsewhere. We do have uproar on our hands, you know. But go ahead, speak your mind and we shall be sure to relay every word to the others."

Troll scratched his beard, and asked, "Will ye, now?"

Shadeem continued, "But first, I would like to ask you a few questions. And since we're going out of our way to bring your message to parliament, I think supplying answers to my queries would only be fair. Don't you?"

Troll snorted, "What is this, an audience or an interrogation?"

"What's the difference?" Shadeem shrugged. He gestured toward the ground and said, "May I?"

Troll nodded.

Tisk handed Shadeem a small stool. Shadeem sat, crossed his arms, and said, "There, that's better. Now, tell me, what do you know about this alliance?"

Troll replied, "I know they are a major stick in parliament's craw."

"Hmm, so it would seem." Shadeem stroked his smooth square-shaped chin, and asked, "What is your connection to this alliance?"

"I empathize with them."

"You are not part of the alliance?"

"No."

"Then why train the _d'el guardii_ , to what end? Build an army?"

"I was building nothing. They came to me and asked me to show them a thing or two. Besides, I thought I was arrested for _taxe_ evasion, not teaching people."

Shadeem rubbed his chin, and said, "I was only curious. Speaking of curiosity, why did they ask you to, as you put it, show them a thing or two?"

"Perhaps, ye should ask them," Troll replied.

Shadeem said, "I have." He smiled. His eyes glinted in the minimal light. "I just wanted to see if your answer matches theirs. So?" Shadeem leaned forward, and asked, "What _is_ your answer?"

Shrugging, Troll replied, "I don't know why. They thought not to say, nor I to ask."

Shadeem settled back on the stool, crossed his legs, and said, "Tell me about Sarah."

"What about her?"

"Why would you send her to the sultan's bed if you weren't plotting something?"

"I didn't send her. She went on her own accord and the sultan invited her in."

"Ah, yes," Shadeem replied, "when you went missing for a few days, only to return unscathed. You know, Sarah thought you had been taken. But I didn't. Tell me, where did you go?"

"I went for a leisurely stroll to clear my head."

"For four days?"

"T'was a lot of clutter up there, I'm afraid. Furthermore, ye seem to know a lot about me and my doings. Why would ye be watching us, if ye and parliament weren't plotting something, as well?"

Shadeem's bushy brows arched. He pointed a finger in the air, and said, "Ah, so you admit you _were_ plotting something?"

"No, I was only speaking hypothetically. Still, the question remains, why were ye watching us?"

"We watch all newly arrived _teran-oht_ very closely."

"Really? Each and every one with the same rigorous diligence as ye've paid to me and my friends?"

"Now, let's talk about that for a minute--"

"Why not an answer to my quandary?"

Shadeem smiled, and said, "You asking questions wasn't part of the deal. I ask the questions, you talk, and then I deliver your message to parliament, remember?"

Silence.

Shadeem continued, "Tell me about your friends."

"Which friends?"

Shadeem rose, paced leisurely around the stool, and said, "You know, your scab of a squire, the one I nearly gutted before you intervened on the night of the carnival. Where did he go?"

"He left Al'ber Que shortly after. Strut right on out into the desert one night, so he did?"

"And why did he leave?"

Troll shrugged. "Perhaps, God told him to."

Shadeem reunited his rear-end with the stool, leaned toward the bars, and asked, "What about you? He is your squire, did you tell him to go? Did you?"

Head lowered, Troll ran a hand down his scar.

"You did, didn't you?"

Troll sighed, and said, "Aye, I told him to leave."

"And why?"

"Because I felt it wasn't safe for him here." Troll stared at Shadeem, and asked, "Was I wrong?"

Shadeem settled back, and grinned satisfactorily. He chuckled, and said, "And what about the black woman with golden hair, the Krinian, I believe."

Troll opened his mouth, meaning to ask how Shadeem knew she was from Krin. Teeth clanked together as he clamped his mouth shut; realizing it a stupid question.

Troll lifted a hand, fingers spread, the flickering orange juxtaposed against the bars of shadow, and danced on the glossy edges of his fingertips. "Honestly, I don't know what has happened to her. Somehow, she just slipped through my fingers."

Shadeem laughed. His barrel-like chest heaved. "Okay, what about the old red-skinned man, what's his name?"

Troll sighed, and said, "My dear, interrogator, I feel obliged to inform ye that I have many friends, and if ye'r going to question me about each and every one, then we're going to be here for a long time."

Shadeem's smile widened to a maniacal magnitude. He said, "Very well, let us proceed."

****

Just after dawn, the king's camp headed off toward Al'ber Que.

Star grumbled as she watched through her viewing monocle. That was her gear they were taking.

"So what do we do now?" 'Ro lay next to her upon a dune, gazing through his binoculars.

"Now, we follow 'em," Star replied. She rolled to the side, back down the hill, and out of view from the army.

The rest of the Jessips were already packed up and ready to go.

Good thing most of the soldiers were marching, because the gang would have to follow on foot.

"How we gonna get in there?" Ally asked. "The only one of us in armor is 'Ro."

Star replied, "That's the easy part. I've marched with soldiers before, they're not gonna walk the entire way there, they're gonna take breaks. When they do, we grab some armor and slip in."

Hickey snorted, "But any spare weapons, armor, and everything else is packed up. There's no way we'll know where to search and which crates to look in."

"Sure we will," Sandy said. "Mia and I helped load and get it ready to move. We know where everything is, don't we Mia?"

Lingering just outside the group, Mia shot her head up, and said, "Hmm, what? Oh, yeah, sure."

Ally said, "Still, it's gonna be guarded."

Star sighed deeply. She ran a hand through her hair once more before remembering it tied back. She said, "Look, I never said it would be easy."

Brow cocked, 'Ro said, "Uh, yeah ya did. I believe your exact words were, that's the easy part."

"I just meant it was easy compared to everything else we gotta tackle," she replied.

'Ro said, "Oh."

Star continued, "Plus, Fedic's gonna help us."

Mustache dancing, Roy asked, "Really? Does he know that? 'Cause I don't recall you saying that last night."

Star huffed, "Look, I'll admit, I haven't got this all planned out yet. Unfortunately, we don't have time for that. I'm just kinda playing this thing by ear."

'Ro grinned, nodded, and said, "Now, that's my kinda plan."

Star said, "All right, let's move out, we're gonna have to keep up." She watched the group trudge onward, wondering if this would even work. Perhaps, there a better way, a better plan. But what?

Mia lagged behind.

Star strut toward her, and asked, "What's wrong? Ya got something to say to me?

Mia glanced up, thin brows arched. Quivering lips pursed tightly, anger pooled in her glare. "Me! It's you who has something to say to me."

Arms crossed, foot tapping, Star asked, "Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Like, how 'bout maybe, sorry!" Voice breaking, Mia said, "I trusted you. I fought for you. I believed in you. And you thought I was a traitor just because I don't trust Fedic?"

"No one trusts Fedic," Star replied. "But so far, you're the only one who's suggested killing him."

Pale face flushed beet-red, Mia asked, "Isn't that what we do to traitors? And I only suggested it. I didn't do it. I could have, but I didn't." Mia ran a shaky hand through her short, black bangs. She gazed into Star's eyes, and said, "I was trying to protect you!"

Star glanced down at her boots. She never realized how her untrusting nature actually hurt other people.

"You're right," Star sighed, "and I am sorry."

"That's it? That's all you have to say? I'm sorry?"

Star ambled after the others.

Mia followed alongside.

Star said, "I'm sorry for pressing you about your past. But you gotta agree you would've done the exact same thing in my position. You would have felt the same. And as far as trust goes, that's a slippery slope. Once you start trusting people just because they say they're trustworthy, you lose the ability to read the intentions of strangers. And I've fought too hard, for too long to lose that skill, understand?"

"I guess so," Mia replied. "But I'm not exactly a stranger, not anymore."

"Length of time together doesn't necessarily mean you know that person. For instance, what's my name?"

"Star," Mia replied. "Isn't it?"

"Well it is and it isn't."

Mia ceased walking, and said, "My name isn't really Mia. I mean, it is and it isn't, just like you said."

Star pivoted, and gazed at Mia.

Mia gulped, met Star's gape, and said, "My mother called me Mia, but my real name is Barbara. Barbara Maria Miller. I changed it when I left home. Just trying to get a fresh start, I guess."

Star chuckled. The more she learned about Mia, the more Mia reminded her of herself. Star smiled, held out her hand, and said, "Well, nice to meet you Barbara, my name's Myriam, Myriam Star."

They shook hands and laughed.

Mia cocked her head to the side, frowned, and said, "Just don't tell the boys my name's Barbara."

Star said, "I won't tell 'em your name long as you don't tell 'em mine."

Mia giggled, and said, "Deal."

"Well, come on," Star said, "We don't wanna fall behind."

****

Sarah awoke on the cold, cobblestone floor to an aching body and the shouts of the crowd outside. Her face throbbed with a dull rhythmic beat. The table lay on its side along the far wall. Broken dishes, dinnerware, and food soiled the ground.

Sarah crawled to her feet. Hot needles of pain arched through her shoulders and coursed down her spine.

The curtained-bed appeared ravaged. Sheets bunched and coiled, pillows tossed carelessly askew.

Something had happened here. Someone had been attacked. Her.

Sarah stepped toward the sultan's _pulprit_. A searing sensation swelled in her ankle before it gave under her weight. Sarah spread out her arms and staggered to keep her balance.

She hobbled toward the _pulprit_ , advancing only a few paces before tripping.

"Ah!" Sarah wailed as she smacked into the stone floor.

Cold and sweaty, she shivered. She wormed into the adytum and toward the sultan's personal effects. _Hookah_ and a pile of the finest tobacco rested on a silver platter.

Sarah swept the back of her hand across the platter and scattered the opulent chattels. The _hookah_ bounced off the wall and cracked down the shaft. Sarah picked up the dish and gazed at her reflection.

Her face appeared so bruised and purplish she didn't even recognize herself. One eye completely swollen shut. Blood dried around her puffy, blistered lips and now crooked nose. Sarah's flat, stringy hair was sweat-plastered to the side of her head.

She now longer resembled a beautiful farm-maiden, or the _Madirii_ the sultan lusted after. Now, she was a hideous monster.

Anger and hatred swirled within her. She thrust the plate aside, and slowly rose to her wobbling feet.

Sarah hobbled out of the _pulprit_ in a determined shuffling gait. She glanced around the chambers, the sultan nowhere in sight, not even on the balcony.

Strange. Where could he have gone? He was supposed to be bedridden.

Did she really care? Suppose he had been there when she awoke? So what? Would he beat and rape her again? Would he carry on as if nothing happened? Could she even be in the same room as Rome without attacking him?

Sarah tottered toward the bureau and riffled through the drawers. She wrapped the finest silk shawl she could find around her head; concealing her battered features as best she could.

She didn't even bother to clean herself, or change clothes. She no longer cared how she dressed.

She slowly opened the chamber door.

Part of her knew Shadeem would be standing there, waiting to finish her off.

Nothing.

Leaning against the wall for support, Sarah crept down the spiral staircase.

The lobby appeared abandoned except for the echoing shouts from outside.

Where in Heaven's name was everyone?

Sarah hobbled toward the front portico.

From outside, the _d'el guardii_ had it completely blocked off. Guarded. Preventing anyone from going in or out of the citadel's atrium. No matter. There were other doors.

Favoring her swollen ankle, Sarah shuffled down the hall. She came upon a side door the _obrii d'el repiriiddii_ sometimes used. Of course, the portal was camouflaged by the citadel's ornamental veneer and could only be opened from the inside.

Sarah opened the door; wincing in pain as the sunlight stung her eyes.

Sarah hobbled out, and toward the front of the citadel.

The entire empire surrounded the capitol.

All _d'el guardii_ posted upon the many levels of the tall building.

Sarah drew the shawl tighter around her face. Hunching, she shuffled among the roarous crowd.

Someone grabbed her shoulder, and asked, " _Madirii_ , is that you?"

Sarah pivoted.

The old woman, who informed her she was pregnant, stood before her.

The woman said, " _Madirii_ , you should not be out here, it's not safe--" She gasped, and covered her wrinkled lips and v-shaped chin. " _Madirii_ , what has happened to your beautiful face? Who has done this to you?"

Sarah cringed, and whimpered, "The...the sultan..."

"What!" Brow wrinkled, beady eyes bulged, she yelled, "He cannot do that! You are a _Madirii_ , he cannot strike you! He cannot beat you! He is the sultan, he should know better!"

Protesters closest to the scene ceased chanting and directed their attention to the woman's rant.

"What?" asked a native man said, "The sultan struck a _Madirii_?"

Grumbles and chattering arose among the protesters.

" _Si_!" the woman yelled.

More and more began paying attention to her.

The woman continued, "This _Madirii_ saved the sultan's life just days ago. And how does he repay her heroism? He beats her!" The woman snatched the shawl from Sarah, revealing her face. "Look!" the woman shouted. "Look at what the sultan has done to his own savior!"

Boos. Angry shouts and jeers. The protesters lobbed rocks, food, _sheckles_ , and anything else they had at the _d'el guardii_.

The commanding _d'el guardii_ waved his hands, and clamored, "People, people, stop, _por favorii_!"

The throng continued pelting the _d'el guardii_.

The commanding _d'el guardii_ turned to his men, and cried, "On my mark! _Preparadii_ , _punterii_ , _efuegii_!"

_Blam-blam-blam_.

The _d'el guardii_ fired into the crowd.

People screamed and scattered.

Blood and pink mist rained.

Bodies fell. Some took direct hits. Others were knocked over and trampled to death.

The woman next to Sarah grunted and doubled over.

Sarah grasped her hand, and asked, "Are ye all right?"

She gasped, "Run, _Madirii_. Save yourself."

"No," Sarah replied. She threw the woman's arm over her shoulder and they shuffled away as fast as they could.

Most people fled toward the open area in front of the citadel.

Sarah hurried to the side, toward the northern borough; collapsing once within the safety of a dark and narrow alley.

The woman groaned, and clutched at her side.

"Let me see," Sarah said, pulling the woman's hands away.

Her palms were slick with blood.

"I've been looking for you," Montalvo said.

Sarah jumped at the sound of his voice.

Montalvo stepped out of the shadows, and asked, "Tallanii, are you all right?"

"You know this woman?" Sarah asked Montalvo.

"Yes," he replied. "She is a member of _l'hermanii d'el Al'ber Que_."

"She wasn't with us the other day when we planted the kegs."

Montalvo cradled Tallanii in his arms and picked her up.

He seemed surprisingly strong for a man so old and skinny.

"No," Montalvo said to Sarah. "She was not. She is our woman on the inside. Come, it is not safe here. Follow me."

Sarah hobbled after Montalvo. They made their way deeper into the borough, entered a random apartment building, and descended into the basement.

The rest of the _hermanii_ awaited them, as well as the masked _d'el gaurdii_ who arrested Troll.

Sarah glared at the masked man, and asked, "What is this? What is going on? What is he doing here?"

Birthmark bouncing, Natiis said, "Easy, _Madirii_ , despite what you saw yesterday, this _dan_ is with us."

Montalvo gently rested Tallanii on a table.

Ayanii and Fatiima rushed to her side.

Sarah asked Natiis, "How many spies does Troll have in the citadel?"

The masked _d'el guardii_ replied, "None of this is _Easta_ Troll's doing, he merely joined our cause.

Sarah asked him, "I know ye, don't I?"

Natiis said, "That is not important, _Madirii_ , we must sneak you back into the citadel before anyone realizes you're gone."

"Why?"

The _d'el guardii_ replied, "To break _Easta_ Troll out of _l'carcelii_."

Sarah asked, "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Don't worry, _Madirii_ ," he replied. "We shall help you."

His muffled voice sounded oddly familiar.

Sarah asked, "Who are ye?"

He replied, "We are the sanity in a world gone mad. But if you must call me by a name, _Easta_ Troll has dubbed me, Buckets."

"She's gone," Fatiima said. The rosy hue drained from her chubby cheeks. "The bullet pierced straight through Tallanii's kidney."

Ayanii folded her wrinkled, veiny hands, and said, "Then she stands in the grace of the Goddess."

All but Sarah bowed their heads in a moment of silence for the fallen sister.

Buckets turned to Sarah, and said, "Come we don't have a moment to lose."

Sarah glanced at Tallanii's motionless body, and asked, "But how shall I sneak back into the citadel without being seen, or shot?"

Buckets replied, " _Madirii_ , I myself just came from the citadel without ever setting foot in the streets."

****

A soft weeping echoed throughout the tunnels.

Utilizing his sonar, the Dog crawled to higher, more occupied chambers and caverns. Senses returning slightly, it seemed the deeper underground he went, the more useless his heightened abilities became.

He sniffed the air. Nothing but the hefty aroma of humidity and despair.

The Dog felt torn about leaving Byron behind. But having the cackling madman at his side would jeopardize the Dog's stealth. What mattered was that he actually found Byron. And the Dog still knew where Byron was, more or less.

Dog followed the purling sobs until he came to a fork in the tunnel. Both passages led up into chambers lit by lanterns.

Which way?

The Dog squatted on his haunches, closed his eyes, and attempted to focus his senses.

Childish blubbering echoed faintly.

The rattling of chains reverberated, as well.

Another, softer sound; the shifting of dirt as chains slithered through it like a snake, and it only came from one direction.

The Dog crawled through the passage, and peeked into the chamber above. No soldiers. No slaves.

The Dog followed the cries.

The chamber narrowed and fed back down into an unlit tunnel. There, a few meters within the darkened portal, sat the small silhouette of a child.

The Dog sniffed.

Anne. She was latched to a length of chain anchored to the side of the tunnel.

The Dog slunk toward her. Unsure if it actually was her. His senses told him it was, but what good were they down here?

Anne pivoted. She might have lingered in a gloomy tunnel, but the Dog still hunkered in the lit chamber above. And when she saw him, her eyes grew impossibly wide, mouth agape.

In barely a whisper, she uttered, "Puppy?"

"Yes," Dog replied.

"Oh, Puppy!" she cried, racing toward him. After a few steps the shackle swept her feet out from underneath her. She would have smashed her face on the ground, but the Dog darted down there and caught her.

She gazed up into his eyes, and smiled weakly.

Anne appeared much thinner, her face sunken and emaciated. Her clothes worn to soiled rags. Her hair looked ratty and unkempt. But it was her.

"Oh, puppy," she cried. "I can't even tell if this is real. And truth be told, I don't care, as long as ye'r here."

"I am here," he replied. "And this is real." He crouched on his haunches, and hugged her.

She squeezed back with all the strength her weak arms could muster.

"I knew ye'd come," she squeaked. "I just knew it. I think they did too, that must be why they put me down here by myself."

Dog pulled away, tilted his head, and stared at her.

Anne said, "They came and took me away from my work group."

"Who?"

"I don't know." Anne braided his beard, as if back in Silverdale, "They were dressed like guards, but I don't think they were. They didn't act like guards. I mean, they did, but something seemed off about them."

The Dog remembered the fire at Tooker's barn and encountering Baylon. Something had gotten inside Baylon, acting through him.

Anne continued, "Anyway, they chained me down here, and told me to tell anyone who came, that they had to call him out. I guess they meant ye, and they want ye to sing the song so he'll come and get ye. But ye'r not going to sing the song, are ye? Ye'r not gonna let _him_ take ye away."

"No," Dog replied, "I'm not."

"Good," she said. "So come on, free me and let's get out of here."

"I can't."

Anne ceased braiding the Dog's beard. Her eyes welled with tears. Bottom lip protruding, she asked, "Why?"

"Troll hasn't called me back, yet."

"But, ye'r not going to leave me here, are ye?"

"No."

"So, ye'll stay with me until Mr. Troll calls us back?"

"Yes."

"And ye'll not sing the song?"

"No." Not yet, he silently amended. Before they left this dreadful place, he would have to call out the Sweetie-man. It was the only way to end this madness once and for all.

"Good," she replied. She finished knitting his beard into one, long braid. She curled up in his arms and fell asleep.

The Dog meant to stand guard, but the cadent beating of her heart against his chest, and her slow methodic breathing gently lulled the Dog to sleep.

****

Pillowy eyebrows arched, the sultan asked, "What did you learn from our prisoner?"

"Very little," Shadeem replied. "He was being purposely evasive."

Sarah held her ear pressed against the chamber door.

Should she enter? Where else would she go?

After Buckets snuck her back into the citadel via a hidden underground passage (apparently dozens ran from the citadel to various parts of the city), the masked _d'el guardii_ shuffled off in a hurry, leaving Sarah alone in the deserted lobby.

Hungry, she hobbled to the refectory; also abandoned save for one cook, who fixed her a sandwich and fruit. He made no mention of her battered face, though he glanced at it often.

Sarah ate and then struggled up the spiral staircase toward the sultan's chambers.

Shadeem continued, "But I still believe this Troll character is directly involved with the alliance, and may have even encouraged them to attack the citadel after being arrested."

Anger and frustration raged within her. Without thinking, Sarah slammed open the door and wobbled inside. "From prison?" Sarah roared. "Ye really expect people to believe one man orchestrated something like that from the deepest, darkest depths of ye'r dungeons?"

Rome lay on his bed, hands folded on his belly.

Shadeem stood while all of parliament sat at the sultan's table.

Sarah said, "The citadel was attacked because ye ordered the _d'el guardii_ to fire into the crowd!"

Shadeem folded his hands behind his back, smiled, and said, "I did no such thing, I was questioning the prisoner all day." He turned to the sultan, and said, "Speaking of which, he has a message for parliament."

Tisk leaned over and said something to Task in their alien language. The two snickered.

The sultan nodded at Sarah and then asked Shadeem, "Should she be here for this?"

Grinning, Shadeem said, "I see no reason why not. After all, you both know about each other, and now, you both know that you both know about each other, don't you?"

Caterpillar-like brows furrowed, Franz and Micah exchanged a questioning glance.

Wincing, the sultan replied, " _Si_."

Gaze averted, hands kneading hem, Sarah said, "Aye."

Shadeem continued, "Besides, this concerns her too. Please," he said, offering her to sit at the table.

Tisk and Task stood, proffering either chair.

Head held high, Sarah replied, "I'd rather stand."

Shadeem said, "Nonsense, you are a _Madirii_. Please, make yourself comfortable. I insist."

Sarah sat down.

Franz and Micah glanced at her face and then at the sultan.

Did they know beat her? Did they know anything about what was really going on?

"What is this message?" the sultan asked.

Shadeem replied, "Troll pleads for us to release all prisoners from the _carcelii_. According to him, such would be a great act of faith on our part, and might settle the protestors." He smiled at Sarah, and said, "He said if we do this, he would gladly stay as our prisoner, and would allow us to do with him as we saw fit without fight or refute. In his words, he said we could make an example out of him."

Franz ran tawny fingers along the edges of his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. He sighed, and asked, "What choice do we have?"

The sultan scoffed, "We can't just release three-hundred-some violent citizens back into the population, no matter what the trade."

"If ye do not, then the people will continue to attack the citadel," Sarah replied.

Shadeem snorted, "So what? This place is a fortress. Besides, we only have to last until tomorrow."

Sarah asked, "What happens tomorrow?"

Shadeem grinned wickedly. He glanced at Rome.

The sultan averted his gaze.

Micah scratched his curly beard. Brow cocked, he asked, "What does happen tomorrow, _easta_?"

Shadeem smiled, and said, "Tomorrow, all our troubles shall be over."

****

Star awoke in a small tent lit by a lantern. Her head pounded like the king's war drums.

She was getting really tired of being knocked out.

Just as expected, the advancing army rested twice during the day. But it wasn't until the night's first break that Star (wearing the armor 'Ro lent her), crept back into the camp.

From their current location, the Sie Mountains could be seen. Al'ber Que still remained hidden, but the orangish glow of the empire was clearly visible, as if a small amber halo encircled part of the mountain side.

From afar, Sandy and Mia pointed out were the extra armor was packed and which crates to search.

They all wished her luck, and then Star slithered down the dunes toward the camp. Once just outside the site, Star popped to her feet and marched directly toward the cargo tents.

Only two soldiers guarded the tent, but thousands of soldiers roamed the grounds.

"Halt!" barked one of the king's men. "State your orders, soldier."

Star considered imitating a deep, masculine voice. But if they didn't buy it, they would alert the others to her presence. Star strode right up to them.

"Halt!" the guard cried. Both soldiers fumbled for their weapons.

Star grasped each man by their helmet straps and slammed their heads together.

Their faces thumped loudly against the insides of their metal masks. They dropped to the ground in slump.

Star glanced around, so far so good. Almost too easy.

Star dragged a soldier into the tent. When she went back for the other, as soon as she peeled back the tent-flap, the butt of a rifle smashed hard enough into her mask as to indent the face-guard.

Lights out. Again.

Now, she was in the tent. Who hit her? Fedic? Someone else she knew? Had a loyalist spotted her? Holding her head, Star winced, and glanced around.

To the left, a simple cot furnished with a pillow and blanket.

To Star's right, a small foldable table littered with charts, maps, and documents.

An officer's tent. Well, Fedic was an officer. But why knock her out? It just didn't add up.

Star stood and banged the top of her head against the lantern hanging from the inside of the tent's peak. The lantern swung. Light bounced around in a rocking motion, as if the tent swayed to-and-fro.

Star snarled, "Damnit!" She steadied the lamp and sauntered toward the table.

The tent-flap peeled back.

Star pivoted, hands dropped to holstered hips. Gone! Here guns were not there.

A soldier entered clad head to toe in heavy, black armor. Black, leather satchel strapped across his shoulder. One hand hid behind his back.

"What the hell do ya think you're doing, Futn--"

The soldier removed his helmet, and dropped it to the ground.

The man before her had fiery red-hair. Knuckles bones pierced though the bridge of his nose. Not Fedic. Shroud.

Star charged, and said, "You son-of-a-bitch!"

Shroud pulled his hand from behind his back, and aimed a shooter at her.

Her shooter.

Star halted.

Shroud smiled and exposed yellowish, filed teeth. He strut toward her, and said, "And here I thought you wouldn't remember me."

"I remember you."

"And I, you," he replied. He waved the gun toward the cot, and said, "Please, sit."

Star backed toward the cot and sat down.

"There, that's better, isn't it?"

Star asked, "You the one that knocked me out?"

"I am," he replied.

"Anyone else see me?"

"No, and I didn't see you, not really. You've gotten quite good at skulking about, I'll give you that. In fact, no one saw you except those two soldiers."

"And where are they?"

"Dead," he replied. "I couldn't let word get out that you returned, not yet."

Star's heart filled with a dull sense of dread.

Shroud chuckled, "That's right. I knew you had taken the camp. I knew you ran when I came back--"

"I didn't run," Star snarled.

Shroud continued, "I knew you were coming back, and I knew you would be at the supply tents. I knew, because _he_ told me."

"So what?" Star spat. "Ya'll got me, here I am. If you knew this entire time then why'd y'all let any of it happen in the first place? How come I ain't dead yet? How come Furion ain't here now?"

Shroud smiled, and said, "I can answer all those questions and more with a simple statement, because it was all part of the plan."

"What plan?"

Shroud said, "The plan to crush you and these so-called prophets, end the rebellion, and ensure the king's ever-lasting and unquestioned reign."

"If you believe in the prophecy enough to go through all this, then you must realize how pointless it is on your part. We win. End of story."

Gun still trained on Star, Shroud strode forward, and said, "Ah, but the thing you fail to realize, is that story is still being written. No-doubt, your man has found the books by now."

"Books? What books? Troll's journal?"

"Tell me, has he remembered who he is, yet?"

Star's mouth hung agape. Her muscles tensed and her stomach twisted into knots.

"Never mind," Shroud replied. "You wouldn't understand it even if I explained it to you. Hell, I don't understand it myself. But that's the great part, I don't have to."

"You just do whatever Furion tells you to, that how it is?"

Shroud shrugged, and said, "Why not? If you really sit down and think about, I'm the wealthiest, most feared, and known man in all the world."

Star sneered, "Behind the king and his children, of course."

"Yes, well, one must know their position," he replied. "It is imperative to one's survival."

"So, tell me, why am I here? You're obviously not going to kill me. And apparently you don't want anyone else to know I'm here except you and Furion. Why am I here? What part of the plan is this?"

Shroud replied, "This is the part where I tell you that Furion wants you to succeed in re-infiltrating the camp with your friends. The Lord of Black wants you to build an army under our very noses. And he wants you to fight."

"Why?"

"The only way to end the rebellion is to allow the battle to happen. To let you all fight and fail. Only then will you and your prophets be allowed to die. All turn-coats and traitors of the king will be dealt with -- severely. And then, and only then, will no one even think about refuting the king."

Star chuckled, "You are truly fucking delusional. Do you know that?"

Shroud smiled, and said, "Perhaps, but to sweeten the deal, if you continue your rebellion in secrecy, and the siege occurs as planned, then Lord Furion will meet you on the field of battle."

Should she accept? Furion may have known what she'd been doing, but what about Troll? The Dog? Sarah? How far did the Lord of Black see? If he knew everything they planned, then they already lost the element of surprise. Yet still, this was the best chance Star had at getting close to Furion. And if she could get close enough to kill him, she might be able to end the war.

"Here," Shroud said, fetching Star's holster out of his satchel. He slid the gun in his hand into the leather, and tossed Star her weapons. "As a token of good faith," he amended.

Star snatched the belt out of the air, drew a pistol, and aimed at Shroud's forehead.

Shroud raised his hands to the sky and smiled.

Star snarled, "What if I just kill ya now?"

Chuckling, Shroud replied, "The Lord of Black foresaw this. He told me to tell you, that if you kill me, or spoil his plans before fruition, then he will never meet you on any field of battle. You will lose any chance of revenge -- forever."

Gaze never straying from Shroud, Star holstered her sidearm, and buckled the assembly around her waist. "Let's say I accept, how am I gonna sneak the rest of my group in?"

"Simple," Shroud said. "The rest of the army has already moved on. Just outside my tent are two crates full of armor and weapons enough for your friends. I will take my leave, and rejoin the army. My steed is also right outside, by the way. You return to your friends, and tell them you managed to stash two crates."

"I don't think they're gonna buy that," Star replied.

"Of course they will, they have already moved on, following the army. They probably think you've managed to infiltrate and are just waiting for the next break to get them. That break will occur in roughly four hours."

"But they were watching me, they had to have seen you grab me."

"The Lord of Black blinded their eyes, temporarily, of course. And this tent we're in now, is what your friends call, one of them invisible tepees."

Star just couldn't believe it. This whole time, Furion had known their every move and remained one step ahead of them. Indeed, Star felt very, very stupid. Like a lost child again.

Shroud continued, "You may stay and mull over his offer for a while, no one will bother you. But be warned, after the next rest, there will be no breaks. We march straight on to Al'ber Que. Miss your window, and you will have no chance to build your army."

"What happens then?" Star asked.

"Then, there will be no battle," Shroud replied. "No final lesson. You and all your friends will be murdered, and Al'ber Que shall be reduced to fire and rubble along with all traitors."

"Well, shit," Star snorted, "Guess I'm wasting time."

Shroud admonished a gloved finger, and said, "Tell no one of what has transpired here. No one, understand? This conversation never took place."

Never turning her back, gaze locked on Shroud, Star sidled toward the tent-flap.

"Oh, and do be careful," Shroud amended. He smiled his yellowish, filed grin, and said, "Remember, there is still a traitor among you."

****

When General Shroud first moved the army toward Al'ber Que earlier that day, everything had been packed up and taken except one solitary, invisible, silken-tent a half a kilometer from the actual camp.

Dark inside the tent.

From the other side of the mirror, Furion rubbed his gloved fingers together; stomach groaning hungrily as he watched Star use a blanket and tent pole to fashion a marker so she could find the crates when she and the rest of those traitorous rebels returned.

All was going splendidly as planned.

Furion didn't care much for his brother. How could beings of such evil be expected to feel affection toward their siblings? Especially, when the Wraith's plan involved the prolonging of his satiation. Sure, via the mirror, Furion could make contact with Star. Annola's relic that drew light into it, made the perfect substance to construct the mirror. It even muffled the mental connection between Star and him; furthering his invisibility. And as long as Star actually stood before the glass, Furion could feed off her energy. But that veiled in comparison to actually tasting her again. Her anger made her juicy. Her flesh would be ripe, succulent. And the anticipation made it all the sweeter.

Oh, yes. Soon. Oh, so soon.

Furion cackled in a warped and gargled laugh. He rubbed his mutated hands together as he watched Star race after her friends. All in vain. He had been right there in front of her the entire time. And she never even knew it.

Stomach growling, Furion, the Lord of Black, stepped out of the glass and back into the world.

****

It hadn't taken Star long to catch up with the Jessips.

The troops resumed peregrinating not long before Star awoke, as if she'd been held under some spell until just the right moment.

Star sprinted as fast as she could; ditching her helmet so the Jessips wouldn't shoot her when she return.

Star explained that she had just enough time to hide two crates of goodies before the army moved out. She told them it had been a very close call, and after that, she had to hide. Nobody mentioned the two soldiers she knocked out, so neither did Star. They probably didn't even see that, thanks to Furion.

Star said, "I overheard a couple of soldiers griping about how they only get one more break before marching straight on to Al'ber Que. If we miss that window, then this has all been for nothing. Zeke, Paulie, Grey, everybody would have died for nothing."

Thumbs hooked in his buckle, Ally drawled, "Well, let's make sure we don't miss our chance."

Star continued, "They'll march for at least four hours before their final rest. Now, they usually rest about an hour, but if they're intending on invading as soon as they get there, they'll probably rest a little longer. Let the soldiers eat. Get some shut-eye."

'Ro asked, "How long?"

"Two hours, max," Star replied, "Maybe less."

Sandy brushed away the stringy hair from her tan, oval face, and said, "That's not a lot of time to grab the gear, come back for the final break, and start building an army."

Expectorating tobacco juice, Hickey said, "Well, what in the hell we waitin' for?"

Star led the group back to the crates.

Hickey incipiently lagged behind.

Despite feeling the need to rush, Star slowed her pace to a jog. Fortunately, they had a little over a mile to go.

Just as Shroud promised, the crates contained complete suits of armor, pistols, ammo, and swords for each one of them.

'Ro rubbed his stubbly chin, and said, "That's suspiciously convenient."

"I told you Fedic would help," Star replied.

She hated lying to them, but what choice did she have? If she didn't, they were all dead.

"What's that?" Roy asked, pointing to three, white, horizontal bars running along the fore-arm plates.

"Those white lines are on the helmets too," Sandy said, riffling through the gear.

"It's messenger armor," Star replied. "These guys ain't regular army. They're messengers, which will allow us to wander around the camp without being questioned."

Mustache dancing, Roy asked, "How's that?"

'Ro said, "'Cause they'll think we're on official king business."

Sandy asked, "So, we can just amble around and talk to whoever we want, and no one will bother us?"

Ally said, "I don't recall seeing messenger soldiers before."

Star replied, "Like I said, that's 'cause they're not really soldiers. They don't fight. They don't run drills. The only time you would see one is when they carried urgent news. The white on the armor signifies them as non-combatants, it's so people don't shoot 'em."

Head bobbing, Mia chimed, "'Cause you don't shoot the messenger."

'Ro said, "So, let's say we manage to get an army by the time of the invasion, how are we actually gonna get to fight if everyone thinks we're non-combatants? I mean, it's not like they're gonna let us line up in formation."

Star replied, "We're gonna have to switch to regular armor right before. Probably while we're still marching."

Hickey asked, "How we gonna do that without being seen doing that?"

She replied, "If we got an army by then, we'll have help. If not, then it won't matter anyway."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" 'Ro asked. "Let's suit up and get going."

Running in full armor proved more difficult than expected.

After what felt like a long time, the Jessips caught up to the army. They slowed their strides and marched behind the rest of the soldiers. No one seemed to notice. So far, so good.

They trekked for a few hours.

Once again, Hickey fell behind. 'Ro and Ally walked beside him; helping him. Roy and Sandy struggled, as well. Mia appeared the only one capable of keeping up on her own steam.

Star should have marched and ran drills with her.

After an immeasurable amount of time the soldiers finally broke.

"Rest up men," Shroud declared. "Three hours, then we march straight on through."

Breathing heavily through their face-masks, the Jessips plopped down in the sand.

Star crouched on her haunches, and asked, "So, y'all ready?"

A round of gripes and grumbles resounded, even from Mia.

"Come on, this is our last chance."

Hickey groaned, "We got three hours."

"Yeah, that's more than we hoped for," Ally replied.

Mia said to Star, "You need the rest, too."

Star remembered when she and Troll first journeyed out into the Mo'tave desert. How anxious she felt to keep going, and how Troll insisted they rest before doing so.

"All right," Star said. "You guys relax a bit, and then we'll get going."

Star reclined against a dune. She only meant to rest her eyes, but fell fast asleep, and dreamt of Troll.

****

Troll awoke on the floor of his cell. Sweaty, cold, and weak. His stomach groaned and gurgled. Mouth dry. No matter. He had survived worse. Wiping the perspiration from his brow, Troll propped himself against the wall.

The interrogation lasted the entire day.

Troll had been asked so many questions he couldn't recall them all. Mostly, Shadeem wanted a full report one each and every person Troll associated with.

Shadeem seemed quite the worthy opponent. Strong, brave, driven, and intelligent. But he was no Troll.

In the end, Troll relayed nothing more than frivolous details and vague responses, 'though it exhausted him greatly.

No breaks. No food. No water.

Aye, Shadeem was a worthy opponent, indeed.

Shadeem took his leave shortly after the belfry's carillon signaled evening _tiempestii d'el ruega_.

Did anyone even observe the timely rituals anymore?

After the inquisition Troll just shut down.

When he awoke he felt slightly better.

Troll judged it to be late night, possibly a couple hours before dawn.

Troll swallowed. His tongue felt like sand dragging across the desert floor of his mouth. 'Though it pained him to do so, Troll whispered, "Are ye there God? T'is I, Troll. Ye'r loyal and faithful servant. Remember me? Please, Lord, I need answers. I need to know what is about to happen. Ye must show me the path ye want me to take."

Nothing.

Troll stood. His knees wobbled and popped.

When was the last time he ate a decent meal? Enjoyed a restful night's sleep?

"Please, God, I cannot do this on my own. Please, tell me what ye want me to do."

Nothing.

Troll groaned, "Have I not been serving thy will? Should I never have meddled in this business? Why would ye plant this path before me if I was not meant to walk it? Alas, it just doesn't make sense!" Troll slammed his fist into the wall. His knees buckled. He waffled to the side, and grasped onto the stone ledge for support. The mock-bed gave way, crumbled under his massive weight. With an awkward cry, Troll floundered face-first into the ground. Breathing heavily, he propped himself up on an elbow.

He just didn't understand. God's silence. The breaking of his trinity. The taking of Anne. The lapses in time. The pieces to the puzzle and how they all fit together. None of it. And the more he prayed for answers, the less God spoke to him.

Gasping, Troll said, "Perhaps, I am not meant to know the meaning behind this. Not yet. Perchance, I wouldn't even understand it. Perhaps, I should not even try to put the puzzle together, and merely do as ordered."

_Now_ , God commanded.

Troll bowed his head, and said, "Thank ye, Lord. I swear to serve ye'r will without question. Bestow strength and courage upon me and all those who also swear to serve ye. Grant us the brotherhood to protect each other. May justice ring true. In ye'r name we all pray, Amen."

Troll pried himself up. He sat cross-legged on the ground, closed his eyes, and reached out with his mind. He reached deep down into the mines, toward the center of the Earth. He reached out beyond the empire, over the wall, and out into the desert. He reached out further, drifting farther away.

Now my friends! Return! Return! The time has come! Follow the sound of my voice and return!

Troll suddenly felt revitalized, strong and full of vigor.

Without hobbling (or the aid if his staff), Troll strode toward the bars. He knew the bars lowered and locked into place from above. Some place inaccessible. No matter. Troll grasped the two center-most bars and pulled. The rods were strong. Troll's arms quivered, muscles strained.

In his mind he heard Shadeem's voice say, " _He was right about you_. _Despite your brutish exterior_ , _you really are a coward at heart_."

Troll quavered "Lord, grant me strength." He pulled harder.

" _If you were half the giant you appear to be_ , _you could easily break out of this prison_."

Tendons and ligaments ripped. Troll's heart galloped arrhythmically.

" _But you can't_ , _can you_?"

"I am ye'r servant!" Troll roared. "Please, bestow'th me with strength!"

Incipiently numbing, Troll's arms stung with needles of pain. His heart beat impossibly fast. Body drenched with clammy sweat.

A bit of stone crumbled from above as the bars began to bend.

****

10

Star was back in the sultan's ballroom. The large, garish hall stood empty, except for only two. Troll held Star in his arms and twirled her about. Star laughed; butterflies flurried within her stomach as her hair whipped around in the breeze. No roof over the citadel. The lovers danced beneath the stars. The moon beamed down a spotlight that ensconced the two, as if they the only ones left in the world.

Troll drew her close. His heart beat against her chest.

Star closed her eyes and pursued her lips. "I love you," she whispered.

Troll pulled away from her. The amorous look on his face stripped away. His features now pale; gape wide and serious. "Return to me!" he said, shaking her fiercely by the shoulders, "The time has come! Return to me, now!"

Star snapped awake.

She sat up. Hard to see. Where was she? Star attempted to rub her eyes, but her gloved hands were blocked by the face-mask on her helmet.

She had fallen asleep. How long?

Star carefully lifted her visor.

Still dark.

She glanced around.

The Jessips were out cold.

Star stood, stretched, and ambled around the camp.

Everyone was out.

Could this be Furion's doing? Probably. Things were going way too smoothly. Still, one problem remained, how would she signal Troll's army not to fire on them?

_Return_! _The time has come_! _Follow the sound of my voice and return_!

Star remembered her dream; dancing beneath the stars. And then it hit her.

Star hurried toward where the horses were reined.

The soldiers on guard snored loudly.

Star crept toward a horse, careful to make enough noise not to spook it.

The horse whinnied.

"Shh," Star said, stroking the steed's side.

She glanced at the soldiers. Still out.

Star pulled the stake out of the ground (taking it with her), and led the horse away from the camp. When she felt she attained a comfortable distance, Star hopped in the saddle and raced back toward Furion's original campsite; back toward Furion's tent.

The sky faded from violet to a dull gray-blue. Would she make it back in time?

When she found the ambiguous piece of desert she felt had been the campgrounds, Star pulled back on the reins, and slowed the steed to a lope.

Star shut her eyes and struggled to feel that mental connection between herself and Furion that would lead her back to his tent. Nothing.

She glanced around. This was the place. She knew it. She knew it just as she knew it when she returned to the fields, only to find sand and nothing more.

Star hopped off the horse and tried again to sense Furion's presence. Nothing.

The sky turned orange. She was wasting time. What to do? Which way?

Then Star remembered her compass and the one and only time the needle pointed in a steady line. She unstrapped her chest-plate and fetched her compass. Sure enough, it pointed in one direction. Leading the horse by the reins, Star followed her instrument.

She strolled away from the site. This felt right. Star kept her gaze glued to the needle. After several minutes, the needle swung in a complete circle, and steadied in its original position. Star returned the compass beneath her armor. She drove the stake deep into the sand with the hilt of her sword, reining the horse. Hands out, searching, Star's fingers brushed against something solid, yet giving. Bingo. She felt along the tent-flap, and peeled it open. Star crawled inside. Dark. A thin ray of sunlight shone through the hole she shot in the top of tent. The beam gleamed off the mirror's reflective surface. Star strode toward the mirror. Something was wrong. Something was different. No more opal glass. No more faulty reflections. Now, the object appeared nothing more than a common looking-glass, as if all the magic lingering within had been drained.

Star spread her fingers and lightly touched the surface of the mirror.

She snorted, and said, "I should have done this a long time ago."

She raised the sword high over her head, and shattered the mirror. A strange amalgamation of satiation and disgust stirred within the hollows of her bones. Sure, she finally worked up the courage to smash Furion's fixture, now that it merely a mirror. Star squatted on her haunches, dug her poncho out of the satchel across her shoulder, and wrapped up as many shards as she could carry. The bigger the better.

Would this actually work?

Unfortunately, if she didn't hurry back, she'd never have the chance to find out.

****

Sarah awoke slowly to the roarous chants of the mob outside. She pulled the covers tighter, and nestled her swollen face against the pillow. Realizing she was in the sultan's bed, she sat bolt-right. She glanced around. No sign of him.

Sarah got to her feet. Her ankle still swollen, but it felt a little looser. She checked the _pulprit_ and then the balcony. Nothing. How could a man who was supposedly bedridden move about so secretively?

In her mind, Sarah head Shadeem's voice say, "Tomorrow, all our troubles shall be over."

Well, it was tomorrow. And, if there ever was a time for action, it was now.

Sarah hobbled out of the sultan's chambers and shuffled down the stairs.

Once again, the citadel appeared abandoned. All workers were either locked away in their rooms or outside protesting. Parliament had gone into hiding. All _d'el guardii_ posted around the citadel.

Sarah never visited the _carcelii_ before, but she had a pretty good idea where it lay. She watched when Shadeem led Troll and the others to the northern end of the citadel, and through a heavy wrought-iron door. Usually the door locked. But it hadn't been when Buckets opened the door and took the prisoners inside. She hoped it still unlatched.

Sarah turned a corner and almost ran right into Franz and Micah. A small group of _d'el guardii_ (Diego and Lamar were among them), stood behind the two members of parliament.

Gape wide, mouth in an o-shape, Franz said, " _Madirii_ , what are you--"

"Don't call me that, ever. My name is Sarah."

"As you wish, Sarah," Franz replied, "What are you doing down here?"

Arms crossed, Sarah said, "I could ask the same of ye."

Micah said, "The king will invade today. We must free Troll and the others now, before it is too late."

"To what end?" Sarah asked.

Franz replied, "If we can unify the empire before the siege, we just might have a chance to fight back."

" _Si_ ," Micah added. "But we must all fight together as one. And we need _Easta_ Troll to lead us."

Sarah said, "Well, good, I just hope the entrance to the _carcelii_ isn't locked or we'll have to track down a _d'el guardii_ by the name of Buckets."

"No worries," Micah jingled the keys out in front of her, "I have taken care of that already."

Judging from the size of the ring, it appeared Micah owned every key to the entire citadel.

Sarah nodded toward the _d'el guardii_ standing behind Franz and Micah, and asked, "What about them?"

Franz ran fingertips down his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. He glanced at his men, and said, "Do not worry, they are with us."

Micah led the group to the heavy wrought-iron door, unlatched it, and made his way down to the _carcelii_ through a series of locked gates.

Cheers, shouts, and Troll's booming voice shook the ashlar corridors before they even entered the dungeon.

They stepped inside.

The _d'el guardii_ stationed below had been knocked unconscious.

Troll currently freed the prisoners, while'st riling them up.

Troll bellowed, "The time has come to rise up and take back the empire from those who seek to ravage her!"

The prisoners chanted, " _Vivirii vos revolucion_! _Vivirii vos revolucion_! _Vivirii vos revolucion_...!"

Sarah plodded toward Troll

Boos and angry shouts from the prisoners.

Troll turned. His face appeared haggardly and aged, yet his clear-blue-eyes shone brightly, as did his smile.

The prisoners chucked stones at the _d'el guardii_ and parliament members.

Troll roared, "Halt!"

And the prisoners ceased.

"Explain ye'r selves," Troll called.

The captives cheered.

Sarah stepped forth, and said, "We have come to free ye. All of ye." Sarah thrust her fist in the air, and yelled, " _Vivirii vos revolucion_!"

The crowd clamored in celebration.

Troll hobbled toward Sarah. He gazed at her face. Sad eyes downcast, Troll frowned. He tossed his keys to Diego, and said, "Continue releasing the others."

Micah handed his set to another _d'el guardii_ , and said, "Go help them."

Troll shook Franz and Micah's hands, and said, "The only members of parliament not under the king's influence, I presume."

They introduced themselves.

Micah said, "Speaking of the king, he intends to invade the empire this very day, perhaps within a few hours."

Troll replied, "Aye, and mayhap sooner than that." His brow furrowed, nose wrinkled. He leaned back, gazed at Micah, and said, "Buckets?"

Blushing, Micah replied, " _Si_."

Sarah thought Buckets' voice sounded familiar.

Troll asked, "Where's the rest of parliament?"

Franz replied, "We haven't seen them, only the _d'el guardii_ posted on the roof."

Troll said, "Good. Get up there and tell those men to stand down. Tell them parliament is releasing the prisoners."

" _Si_ , _easta_." Franz nodded and dashed off.

Troll patted Micah on the shoulder, and said, "When everyone is free, get them outside. With nearly the entire empire here at the citadel, I want ye to inform the people that the king is about to attack. Declare this a national emergency. Arm any abled-bodies and anyone else willing to fight, and prepare them as best ye can."

Micah's gaze widened. His mouth hung impossibly wide.

Troll asked, "What?"

"Nothing," Micah stammered. "I just thought you would be the one to lead."

Troll squeezed Micah's shoulder, and said, "Listen to me, my friend, these are not my people to lead. Ye and others like ye'r selves are the ones who started this. Now ye must end it. When the battle comes, I shall be there at ye'r side. But these are ye'r people to lead. Now, go on, Buckets, as a member of parliament and respected man of the community, don't thee have people to free?"

Micah shook Troll's hand and joined his people.

Troll turned to Sarah.

Sarah wanted to scream at him. Kick him. Hit him. Call him the most God-awful names. But she couldn't. Gazing at him like that, frail, and weak looking, like he actually suffered, she just couldn't. She smiled.

Arms open, Troll smiled back.

They hugged and laughed.

Sarah cried. It hurt her face but she didn't mind.

Holding her, Troll gently stroked his fingers down her cheek. He peered into her eyes, and said, "Now, take me to the sultan."

****

Sarah said, "I keep telling ye, the sultan isn't there."

Perhaps, but Troll wanted to check the sultan's chamber anyway.

"And I keep telling thee, the last place he was seen, t'is the first place we should search," he replied.

Missing his staff, Troll trundled up the spiraled staircase. He reached for the doorknob.

Sarah grabbed his hand, and whispered, "No."

Troll pressed a cupped hand up to the door and listened. Nothing. Once more he reached for the knob.

Sarah uttered, "Please, don't."

Troll whispered back, "T'is quite all right, I'm fairly certain of it."

"Fairly certain?"

"Perhaps ye'r right, we should come back another -- Oops!" Troll opened the door and feigned falling inside, as if entering completely on accident. "Oh, now look what I have done, I regret to say my strength knows no bounds."

Glowering, Sarah followed Troll inside.

Arms crossed, Sarah stood in the doorway.

Troll eliminated the obvious hiding places first, such as the balcony, _pulprit_ , and even under the bed. Nothing. Troll ransacked the bureau. "A-ha!" he said, finding his cloak. All his effects, including his staff, were inside. Troll slipped on the cloak and then felt along the walls for loose stones.

"Are ye going to tell me what it is ye'r looking for?" Sarah asked.

Turning toward her, Troll replied, "Are ye going to tell me who did that to ye'r face?"

Of course, he already had a pretty good idea.

Sarah gently rubbed her protuberated jaw, and said, "The sultan. What happened to ye'r face?"

"How do ye mean?"

Sarah limped toward him, and reached toward his mug.

Troll stooped.

Beads shucked and jived as she parted the hair from his brow. Sarah searched his features, and said, "Ye have many wrinkles now. And the hair around ye'r ears has begun to grey. No offense, but ye look like an old man."

He chuckled, "Aye, I suppose I do."

They laughed.

A slight cavernous breeze sounded.

Pivoting, Troll asked, "What was that?"

A tapestry of a ship, lost at sea, hung there on the ashlar wall.

A most ominous piece of art, indeed.

"Oh, that's just the sultan's tapestry," Sarah replied. "It's called, The Sultan. I never did care for it, much as I never really cared for the sultan. I suppose it fitting--"

"Shh." Troll tip-toed toward the painting.

_Shwoooh_. There it was again.

Troll ripped the tapestry off the wall, revealing a stone passageway that descended down another, hidden spiral-staircase.

Troll took Sarah's hand, and said, "Stay close to me."

Sarah stammered, "I don't think we should--"

"Hush, child. All will be well, I am with thee."

The gloomy passageway led down to a lambent torchlight below. Just a few flights from the bottom, voices rose.

Troll hunkered low, as did Sarah. They crept down another flight before crumbled pieces of stair trickled down the steps. Troll halted and listened.

The sultan said, "I still think we should have been long-gone by now."

"Go where?" Shadeem snorted. "This is the safest place we could be once the battle starts."

The sultan replied, "I just don't feel comfortable around this... _thing_."

Shadeem groaned, "You are such a coward. I'm so glad this rouse is over and I don't have to pretend to serve a sniveling mother's boy, like you, anymore."

Tisk and Task snickered.

Who else was down there?

Troll's hair felt staticy.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said a pleasantly hollow voice, "Please, hold your bickering until after the victory." The voice dropped an octave, and amended, "Then, I don't care what you do to each other."

"Who is that?" Sarah asked in barely a whisper.

Troll pressed a finger against his lips, gesturing for her to be quiet.

Troll knew exactly who it was.

Silence.

The sultan asked, "Is this thing even safe?"

"You have my word," the Wraith replied.

Shadeem said, "It must be hundreds of years old. Does it even still work?"

The Wraith said, "I assure you, this particular model has a half-life of well-over a-thousand."

"Yes," Shadeem said. "But does it work?"

Talon-like fingers snapped.

_Beep_.

"It does now," the Wraith replied.

The sultan quavered, "By the Goddess, you turned it on?"

The Wraith said, "All the more reason to have it loaded. And while I would advise you to hurry, do be careful, now."

The sultan cleared his throat, and said, "Uh, yes. Tisk. Task."

Hands clapped.

Grumbling swirled.

The Wraith said, "Why don't you go with them, see that it gets done right."

The sultan stammered, " _Si_ , my lord."

The Wraith continued, "When everything is done, wait for Shadeem, and then you may leave."

"Consider it done, my lord," the sultan replied.

The descending plods of booted feet.

Rusted wheels squelched along metal-tracks.

Shadeem said, "I still don't understand why we need such abominations. We can win this battle with good ol' fashioned sword and brawn."

In a condescending tone (kind of like the way adults sometimes talk to children), the Wraith said, "My dear, simple, boy, this is not a weapon to be used to win the day, it is to be used as an example. A reminder to those who dare oppose myself and the king."

In a very respective timbre, Shadeem asked, "And what do you command of me, oh, great and terrible lord of shadows?"

"I like that," the Wraith chuckled. "I have a special task for you my son, one I believe you will find most agreeable. That cursed mutt of theirs is down in the mines at this very moment, has been for some time now. I want you to go down there and sort it out."

Shadeem asked, "But how will I find him?"

"Just follow the screams," the Wraith replied. He cackled until his hilarity faded like dissipating fog.

Troll felt the static-electricity leaving the air.

Below, a blade rang in song.

Shadeem's footfalls boomed like peals of thunder. "A-Hoa!" he roared.

When all echoes receded, Troll turned to Sarah, and whispered, "Go back to the others and help them prepare for the battle."

Sarah's good-eye grew wide, mouth open as far as her swollen jaws would allow.

"Go on, t'is all right. Ye'r safe for now."

Sarah uttered, "But what will ye do?"

Troll replied, "I have to try and stop whatever's about to happen down there."

****

"No, please, don't do it," Anne tugged at the Dog's gauntlet, and whimpered, "Ye don't understand. He's a monster."

The Dog replied, "So am I."

The Dog awoke to Troll's call.

Anne must have heard it too, because she gazed sleepily up at the Dog, yawned, and asked, "Are ye ready?"

Unfortunately, the Dog wielded nothing to free Anne with. He tried pulling the stake out of the wall. No use. The Dog was strong, but not that strong. He tried bashing the chains with a rock, but that proved unprolific, and a waste of time.

"It's okay," she said. "Go get ye'r stuff. I don't think I'm going anywhere."

The first thing Dog noticed en-route for his effects, were the slaves.

They were all just milling about.

It must have been day by now.

Where were all the soldiers?

The Dog quickly found his gear, and grabbed it without putting it on. Anxiety ate its way further into his bones every moment he left Anne alone.

Without fear of being caught by soldiers, the Dog dashed through the mines, and back toward Anne.

A few slaves gawked at him, as if he might not be real.

Anne was right were he'd left her. "I've tried picking the lock," she said. "But a piece broke off and got wedged inside."

Dog quickly put on his hat, boots, gauntlets, and belt of knives. He tossed the shirt away, as it mostly rag now, and wrapped his jacket around Anne. He pulled out a small dagger.

Anne said, "No, I told ye that won't work."

"For you," the Dog said. "Good steel."

"Oh, okay."

The Dog opened a compartment on his belt and fetched a small, leather pouch. He sprinkled peppery smelling granules inside the lock.

Nose wrinkled, Anne asked, "Where'd ye get that?"

"Troll," he replied. The Dog returned the pouch to his belt. He held his hand out for the dagger he'd given Anne. She handed it to him. He carefully touched the tip of the blade into the lock. "Look away," he said. He grabbed a rock (the one he used to try and free her with earlier), and slammed it against the hilt of the knife, like hammering a nail.

A spark. _Pop_. _Hiss_.

The shackle unfastened.

The Dog handed her back the knife, and said, "See, good steel." He picked her up and carried her to the most populated chamber of the mines; conveniently, the top chamber.

The Dog set her down.

She gazed at him (nearly at eye-level now), and asked, "What are ye doing? Ye'r going to call _him_ out, aren't ye?"

The Dog just stared at her.

Face twisted in terror, she said, "Ye can't! Ye promised ye wouldn't!"

"I have to," he replied.

"No, please don't!"

Dog strode toward the center of the cavern.

Slaves lingered about like living ghosts.

The Dog sang, " _Sweetie-man_ , _Sweetie-man_ , _come and catch me if you can_..."

The slaves swayed rhythmically, singing, "... _Hide and seek_ , _trick for treats_. _Give you something good to eat_... _Sweetie-man_ , _Sweetie-man_..."

The Dog whirled toward Anne, and said, "Hide."

Trembling, clutching at herself, Anne stepped into the shadows. Her back pressed against the wall.

The Dog loaded his gauntlets, sat on his haunches, closed his eyes, and focused his senses.

The slaves crooned the horrid verse over and over for several minutes before fading in silence.

The only sound remaining was Anne's erratic breathing. "Ye have to finish it," she whispered. "The song, ye have to finish the song, or he won't come."

In an eerie monotone, the Dog amended, "... _Nice and sweet_."

A deafening shriek that did not echo emanated from a deeper, darker tunnel ahead.

The slaves recoiled in fear, hunkered low, and covered their heads.

Ears twitching, the Dog sat there.

Humming. Feet shuffled and shambled.

Dog pivoted.

Byron staggered out of the darkness and toward the Dog. His eyes like sack-cloth. That black residue dried like tar to his skin and ragged clothes.

Byron chuckled. His once genteel voice sounded shrill, like a lunatic's. He giggled, waddled toward the Dog, and asked, "Call did ye?"

Byron smelled wrong.

The Dog growled.

Anne trotted toward them, and cried, "Byron!"

His palm out, the Dog said, "No!"

Byron squealed, "Why, if it isn't little orphan Annie Warwick. _Little Anne_ , _little Anne_ , _reserved in hand to the witch's clan_."

Anne quavered, "Byron?"

Back hunched, hands folded as if in prayer, he staggered toward her, and droned, "Oh, I'm sorry, Byron isn't here right now, but if ye'd like to leave a message, I'll gladly taste ye later." He screamed, lunged at Anne.

The Dog kicked Byron in the side. Byron toppled to the ground and rolled on his back. Dog pounced. He landed on top of Byron. _Ka-shink_. Serrated gauntlet blades hovered inches from Byron's throat. The Dog growled. Byron's eyes were so black the Dog saw his own reflection. Byron giggled, and said, "See, I told ye, all you had to do was call him out."

The Dog sensed a presence.

Anne cried, "Puppy! Behind ye!"

Dog pivoted.

A large, tall figure loomed over him.

The creature had long spidery-hair upon its massive, wrinkled, egg-like, purple forehead. Many, multifaceted cataract-white eyes dotted the creases on its leathery face. A black, veiny cape concealed the beast's nose, mouth, and body, like a bat covering itself with its wings.

Byron laughed so hard, noxious, black-sludge spewed from his mouth.

Like a beetle, the Sweetie-man's wings slid back; exposing two, large talon-like hands, a bulbously segmented body, and many smaller insect-like appendages.

The Sweetie-man unhinged its shark-like mouth. Rows of serrated white-teeth glittered in the limited light.

Roaring, the creature swiped at the Dog. Growling, Dog rolled away. The Sweetie-man spread its wings and leapt. Raptor-like legs searched for its prey. The Dog rolled away again. He fetched a few throwing stars from a compartment on his belt. Mouth impossibly agape, the Sweetie-man charged. Dog flicked the stars into its open maw.

The creature gagged. Dog pounced over the Sweetie-man as it crashed into a wall, and quashed a couple slaves like flies. The prisoners screamed. Anne skirled. Dog pivoted. Byron stood behind Anne, holding her head as if he meant to snap her neck.

"No!" Dog roared.

Byron cackled, and shrieked, "It's the only way I can stay!"

"So sweet," the Sweetie-man gurgled. It hacked-up the throwing stars, along with a fair amount of black-sludge.

Now, the Dog understood what happened to Byron.

He'd been eating the Sweetie-man's excrements.

The Dog pivoted, turning fully feral in micro-seconds. Both gauntlets unsheathed, the Dog tore at the Sweetie-man like a rabid animal. The Sweetie-man skirled at an ear-splitting decibel. Slaves screamed in horror as the Dog slashed gooey flesh from the Sweetie-man. The flesh splayed out and sizzled on the rocks and cavern walls like boiling tar.

"No!" Byron screamed. He thrust Anne to the ground and charged at the Dog.

Dog pivoted, grabbed Byron, whirled him around, and tossed him.

The Sweetie-man pounced upon the Dog. The Dog was pinned. The Dog barked and growled, foam dripped from his mouth.

The Sweetie-man reared back, and opened its mouth.

The Dog rolled legs-up, and kicked the creature in its chin.

The beast's head rocketed back.

Dog summersaulted to his feet. The Sweetie-man grasped the Dog's shoulders. The Dog crossed his arms, and then thrust them outward, severing the Sweetie-man's claws from sinuous wrists.

The Sweetie-man's multifaceted, cataract-white eyes grew wide. It opened its mouth and roared. The Dog kicked the creature square in its face, and then tore away at it until nothing remained but a black, viscous sludge.

The prisoners' screams faded into cowering whimpers.

The Dog stood there panting heavily.

Was it over?

Dirt crunched under boot.

The Dog pivoted and swiped. Too late.

Shadeem blocked the attack with his broad sword. He kicked the Dog in the chest. The Dog staggered backward, and slammed into a cart-full of rock. Shadeem sheathed his sword, grabbed another cart, and pushed it into the Dog. The Dog leapt, but not soon enough. _Slam_. Grunting, Shadeem pulled the cart back and rammed it into the Dog over and over again.

Lights grew dim. Sound muffled. Head dizzy. The Dog's skull was being squeezed between the two metal carts filled with hundreds-of-pounds of rock and earth.

Anne screamed.

Byron cackled.

The pressure on Dog's cranium caved in like a vice-grip.

A muted thud. Groans. Metal clangorously battled sturdy wood. The flabby sounds of fists against flesh.

Shadeem cried, "This is not over!"

More grunts.

The weight bearing down on the Dog subsided. There, standing over the Dog, was Troll.

Troll panted heavily, and massaged his left shoulder.

The Dog got up, staggered, and then stood. He held his head as he shook the cobwebs clear.

"Troll!" Anne squealed.

Troll caught her and hugged her tight.

Byron leapt at Troll, and shouted, "Die!"

Troll swooped up Anne in one arm, and turned her away. He thrust his other hand out, grabbed Byron by the head, and commanded, "Out demons! In the name of the Lord, our God, I command thee out! Ye have no business here!"

Byron swooned and collapsed to the dirt.

Troll turned to the Dog, and said, "Ye have done very well, my friend, better than I could have ever anticipated. But as I told thee before, one day, I would tell ye that the time for being an animal would end, and that ye must resume being a man. Do ye remember?"

The Dog nodded.

Troll continued, "The time has come to do away with animalistic things. Right now, more than ever, we need the man. Nay, we need the warrior that I have been training. I am counting on thee."

Anne chimed, "Me too."

Troll continued, "I want ye to track down Shadeem. He will lead ye to a train. I want ye to board it and disarm the weapon upon it. It is imperative that you complete this mission. I fear the entire fate of Al'ber Que may be at stake. But in order to do it, ye must become the man. Can ye do this?"

"Yes," Dog replied.

With one arm, Troll pulled out a suit of Al'ber Quearian armor, and pressed it into the Dog's chest. "God be with ye, my friend."

Smiling, Anne said, "Good luck." She nodded at the slaves, and said, "We'll take care of these guys, won't we, Troll?"

"Of course, my dear." He produced a ring of keys from out of his cloak, jingled them, and said, "Why, I believe I have just the thing right here."

The Dog darted off, tracking Shadeem's scent.

Troll whistled.

The Dog pivoted.

Troll tossed him a small Al'ber Quearian sword, and said, "I should think ye'll be needing this, as well."

The blade sang as it whirled through the air.

The Dog caught it by the hilt, and slide it into the sheath built into the back of his armor.

Troll continued, "Remember, ye cannot win this battle or hope to defeat Shadeem as an animal. Ye must be the man. Ye must be a warrior. All before this was nothing more than a test. And ye've passed. The time for trials is over. Now, go, and make me proud."

****

'Ro asked, "Where the hell ya been?" Arms swinging, he marched toward Star, and said, "We're due to head out any minute now."

Soldiers scurried about; preparing for the battle at the end of the next march.

'Ro matched Star's gait, and strode beside her.

The sun still rose steadily in the pinkish-sky when Star returned.

The two soldiers guarding the horses stood with their backs to her, rubbing the back of their helmets.

So, they noticed the missing steed.

Star hopped off the saddle and walked the horse in.

The soldiers turned, and drew their swords.

"Halt!" one cried.

Star halted. The steed bucked and neighed, but she held tight to the reins. She patted the un-armored steed (the horses of messengers didn't need armor, 'cause they're non-combatants).

Star ambled toward them.

"I said halt! Identify yourself soldier!"

What would she say?

Star came within feet of them and stopped, as did the horse.

The soldiers glanced at each other through their face-masks. Their Feet shuffled nervously in place.

Probably newbies.

A soldier raised his blade, and said, "Identify yourself immediately, or I'll be forced to run you through."

Star raised her hand.

The soldier yelled, "I said halt or I'll--"

"No, soldier you halt," General Shroud commanded. Holding a steaming cup of coffee, he smiled through filed-teeth, and said, "You two, take off your helmets."

The two soldiers did as they were ordered.

Star stood there motionless. Her guts tied up into knots, completely disgusted by being saved by Shroud.

"Ah, Corporal and Private Rider, can't you see that this soldier is a messenger?" Shroud motioned to Star with his coffee mug, and said, "Leave him be, he is on an important mission. Prepare the horses to move."

In unison, the soldiers pounded the king's symbol etched on their chest armor, and barked, " _Ar - ar_!"

Star opened her hand, offering the stake and reins to the soldier with pimples and short blond-hair.

He took it without glimpsing at her.

Star glared at Shroud under the protection of her face-mask.

Shroud smiled at her, and asked, "Don't you have work to do, king's man?"

Star hurriedly marched back toward her group, and 'Ro intercepted her on the way.

Star asked, "How long's it been so far?"

'Ro replied, "Hell, I don't know, everybody, and I mean everybody fell asleep. Reckon Shroud thought we could use the rest."

Or maybe to allow Star to do what she needed to.

She couldn't worry about that now. No turning back from here.

Star asked, "Any problems?"

"Not a one," he replied. "We've been walking round talkin' to people we trust, Xaza, the twins, Doctor, few others from the camp. Not a single soldier has bothered us."

"Any fresh faces?"

"We got the twins and others spreading word and rounding up more, but other than that, we haven't been talkin' to people we don't know."

"Good, keep it that way."

The Jessips rose and stretched as Star and 'Ro ambled toward them. All wore white-striped armor and helmets.

"'Bout time," Hickey snorted.

Ally asked, "Where ya been?"

"I've been solving our little problem," she replied.

"Uh-huh," Hickey said. "And which particular problem would that be?"

Star replied, "I'll get to that. First, I need to talk to Fedic."

Nodding, 'Ro said, "Well, here comes our ol' pal Futnick, now."

Fedic shuffled toward them. His black, pony-tailed mohawk wagged like a tail. Three masked soldiers followed behind.

They all crouched low, huddled in a group.

'Ro asked Fedic, "Who the hell are these guys?"

Fedic nodded and the soldiers removed their helmets. Fedic said, "Meet Commander Briggs, Commander Tartus, and Private Rider second-class."

Each man nodded at his own name.

Briggs appeared in his thirties with flat black-hair, bushy brows, and stubbly face. His brow slightly protruded.

Tartus seemed the oldest, in his fifties but in good health. His scalp bald, wiry, grey hair pointed like horns. A septum ring looped in his nostril.

Rider was the youngest. Short blond-hair. No face jewelry. A wicked scar tainted his jaw-line, as if he'd been attacked by a rabid dog years ago.

"You brought commanding officers to us?" 'Ro hissed.

Roy and the girls remained quiet.

Tartus pulled at his pointy white-hair. Septum ring jiggling, he said, "You have nothing to fear. If you can prove you are who you say you are, then our men are yours."

Star glanced around, gestured for her friends to close in around her, and then removed her helmet.

Gasping, the soldiers reared back, gazes wide, mouths agape.

"It's true," Briggs said, hand upon his protruding brow, "It is her."

Star put her helmet back on.

Tartus scratched at his bald spot, and asked, "Is it all true, then? Have you found the chosen ones, the beast in the form of a man, and a man in the form of a beast?"

"Yeah," Star replied. "I have."

Briggs asked, "Can you prove this?"

"Not here," Star said. "But they're back at Al'ber Que right now, readying their own army."

Rider turned to his comrades, and asked, "Why should we fight if she can't prove these prophets exist?"

'Ro said, "Oh, they exist. I've seen 'em both."

"Yeah," Ally said. "The man's as big as a house, and strong as a giant."

Hickey added, "And the other one's a short, little, furry fucker."

"Have you all seen them?" Rider asked. His scar danced as he spoke.

Even Mia nodded.

Fedic said, "I've only seen the beast. But it's true, they have found the prophets."

Tartus said, "Then, I and my men are yours."

"As are mine," Briggs added.

They glanced at Rider, who said, "Screw it, I'm in. The most I got to lose is my life. And that don't seem so bad compared to all this."

Star asked, "How many men we got?"

Tartus shrugged, and said, "Five hundred, give or take."

"What's the break down?" she asked.

Fedic said, "Looks like all the rebels will be in the first two waves. About half in each."

'Ro asked, "How's that work out?"

"Just the way the platoons have been lined up," Fedic replied. "Most of the guys on our side are from only a few platoons. When Shroud formed the battle plans, those platoons got picked to be among the first two waves of the attack."

Hickey sneered, "That's convenient."

'Ro said, "Sounds like Shroud already knows what we're doing, and is allowing it for some reason."

Star was glad she had the visor to cover her face.

Ally said, "So if we're all in the first couple waves, among loyal king's men, let's not forget, how we gonna keep Troll's army from firing on us?"

Star took out her poncho and un-rolled it in the sand. She picked up a shard of glass. She bounced rays of light off the glass in a rhythmic pattern, and said, "Like this."

Hickey snorted, "What's that supposed to be?"

"Looks like Morse code to me," Tartus replied. He scratched as his scalp again. Dandruff flakes wafted down, and fluttered off in the desert breeze.

Hickey said, "Yeah, well, I don't get it."

"Troll will," Star replied. She turned to the Jessips, and said, "We're gonna pass these out among our men, and teach 'em the same pattern I just showed you." She turned to Fedic, and said, "I want you to arrange for us to slip into regular armor as soon as the army starts marching. And we need to do it without being seen."

Tartus asked, "What do you want us to do?"

Star replied, "Spread the word. I'm back."

****

People still celebrated around the citadel when the slaves rushed out of the mines and into the streets.

Troll freed a few groups of slaves by simply ripping their chains from the walls.

After that, slaves emancipated themselves; using shovels and pick-axes to break their shackles. And when they were free, they helped the others.

Curled up in a ball, Byron wept in the shadows.

Anne by his side, Troll asked, "Be thee well, Byron?"

"Troll, is that ye?" His hands protected his face, as if the lambent light burned his eyes, or he fearful of being struck. Possibly both.

"Aye, Byron, t'is me," he replied.

"What...what happened?"

Troll assisted Byron to his feet, and said, "Something wicked had a hold of thee, t'is gone now."

Byron's hair and beard looked long and matted. His eyes had sunken in. His body appeared nothing more than a skeleton wrapped loosely in skin beneath ragged clothes.

Troll said, "We need to find a way out of here."

"I know a way," Byron replied. "When I was first brought here, I remember a huge entrance that led out into the desert."

Troll ran a hand down his scar, and said, "I suppose that'll have to do. Can ye get there from here?"

"I think so." Byron scratched his long, mangy (tar-splattered), beard.

"Then let us not tarry."

Anne hopped upon a stone, and yelled, "All right everybody, listen up! Get everyone free and follow us!"

Byron led the exodus into an enormous, mechanical cavern. Giant gears, sprockets, pinions, and cogs filled the room. Some sort of behemoth contraption. A stone wall stood at the opposite end of the chamber.

Byron uttered, "This is not the right place."

"No time," Troll replied. "This will have to do." He trotted toward an area where four, giant peg-and-wheel assemblies fashioned into the floor. No-doubt, this was the heart of the contraption.

Byron said, "But, I don't understand, there's no way out of this room."

Cheering slaves raced into the chamber. They halted when finding themselves at a dead end.

"There is a way out," Troll said, inspecting the turn-wheels. "We just have to get this machine going. Come everybody, jump on these wheels."

The slaves pushed the wheels until the giant gears creaked and spun. A horizontal crack of sunlight shone at the bottom of the rock-wall at the other end of the room.

"That's it," Troll said, "Faster now!"

His heart galloped arrhythmically. His arms tingled under the strain. His left shoulder throbbed. Gasp. Gasp. Wheeze. Sarah was right, he had aged.

"Come on, guys," Anne grunted. "We've worked harder than this before."

More freed slaves sprinted in, they dashed for the door, wedged their hands underneath, and forced the monolith over their heads. People streamed out into the sunlight.

Troll turned to those closest, and said, "See those chains along the side walls? They'll hold up the door if you get them hooked into place."

Anne raced off, shouting, "Come, on guys, let's go!"

Others followed.

And then they were out.

Troll (via his staff), strolled out into the sunlight. Anne and Byron walked beside him as joyous slaves sprinted into the city.

From where they exited the mines, the armory and back of the citadel stood in front of them.

Troll glanced back. Behind him stood the northern wall, and behind that, the Sie Mountains.

Yet another hidden entrance masked in plain sight.

Troll and his friends followed the surging mob.

People cheered and cried as the emancipated slaves reunited with a free Al'ber Que.

Troll, Anne, and Byron found Sarah, Montalvo, Diego, Sirii, Khariiff, Micah, and all their other friends. Hugs, cries, and introductions were passed around the group as the crowd roared all around them

Sarah hugged Anne so tight Troll thought she'd crush her.

Gape wide, mouth ajar, Sarah asked, "Byron? I can't believe ye'r here."

Weeping, Byron asked, "What happened to ye?"

Sarah asked, "What happened to me? What happened to ye? Ye'r nothing but skin and bones."

Troll clasped Micah on the shoulder, and said, "Have ye spread word of the invasion yet?"

Gaze darting, neatly bearded jaw quavering, Micah replied, "I haven't had time. People are out of control."

"Then let us do what must be done." He led Micah up the steps of the citadel, they turned, faced the crowd, and in the loudest voice Troll could conjure he yelled, "Listen up people!"

No change in the mob.

Troll continued, "The king is about to invade!"

The people settled.

Troll said, "Tell them, Micah."

"It's true," Micah proclaimed. "We discovered this just this hour. The king may be here in less."

People murmured in disquiet.

"Where is the rest of parliament?" someone cried.

Micah replied, "They have fled in terror. Only Franz and I stayed."

Nervous chatter purled among the throng.

"If they ran, we should too!" a voice cried.

"Abandon the empire!" called another.

Micah cried, "No, no! We must stay and fight."

Boos and jeers.

Micah ran a shaky hand through his dark, curly-hair, and clamored, "We can beat them. We can! But, we must all fight together!"

"Forget it!"

"Run for your lives!"

Gaze wide, lips trembling, bead of perspiration on his brow, Micah turned to Troll and said, " _Easta_ , you must do something. _Por favorii_ , make the people stay. Make the people fight."

"Regrettably, such powers are beyond me. These are ye'r people, ye must persuade them. Try harder."

Micah hailed, "People, _por favorii_ , listen to me!"

The ruck scattered; gathering whatever they could while they could.

Anne raced up the citadel's steps. She whirled toward the crowd, and screamed at the top of her lungs until her quivering skin flushed red.

The people recoiled. Those closest to Anne covered their ears.

The mob quieted. Some gawked at Anne.

Anne cried, " _Madiriis_ , _Madiriiettes_ , _eastas_ , _dans_ , listen to me. I look around, and I see a lot of familiar faces. I know ye from the boroughs, the _bazaar_ , and the mines. I know the _l'hermanii_ , _d'el gaurdii_ , natives, and _tern-oht_. And many of ye know me. Ye know I came from a land that was also invaded, as many of ye did, as well. And ye know that we cannot run. We have tried. It doesn't work." Arms pressed firmly at her sides, Anne gazed down among the crowd. She inhaled deeply. Her dirty, tattered clothing billowed in the morning breeze beneath the Dog's jacket. She continued, "I know something about bullies, as I have been tormented all my life. And I know, no matter what ye do, unless ye stand up for ye'r self and fight back, a bully will never leave ye alone. And the king is a bully," she stamped her foot, "Mark my words, no matter how far ye run, no matter how well ye hide, the king will not leave ye alone until we stand up together, and in once voice, proclaim we have had enough!" She thrust her arm in the air and the people cheered.

Glancing around the sea of faces, Anne heatedly continued, "I may not be a native, but Al'ber Que is my home. It's more of a home than my real one ever was. I know many of ye feel the same. And when my home is threatened, I will protect her.

"It is said that in times of crises, all are called to defend Al'ber Que; men, women, children, the _d'el gaurdii_ , the elderly. Everyone. And if ever our blessed mother needed defending, it is _now_!"

People clapped and whistled. Heads bobbed in agreement.

Sarah stood next to Montalvo. A hand pressed against her chest. Her fat-lip quivered, and tears shimmered in her good-eye.

Anne breathed deeply, and said, "I've worked alongside ye, befriended ye, heard the cries of the people, and helped form the alliance. I have been imprisoned in the mines for my efforts. Did it break me? Did it make me afraid to stand up? No, here I stand, still fighting. I have brought the prophets here! The man in the form of a beast, and the beast in the form of man. And they are willing to stand beside me and fight back. We will stand for the empire. We will stand against the king. Who will stand with us?"

An uneasy silence elapsed. A lonesome breeze blew through the empire.

"I will stand," Micah said.

"I will stand," Sarah cried.

"I will stand," Diego called.

"We shall stand," Natiis proclaimed.
They volunteered sparingly at first, but soon the entire empire riled to fight.

Troll knelt beside Anne, hugged her, and said, "I am so proud of you." Troll hopped to his feet, thrust his staff into the air, and roared, "Let us prepare for battle!"

****

With the Sweetie-man gone, the Dog's senses cleared. He tracked Shadeem to a higher, unexplored chamber. Or course, after his first couple of days in the mines, the Dog hadn't wandered through too many of the top caverns, that's where most of the soldiers quartered. Until today.

Dog trailed Shadeem's scent to a huge chamber, the very same chamber where smaller tracks brachiated from random tunnels into larger train-tracks. The very same chamber the soldier's took shelter in at night. The same place the Dog first smelled Byron's aroma.

The huge stone doors wide open.

The ubiquitous desert in the background bleached out by the piercing sunlight.

The train Troll wanted him to board already departed; growing smaller over the horizon.

_Revvvvvvvvvvvvv-revvvvvvvvvvvv_.

Two gasoline-powered all-terrain-vehicles idled by the camouflaged portcullis; a soldier on each.

The Dog hadn't seen a working four-wheeler in a few hundred years.

What other toys did the king possess?

Dog locked a gauntlet. He threw a star into the neck of the driver furthest from him. Blood spurted. The second soldier glanced at his comrade. Dog pounced, and thrust his fist down upon the second soldier's helmet. The piercing of bone cracked. The soldier briefly spasmed violently, before falling still. The Dog leapt upon the first guard, who gasped and writhed on the ground. The Dog sank his fangs into his jugular and drank him dry.

He had a feeling he'd need the blood.

The Dog climbed aboard the four-wheeler.

Had he ever ridden one before? If so, would muscle-memory take over?

Holding down the brake, Dog revved the throttle.

He stuffed his hat into his chest-plate and zipped off after the train.

Wind and sand whipped the Dog's face.

He smiled, and hammered down on the accelerator.

The Dog zoomed over shifting sand dunes. The rear-car grew larger as the Dog raced closer.

Dog shut his eyes, and let his senses take control.

He navigated sand dunes. He drew closer to the train. Four cars. The rear contained eight men, probably soldiers. All without helmets. Their collective hearts beat wildly behind heavy armor.

The Dog was glad to have his senses back.

The Dog gave the throttle everything it had, and sailed over another dune. Dog drove alongside the last car. He locked and sprung a gauntlet; ramming it into the side of the car.

Inside, he sensed the soldier's anxiety shoot through the proverbial roof.

Dog unstrapped the gauntlet from his forearm, and used it as a stepping stone to hop on top of the car.

A gust of harsh stingy wind knocked the Dog off balance, and he rolled atop the train.

_Screeeeeeeeeeeccccchhh_.

Dog dug his claws into the metal roof, and anchored himself.

A small safety hatch fashioned in the middle of the roof of each car. His senses told him the soldiers were examining it. Apparently they'd heard the screeching. He'd lost the element of surprise.

Oh, well.

The Dog spun the wheel of the hatch and dropped inside. He decapitated the first two with swift gauntlet swipes.

Drawing a sword, a soldier rushed him. But the blade was too long and the hilt butted against the side of the cab.

Dog thrust a throwing star into his temple.

He dropped.

Another soldier charged.

Dog grabbed the overhead railing, and kicked the king's man square in the chest.

He crashed part-way through a port-hole. He scrabbled at the frame, screaming, and holding on for dear life.

The remaining soldiers pulled swords and axes, not ideal for close-quarter fighting.

Gauntlet on one hand, hunting knife in the other, the Dog cut through the remaining soldiers. He turned to the soldier still shrieking and hanging out the port-hole.

Dog punched him in the forehead with his gauntlet blades.

Blood sprayed.

The soldier's body went limp and tumbled out the window.

Dog reached out, felt along the outside of the cab as the rushing wind and sand tore at his exposed hand. Dog pried the gauntlet out of the wall and re-fashioned it to his forearm.

He strode toward the door at the opposite end.

Sunlight illuminated the gloomy cab. Rushing wind stung the Dog's face.

The Dog carefully crossed over into the next car, which contained crates of supplies. He chose a random box labeled, EXPLOSIVES. The Dog pried the lid off with his hunting knife.

Mostly mortars, grenades, and RPGs.

The Dog slung a rocket launcher over his shoulder and focused his senses.

No people in the next car.

The caboose held the sultan and Shadeem

Growling, the Dog crossed into the next car.

The only thing within was a long, conical object strapped to the floor.

'Though he hadn't seen such a weapon in hundreds of years, the Dog immediately knew what it was.

But how to turn it off?

The Dog sensed the energy radiating off the device. Thirty megaton, at least. Small, but more than effective.

The count-down-clock read a little under twenty minutes.

Why?

What destination could this weapon hope to reach and wipe out in the next nineteen minutes? Besides Al'ber Que, of course.

Dog grabbed a small throwing knife, unscrewed the device's face-plate, and carefully pulled the display away. Many coiled wires dangled.

Oh, how he missed the old days when all you had to do was cut the red wire. Or was it the blue? Certainly not green. That was the ground-wire, wasn't it? He couldn't remember. No matter. All the wires were black.

Dog turned the plate over. A numerical keypad fashioned next to the time-display.

He didn't know which of the copious black wires to cut. He didn't know the shut-off code. How could he possibly disarm it?

"It is imperative you complete this mission," Troll had said. "I fear the fate of Al'ber Que is at stake."

But if he cut the wrong wire, or entered the wrong code, the device would explode. On the other hand, if he did nothing, the bomb would go off, anyway. There was no way around it, this thing was gonna detonate. But even if the Dog waited, and let the train take them far out into the desert, Troll, Star, Anne, Al'ber Que, everybody, could still die if the winds were feeling especially malicious.

He had to disarm it, or, at least, try.

He turned the display over to read the time. 17:57 and counting.

Would he actually die if this thing went off? The Dog survived much over the centuries, but he'd never been incinerated. Would there be anything left of him to regenerate?

No, he couldn't think like that. The war was far from over, and the empire was counting on him.

Okay. What's the shut-off code?

In his mind, the Dog heard Beth's southern drawl, "What would you make the code?"

That was easy. 1-2-3-4.

"That's to turn it on." Beth's voice echoed within the hollow of his mind. "Think backward."

Dog shrugged.

Could it really be that easy?

What choice did he have?

The Dog gulped and reached clawed fingers toward the keypad. He hesitated. He closed his eyes, and pressed 4-3-2-1. Nothing yet. He punched the ENTER key.

_Beep-beep-beeeeeeeppp_. The device powered down.

"Ya know what you need to do now," Beth said.

Her voice emanated from behind.

The Dog pivoted. Nothing there but shadows.

Dog huffed and strode outside, toward the next car.

The rush of wind and sand pelted his skin. And for the first time in a long time, the Dog was glad he still alive.

The roar of the wheels tearing down the tracks vibrated.

Dog peered down at the knuckle locking the caboose to the second car. The Dog glanced around, it looked fairly simple. He climbed down around the side of the car. Sand riddled his face. He closed his eyes and let his senses take over once more. He reached for the locking bar and pulled. No give. The Dog leaned over further, and pried with all his might.

_Ca-clank_.

The lock gave.

Dog lost his balance. He scrabbled at the lock-bar as his feet swung below. Had he been of average stature, he would have been dragged underneath.

A strong gust of wind arose.

The Dog swung around, and slammed into the side of the car, but he managed to hold on.

The knuckle slowly released. The cars tailed the caboose before slowly drifting away.

Dog planted his feet down on the thin ledge and shimmied back to safety.

A pop and then a long hiss as the air-brakes disconnected from the cabin.

Dog clambered back onto the platform of car-two (the one with the device in it).

The caboose pulled away as the three remaining cars coasted. Soon they would slow.

Dog unslung the rocket launcher around his shoulder and took aim. Patiently, he waited as the distance between him and the engine grew.

****

Running tawny fingers along his mustache and goatee, Franz asked Troll, "How long do you think we have?"

"Considerably less than an hour," he replied. "Sooner if they charge now."

Franz and Micah's tan-skin paled, gapes wide, mouths open.

"Don't worry, they won't," Troll said. "So, ye can relax."

Troll, Montalvo, Khariiff, Micah, Franz, and a few _d'el guardii_ , stood atop the machicolation between the front-two watchtowers, where more _d'el guardii_ were stationed. Many stood steadfast along the great wall.

Technically, they were all _d'el guardii_ now.

Below, Anne and Diego led the rest of the empire's _d'el guardii_ (including the freed slaves), who huddled around the front of the city.

Troll thought about the huge entrance to the mines; hidden in plain sight. He also knew of a few other exits out into the desert.

He glanced down at all the people below. The rest of the empire stood barren and abandoned.

Troll asked Khariiff, "Be there anyplace else they might attack us from? Like, say, a weak spot in the wall or from the mountains.

Montalvo translated, "He said, that's a good question."

Franz nodded toward the citadel, and said, "If we had to, we could flee into the caverns under the mines."

Troll asked, "Are ye talking about that hidden passageway along the northern wall? "Into the slave mines?"

Franz blotted the sweat beaded on his brow, and replied, "It was not meant for slavery, _easta_. That was a perversion of the king. One I regretfully, just recently, became aware of. But, that doorway was meant as an escape-route in case the empire was ever overrun."

Troll asked, "And where does this escape-route lead?"

"Under the Sie Mountains. They say it goes all the way through to the other side."

Why hadn't he got this information sooner? So, what if he had? What could he have possibly done any different?

Troll fetched his journal, and turned to the page where he drew a crude map, and written down the coordinates of the kegs. He ripped it out, and tore it in ten pieces.

Troll turned to his men, and said, "There are ten watchtowers, ten pieces of paper, and five of us. I'm going to give ye each two pieces of paper, each paper has a specific watchtowers on it. Take ye'r pieces to those specific watchtowers and hand it to the _hermanii_ posted there. A _hermanii_ and no other, they'll know what to do with it. I realize there only seven _hermanii_ , but if ye come to a watchtower without one, just go to the next, or give both pieces to your respective _hermanii_. When done, we'll meet back here, except for ye Franz. Ye'll go down below, volunteer a few _d'el guardii_ and get anyone too old, young, or physically unable to fight and get them into the escape chamber. And then stay there and guard it. Do not close the door, if we have to, we'll fall back into the mountains. Does everybody understand?"

They did.

"Then go like the wind, and come back."

Troll gazed out into the desert.

The army marched steadily closer.

Somewhere among them was Star.

****

'Ro grumbled, "Where the hell is Fedic?"

Star remained silent for now.

The battle had yet to begin and loyalists surrounded them.

"Haven't seen him," Tartus whispered.

The walls of Al'ber Que grew larger on the horizon.

Troll was there somewhere.

She desperately fought the urge to go rushing back to him, leap into his arms, and press her lips against his. If things went sour today, the last time she embraced Troll would be the last time she ever did.

As the soldiers readied to continue the march, the twins and a few other rebels crowded around the Jessips as they changed into regular armor. They only had to switch helmets and chest-plates.

Ironically, a crimson button with the king's mark adorned Star's chest-plate -- officer's armor.

Fedic gathered the gear in two large satchels, and said, "I'll get rid of these."

He dragged the bags behind a sand dune, and that was the last time anyone saw him.

_Remember_ , _there is a real traitor among you_.

Could it be Fedic?

She recalled the first time she met the twins and asked why they risked desertion.

One said, "We have our reasons."

She meant to look into that but forgot. So much happened, and all at once. How could she possibly keep everything straight?

They trekked on.

Most of the Jessips marched in the same row as Star. The others peregrinated in the subsequent wave.

Star was surrounded by a moving sea of rebels and loyalists.

The only problem, she didn't who was who.

How would this even work?

Perhaps, it wouldn't. Perhaps, there would be no battle and they were all marching headlong for the deaths.

In another mile, when the army broke into invasion formation, she would find out.

****

Shadeem and the sultan sat in the plush cabin of the train in total silence when the Wraith appeared out of the shadows.

Shadeem jumped to his feet, swaying as the cabin rocked. "Why did you not let me stay and kill them, my lord?" He nodded toward Rome, and asked, "Why was I made to evacuate the empire with this coward by my side?"

"Be careful what you wish for," the Wraith chuckled. He rubbed talon-like hands, and asked, "Did you bring my gifts, Rome?"

Rome replied, " _Si_ , my lord, just as you commanded."

"Then, have fun you two." Cackling, the Wraith dissolved into the air. But the Wraith didn't leave. Oh, no. The party was about to begin.

"What gifts?" Shadeem asked Rome.

_Boom_.

The rear of the cabin exploded in fire and slivers of wood and steel. The cabin hitched, nearly up ended.

Rome and Shadeem were tossed about as the car swung around. Screeching and grinding. The cab flipped, tumbled over on its side, and crashed through the dunes before shuddering to a halt.

Unseen, the Wraith watched as Shadeem and Rome staggered out of the burning car. They appeared bloody, bludgeoned, and a bit woozy, but otherwise unfettered.

Good. That would make what was to come more enjoyable.

Gasp. Groan. Rome clutched at his guttural wounds, and whimpered.

Gazes wide, they glanced at the cabin and then back toward Al'ber Que. They couldn't see the rest of the train; it coasted safely to a stop a few dunes back.

A shadowy silhouette emerged from the undulant waves of heat, and strode toward the wreck.

The Dog.

Fat lips quivering, Rome murmured, "Oh, shit."

Shadeem roared, "A-Hoa!" Long hair fluttering in the wind, he proclaimed, "There might be battle yet!"

Trembling, Rome scurried back into the burning cabin.

Shadeem snarled, "Coward." Then he whirled toward his encroaching opponent.

As an invisible cloud, the Wraith drifted inside the cabin and watched Rome fumble about.

Choking on smoke, searching through his scattered personal effects, Rome quavered, "Oh, Goddess, where is it?" He found what he sought in an up-turned trunk. He grabbed the wrapped sundries, covered his mouth, and ambled for the exit. He tripped, pitched the Wraith's gifts, and fell face-first in the boiling sand. "Damnit!" he cried. He collected the parcel and waddled toward Shadeem. Rome offered Shadeem the silver sword, and gasped, "Here, take this."

Shadeem glared at the foreign blade with disgust, as if it offended his forefathers.

Wincing, Rome cried, "Take it! Use it for Goddesses' sake!"

"I, Shadeem Okuric Ossawa of Prusseria, would never do battle with a blade other that of my forefathers -- never!"

Rome tugged at his arm, and said, "Listen to me, it can kill him, it's his Ankly's ankle, or something."

Of course, the Wraith knew he meant to say, Achilles' heel.

"I care not," Shadeem said. His head back in aplomb, chest puffed out.

"It's the only thing that can defeat him," Rome replied.

Shadeem pulled the blade from the scabbard strapped across his back, and said, "I shall see for myself."

Quivering, Rome said, "It is a gift from our master, the least you can do to show your gratitude is to let it ride in your empty sheath."

"Very well," he said after a moment's consideration. Shadeem grasped the silver sword one-handedly and slipped it into the empty sheath -- perfect fit.

****

"You guys remember what to do?" Star asked those around her.

They nodded.

She continued, "Just remember, no one does nothing 'till I give the signal."

A mile from the empire, the army broke into invasion formation.

Still, no sign of Fedic. Where was the little shit?

Commander Tartus would lead the first wave.

As far as Star could see, there were seven. So far.

Star and most the Jessips (along with the others who promised to fight alongside her), managed to sneak into the first wave.

Star glanced at the commander's button fashioned to her armor. She knew how important it was for her to be out front.

However, if this didn't work, she would be among the first slaughtered.

Perhaps, at the hands of Troll, himself.

Hickey, Mia, and the twins stood among the second wave.

Star hoped Fedic back there with them.

Knots of anxiety tightened her stomach.

They were just waiting for the order.

She glanced over to a tall dune, away from the rest of the army.

General Shroud sat on his armored mid-night mare.

Next to Shroud, and a half-mile from where Star now stood, sat Furion.

This was the closest she'd ever been to him. As a child, she only saw him from a-far. Still too far away to see specific features, but she could make out the Lord of Black's steed. At least, she had always thought it a horse.

Now, she could see it some gigantic, black, six-legged lizard.

From behind her face-mask, Star glared at Furion. At that moment, she felt a little like the child she'd been in the fields. But mostly, she felt like a warrior.

Technically, she had him to thank for that.

Furion turned his hooded head toward her.

In her mind, she felt his voice seeping in, digging invisible fingers into her brains.

_Scrickity-rickity-crack_.

_Play games_ , _child_.

Screeeech-rick-raaaaacccccccccck.

_It amuses me_. _I will not interfere_.

_Scrickity-rickity-craaaaaaaaackkk_!

_Play games_!

Okay, let's play.

Furion directed his attention to Shroud, and nodded.

Shroud raised a bull-horn, and yelled, "First wave, make ready!"

The first wave pounded their chest plates, and cried, "Hail Furion! Hail the king!"

Star leaned toward Tartus, and said, "You ready for this?"

Tartus replied, "Young lady, I've been waiting for this my entire life."

****

Troll ordered Micah, "Tell the _hermanii_ to ready."

Bushy brow furrowed, beard shivering, Micah asked, "How do I do that, _easta_?"

Troll replied, "Just call, _hermanii_ to the ready!"

Micah cupped a hand over his mouth, and shouted, " _Hermanii_ to the ready!"

" _Hermanii_ to the ready!" the _d'el guardii_ cried; spreading the message down both ends of the wall.

"Nicely done," Troll said to Micah.

Khariiff gently touched Troll's shoulder and muttered something.

Montalvo translated, "He says, be careful. Remember, the king wants one of your triumvirate."

"Then, I shall keep my guard doubly up," Troll replied. "Thank ye, my friend."

Montalvo said, "There is something you should know. The other day when you were arrested, I saw the stranger in white strolling the streets. I still couldn't see his face, not entirely, but he was smiling."

"Are ye certain of what ye saw?" Troll asked.

Montalvo replied, "Yes, he looked just as he did the last time I saw him, same strange hat and clothes. Everything."

Ordinarily, Troll would ponder the meaning of this. No time. Besides, vowed to no longer question every single piece of the puzzle.

The group gazed out as the first wave of the army advanced.

Then the second wave broke from the rest of the army, and raced toward the empire.

Troll said, "Tell the archers to ready."

Micah hailed, "Archers to the ready!"

The _d'el guardii_ spread the message down the line.

Troll peered at the armed citizens below.

They could be ordered to make ready, but were they really?

Troll realized that all the recent political issues in Al'ber Que were nothing but misdirection.

They were unprepared for a real battle.

And now it was too late.

****

The Dog and Shadeem strode toward each other until they stood roughly thirty paces apart, and then halted.

Shadeem waved his sword through the air.

Dog's blade rode in the sheath built into the back-plate of his Al'ber Quearian armor.

Shadeem stroked his fingertips down the broad side of the sword, and said, "I must say, I am quite impressed, for a scab, you sure have managed to cause a lot of problems for us. The mines. The train. All of it. Until now, that is."

Shadeem grinned at the Dog. His brown-eyes shimmered with confidence.

But the Dog sensed the familiar intoxicating aroma of fear permeating off the barbarian for the first time ever.

Shadeem continued, "You know, it doesn't have to be this way for you. I couldn't care less if I kill you. There are worthier opponents. That Troll, perhaps." He chuckled, and rested the blade vertically across his broad shoulders. "How about, if you turn around right now, I'll let you live. I won't try and stop you from going back to your friends. I'm sure they'll need all the help they can get, not that it will help, but at least you can all die together."

The Dog stared at Shadeem.

"Who knows, maybe you'll all survive this yet, but not you, not if you continue down this path. I don't want to kill you, I really don't, wouldn't waste my time, point of fact. But if you cross that line, I _will_ put you down like the dog you are."

A cold wind blew granules of sand across the desert floor.

Shadeem asked, "What say you?"

The Dog did not consider the offer. He thought of Anne, Byron, the mines, Sarah. He thought of Shadeem trying to squash his head like a melon. He thought of all the pain and misery this man had caused in the name of the king. Undoubtedly, a king Shadeem never met. No. There would be no ultimatums. Shadeem would not leave here alive.

The Dog smiled his Cheshire grin, reached back, and drew Al'ber Quearian steel. The ringing of the sword echoed off the endless dunes. With the edge of the blade, he drew a line in the sand in front of him. The Dog stared in Shadeem's eyes.

He flinched.

The Dog stepped over the line and pointed his sword at Shadeem; daring him to draw.

Shadeem forced a laugh. His chest and shoulders heaved. "You know, I was hoping you'd say that." Shadeem raised his sword above his head, roared, and charged.

Sabre aimed at Shadeem, the Dog stood motionless.

Shadeem raced closer. Meters away.

The Dog tilted the blade; bouncing a beam of sunlight directly into Shadeem's eyes.

Squinting, Shadeem reared back.

And then the Dog struck.

****

The _hermanii_ loaded and locked the giant crossbows. _D'el guardii_ stood with torches, ready to light the large arrow on command. Along the wall, archers' bows were knocked and drawn. Down below, the others stood at the ready.

Troll prayed, dear God, bless us pilgrims on our quest to rid the world of tyranny in ye'r name. Protect us, guide us, and give us strength. In ye'r name we pray, Amen.

"Steady!" Micah called again. His face looked pale and sweaty.

No-doubt, the waiting tore him up inside, but the army wasn't close enough yet.

A flicker of light bounced from a random foot-soldier among the first wave.

What was that?

Then more. Not all, but a lot of soldiers among the first wave began transmitting some type of signal.

Over and over, beams of light popped up and down in unison.

Troll had never seen such a thing before. What could it be?

Micah iterated, "Steady."

There it was again, the same display of sunlight reflecting off glass.

"Are you seeing this?" a masked _d'el guardii_ asked another.

Stroking his short, curly beard, Micah asked, "What does it mean?"

Troll ran a hand down his scar, and said, "I don't quite know."

Micah asked, "Should we fire?"

"No, not yet," Troll replied.

Montalvo said, "They are getting very close, my friend."

"Aye, I know." Troll leaned over the machicolation. He just couldn't make sense of the bouncing beams of light.

"You must see without seeing, easta," Khariiff said in English.

Troll closed his eyes, and visualized the bounding light. The rhythm. The timing between beats. He knew this song.

He was back in the citadel, back in the hall, dancing with Star.

1 – 2 & 3 and 1 – 2 & 3 and...

Star said she didn't know how to dance, but Troll didn't care. He swept her up in his massive arms and...

1 – 2 & 3 and 1 – 2 & 3 and...

Troll opened his eyes. He was actually dancing; arms out, as if holding an invisible partner.

Brow furrowed, lips curled, Montalvo stared at Troll, as if he crazy.

Khariiff laughed. He clapped, and exposed a toothless smile.

The _d'el guardii_ pointed and scratched at the tops of their helmets.

Probably, thinking Troll off his rocker.

Arm raised, Micah called, "Archers, _preparadii_ , _punterii_ , _ef_ \--"

"No!" Troll restrained Micah's arm. "Don't fire, not yet. Tell the _hermanii_ and the archers to stand down."

Caterpillar-like eyebrows arched, round nose wrinkled, Micah asked, "Why?"

Troll replied, "Just do it. We've got friendlies down there."

****

Their blades danced off each other's; clashing askance and askew as they circled.

Shadeem, a gifted swordsman, and much stronger, wielded a broadsword.

The Dog brandished an Al'ber Quearian sabre.

Shadeem's long reach and powerful strikes kept the Dog playing both offense and defense.

At first Shadeem whirled his blade around one-handed.

Evading every advance, Dog darted and dived.

Cursing in frustration, Shadeem switched to a two-hand hold. He panted heavily as the blowing sand coated his sweaty skin with a fine layer of grit. Brief pauses between swipes.

Dog advanced, feinted, and thrust.

Shadeem swiped laterally.

Dog parried, and hopped back. His foible warbled.

Shadeem chopped downward.

Dog rolled away, and popped into a side-stance.

Shadeem swung from the side.

Dog parried, and twirled away.

Shadeem stumbled forward. The Dog slashed at his back, drawing blood. Regaining his stance, Shadeem roared in anger.

Dog thrust his blade toward Shadeem's neck.

Shadeem parried, the cross-guard of his sword butted against the Al'ber Quearian bell-guard. Forcing the Dog's blade upward, Shadeem pushed him back.

The Dog tottered in the sand.

Shadeem punched him in the face.

Dog fell backward.

Shadeem hewed downward. He overcompensated, and fell forward.

Dog rolled to the side, and knelt. He pulled a dagger from his belt, drove it into Shadeem's guts, and twisted.

Shadeem yelled.

Dog swung his sabre toward Shadeem's neck.

Shadeem dropped his sword. Arms crossed, he grabbed Dog by the wrists, and halted both blades. He lurched back, and reared his head down.

Dog snarled, trying to break free.

Shadeem rocked the back of his head into the Dog's face.

_Bam_. Lights dimmed. Head fuzzy. Ears rang. Dog slammed back-first into the sand. His sabre slipped from his grip. The wind knocked from his lungs. Blood poured profusely from his nose. His hat waddled away in the sand.

Scowling, Shadeem ripped the knife from his abdomen and thrust it to the ground. He retrieved his sword. Panting, slouching, Shadeem stepped back, allotting the Dog to collect his weapon.

The sabre felt heavy in the Dog's grip. With his free-hand, he motioned for Shadeem to continue.

Shadeem glanced at the many knives and daggers upon the Dog's belt.

The Dog held out his sabre.

Shadeem tapped it with the edge if his broadsword, and then swung laterally.

The Dog parried; driven back once more. He pushed away Shadeem's sword with the forte of his sabre. He twirled, and thrust.

Shadeem dropped to his knees. One handed planted in the sand, he drove his sword upward, and ran the Dog through.

The piercing of hot steel screeched. The Dog trembled and coughed up blood.

Shadeem planted his foot on the Dog's chest and shoved him off the sword.

Dog floundered backward. Hacking, he crawled away from Shadeem.

"A-Hoa! I told you it would end this way." Shadeem panted, "And to think, you hardly even put up a fight."

The Dog grabbed the lip of his hat. He stood, glared at Shadeem, and growled. Sabre in one hand; hat in the other, he spread his arms out, exposing his chest plate to Shadeem.

With both hands firmly upon the hilt, Shadeem thrust forward, running the Dog through again.

The Dog coughed up more blood. Smiling, he gazed up at Shadeem.

Shadeem reared back, brow furrowed, lip curled, nose wrinkled.

Dog swung his hat in a pinwheel motion, and crashed the bill of the cap into the bridge of Shadeem's nose.

Cartilage cracked.

Holding his bleeding beak, Shadeem staggered backward.

Dog pulled the sword out of him and pitched it into the sand.

Gape wide, mouth open, Shadeem stared at the Dog, whose wounds healed right before his eyes. Panting, Shadeem asked, "What sort of trickery is this?"

The Dog put on his hat, stepped back, pointed the tip of his sabre at Shadeem's sword, and said, "Pick it up."

Squinting against the sunlight, Shadeem glanced at his blade, at the Dog, and then back at his sword. "Are you sure?"

The Dog nodded and grunted in affirmation.

Glowering, Shadeem shuffled forward. Without averting his gaze, he bent over, and retrieved his sword. Shadeem snorted, hawked a blood-loogie into the sand, and chuckled. He asked, "How far are you willing to take this?"

Sabre aimed, the Dog replied, "Till death."

"Very well, shall we continue?"

****

A complete melee exploded outside the wall. Just before reaching the gates, nearly half the soldiers turned and fired on the others.

A third wave advanced, fired, and threw grenades at the rebels.

Rebels shot back. Soldiers fell on both sides.

Troll's gaze darted among the soldiers.

Where was Star?

A _d'el guardii_ asked Micah, "Orders?"

Micah glanced at Troll.

Montalvo shrugged. His eyebrows arched in silvery half-moons.

Khariiff stood there, gazing down at the battle below.

Troll didn't know what to do. He couldn't fire upon the soldiers. He didn't know which ones to aim at. Troll ran a hand down his scar, and scratched his beard. "Tell them to hold steady."

Micah asked, "What does that even mean, _easta_?"

"Just tell them."

Micah hailed, "Hold steady everyone!"

_Boom_. _Boom_. _Boom_.

The ground quaked.

Troll pivoted.

Below, the _d'el guardii_ and freed slaves glanced around in unease.

Smoke billowed from the southwestern part of the empire; over by the crack in the wall that led to the rock-tubes where the Dog entered the mines.

He should be down in the streets with the others.

Troll hobbled toward the ladder.

Montalvo grabbed Troll's arm, and said, "I know what you are thinking my friend, but you can't be everywhere. We need you here."

Troll glanced into the city, and then gazed out at the battle. To his right, Sarah, Byron, Anne, and an entire empire waited, while the army closed in. To his left, Star and her army fought the king's beleaguering legions. And Troll stood at the center of it all, doing absolutely nothing.

****

The ground trembled; rattling buildings and people, alike.

Sarah clutched to the shoulder-plates of Anne's armor. Sarah wore armor, as well. Most the empire did.

Garbed in rags, the slaves brandished the tools they escaped with.

Sarah quavered, "What in heavens was that?"

"Take it easy," Anne replied. "It's going to be okay."

Sarah prayed that true.

Anne gazed up at Sarah. She nodded at Sarah's face, and said, "Just pretend every one that comes at you is the person who did that to you."

With her raggedy hair and emaciated body, Anne seemed so much older, possibly even a little taller.

The echoing shouts of roaring voices drifted into the open area.

Heart racing, Sarah said, "Oh, my God, they're coming, aren't they?"

She was not ready for this.

Anne's brow furrowed in determination. Her face scrunched up. Al'ber Quearian steel rang as she drew it from the scabbard built in the back-plate.

Sarah reached for hers. Her fingers fumbled for the hilt. She tried pulling the blade from the sheath, but it didn't slide out like Anne's.

Had Anne learned to fight?

Despite the fact that she attended one training session with Troll, Sarah felt grossly unprepared.

_D'el guardii_ and ex-slaves readied, as well.

Bellowing king's men in heavy, black armor rushed in from the southwestern end of the empire.

The empire's troops charged.

Armor and metal clashed.

Anne roared, and sprinted toward the action.

Standing there, trembling, Sarah screamed, "No!"

****

Troll's gaze darted between the two battles; one outside the walls, and the one within the empire.

What to do?

A fourth wave approached the rebels.

Catapults rose within the ranks.

Huge stone boulders were flung at the walls.

One came directly at Troll and his group.

Troll roared, "Down!" He pushed Montalvo and Khariiff to the ground.

_Boom_.

An explosion of dust, rock, and smoke as the wall shook. Battlements and parapets crumbled. _D'el guardii_ plummeted to their deaths.

Ears ringing, Troll gazed through the haze.

A sizeable crater carved into the top of the machicolation.

More boulders crashed along various parts of the wall, sending _d'el guardii_ and stone flying.

Micah and a few _d'el guardii_ lay motionless. Blood trickled from Micah's ears, nose, and mouth. The concussive blast killed him.

A few yards over, Montalvo knelt over Khariiff.

They both appeared unscathed.

Tisk jumped out of nowhere and side-kicked Montalvo in the head.

Montalvo reeled.

Troll scrambled to his knees, aimed his wrist-rocket, and fired.

Tisk halted; laughing as the rivet spun past his jewel-studded head.

Troll yanked on the chain. The weapon rebounded, and wrapped around Tisk's neck.

Another boulder smashed into the wall.

The parapet collapsed under Tisk's feet, and he fell.

The chain reached its limit, nearly pulling Troll's shoulder out of its socket.

The sudden halt snapped Tisk's neck.

A woman screamed.

Troll glanced up.

Task glared at Troll. She held a _d'el guardii_ by the back of his throat, ending his life with a quick jerking. She lunged toward what remained of the machicolation, and peered down. She glowered at Troll. Anger burned in her brown, almond-shaped eyes.

No-doubt, she saw her brother's life-less corpse dangling from the other end of his chain-weapon.

She roared, and charged.

Troll fidgeted to get the chain to unwrap and recoil. No use. Too taught.

He scrambled to unlatch the cuff from his wrist. Also no use.

Task screamed her war-cry. She jumped, and sailed through the air in a flying-kick.

Troll bowed his head, and prayed, Oh, Lord, please protect me.

Task had nearly gapped the distance when a boulder smashed into her, and crashed into the empire below.

Troll gazed heavenward, and said, "Thank ye, God."

Blood drizzling from the side of his head, Montalvo rushed to Troll's side. He pulled up on the chain, giving Troll enough slack to remove the weapon from his wrist.

Tisk's body dropped.

Troll glanced into the over-run empire. He said to Khariiff, "Tell the archers to fire into the city on my mark."

Khariiff nodded.

Troll turned to Montalvo, and said, "Quickly, come with me!"

****

The heat and battering sun was wearing down the Dog.

Probably Shadeem as well, judging by the way he slouched, stumbled around, and panted. Barely able to keep up his sword, his attacks grew sluggish.

The Dog advanced, thrust, and feinted.

Shadeem parried with the forte.

Dog pivoted. The sabre slid along the broadsword. A diagonal slash at Shadeem's face.

Shadeem leaned back. Not enough. The tip of the sabre sliced through his cheek and chin. Shadeem roared and lunged. He hewed downward.

The Dog drove upward.

Fortes clanked together and locked.

Shadeem snarled. He put all his weight into it, and incipiently forced the Dog to his knees.

The Dog crouched, hopped up, and pushed Shadeem's blade back enough to jab Shadeem in his gut wound.

Face flushed, Shadeem yelled. He grunted. Spittle flew. Shadeem delivered chop after chop.

The Dog knelt, and braced himself. Sabre the only thing protecting him from Shadeem's punishing blows.

Shadeem roared, and cleaved again.

The foible of Dog's sabre bent, and then snapped.

Dog rolled away at the penultimate moment. He darted to the side, and stumbled to the ground. He threw what remained of his sword at Shadeem.

He batted it away with his blade. Shadeem leapt, and chopped.

Evading, the Dog dithered and rolled. He spun around in the sand and kicked Shadeem in the side of his knee.

Shadeem howled and tottered, but maintained his stance.

Dog rolled to a crouch and cocked a gauntlet.

Shadeem lunged, chopping downward once more.

Dog shielded his head with his gauntlet, and clenched his fist.

_Ka-shi_ \-- _Bam_

Dog's gauntlet took the blow without severing his arm. But the weapon broke. Springs and bits of metal flew, three serrated blades popped into the air.

Startled, Shadeem staggered back. His knee popped and then gave out. Shadeem crumbled to the sand in a cry.

Dog hopped to his feet, pivoted, and caught the three blades in one hand. He whirled toward Shadeem and flicked the first blade.

It lodged in Shadeem's shoulder. Employing his sword as a crutch, he struggled to his feet.

Dog flicked another.

Shadeem batted it away with the back of a hand.

Dog flicked the last one. It pierced Shadeem's forearm.

Shadeem pulled out the one in his arm.

A dagger in each hand, the Dog leapt, and crashed into Shadeem.

Shadeem dropped his sword.

Dog drove the knives into Shadeem's sides.

Shadeem roared. He jammed the gauntlet blade (still in his hand), into the Dog's kidney.

The Dog twisted his blades.

So did Shadeem.

Dog snarled. Fangs exposed.

Shadeem wrapped the Dog in a bear-hug, and squeezed.

Dog reared back his head, and drove the bill of his cap into the bridge of Shadeem's nose, again.

Already crunched cartilage squelched.

Shadeem released the Dog.

Dog dropped like a sack of bones.

Gasping, the two crawled away from each other.

Grunting and groaning, Shadeem pulled the daggers from his sides and the gauntlet blade from his shoulder.

The Dog removed the knife in his kidney, as well. The gash healed within seconds.

Shadeem panted, "Well, what say you, shall we call it a draw and go our separate ways, or do you still want to continue on?"

The Dog growled. He stood, straightened his hat, glared at Shadeem, and snarled.

Chest heaving, Shadeem brushed away the hair plastered to his dirty, sweaty face, and said, "You know, I was truly hoping you'd say that."

****

Things swiftly spun out of control after the first shots fired.

Star's rebels quickly gunned-down the loyalists within the first two waves. But what took place after was complete and total chaos. Like a blur, Star couldn't even recall most of it. She had been sure the traitor would reveal him-or-herself and attack. After all, it was the perfect time.

Watching each other's back, Star and Mia stayed close. Somehow, they survived those first, Hellish minutes.

Now, they were boxed in by the bombarded walls of Al'ber Que and the advancing fusillade.

Shroud ordered the men still in formation to fire into the air. Bullets, arrows, and grenades sailed over the loyalists, and strafed down upon the rebels.

Star, Mia, and Tartus hid in a blast-crater.

They lost the others during the melee.

Star didn't know which of her group was still alive.

"We gotta find the others!" Mia roared over the cacophony.

A green egg-like object landed in the redoubt.

"Grenade!" Tartus cried. "Everybody out!"

Star grabbed Mia and bolted.

The rataplan of gunfire forced Star and Mia to dive for the sand. They crawled from the rampart and covered up.

_Boom_.

Star fired her speed-shooter at the king's men, but she couldn't see them. Too much smoke and sand littered the air.

Star pulled Mia to her feet.

Shielding her eyes, Mia asked, "Where's Tartus?"

"Don't know," Star replied. "Maybe, he didn't make it."

Star glanced around.

The army closed in.

Remaining rebels fled toward the gates of Al'ber Que.

"Come on," Star yelled. "We're pulling back."

"What? We can't retreat."

Star tugged at Mia's arm, and said, "No choice."

****

Troll rushed into the streets. He twirled his staff, and sent two king's men flying.

Montalvo cut down their enemies with Al'ber Quearian steel.

From atop the machicolation, Troll estimated a few hundred soldiers had penetrated the empire.

A few thousand _d'el guardii_ fought for the glorious Mother, but they weren't warriors. They were getting slaughtered.

Troll, Montalvo, and others cleared an area of soldiers.

Troll roared, "Quick, my friends, swords down, shields up!"

Troll snatched a shield from a dead _d'el guardii_ and raced toward the front-line.

The others followed suit.

Troll led as they pressed in toward the center of the melee.

Soldiers caught between _d'el guardii_ and the wall-of-shields were cut down. Then the _d'el guardii_ joined the living-wall, and pressed inward.

The wall grew. Soon, the streets were divided in two, _d'el guardii_ on one side and king's men on the other. A few unlucky _d'el guardii_ got stranded on the opposing side.

A young _teran-oht_ boy with red-hair, freckles, and round-chin screamed as he raced toward the _d'el guardii_ line. Then a king's man lobbed his head off with a sword.

A spear drove through the back of a native _Madirii_. It pierced through and stuck into the ground; pinning her as she flailed and screamed.

King's men roared in triumph.

Soldiers caught hold of a skinny _teran-oht_ sprinting toward the wall of moving shields. They threw the boy to the ground. Four king's men bearing axes chopped him to pieces.

"We are with you, _easta_ ," Diego roared from behind his shield.

Troll said, "No, my friend, I am with _ye_." He bellowed, " _Falanjii_!"

The _d'el guardii_ marshaled in phalanx formation; shields tightly together as they pressed toward the king's front-line.

Soldiers lobbed swords, axes, and spears at the wall-of-shields. No penetration.

The _d'el guardii_ held tight.

Troll called, "Hold!" He inhaled deeply. With all his might, he roared, "Khariiff, now! _Efuegii_! _D'el guardii_ , keep holding! Hold! Hold! Shield...and thrust!"

Shields up, the _d'el guardii_ on the front-line knelt. Those standing behind thrust swords and spears, decimating the opposing line.

Troll roared, "Cover up!"

The _d'el guardii_ all knelt, shields over their heads, creating a protective cover.

Arrows zoomed like horizontal hail.

Shouts and screams as arrows pierced through armor and flesh.

Troll waited until no more jet through the air. He hopped to his feet and cried, "Attack!"

The _d'el guardii_ jumped up, and descended upon very surprised king's men.

Most soldiers on the front-line were dead or injured. The ones toward the back fled. A group of _d'el guardii_ broke rank and chased after. The king's men got trapped between archers and _d'el guardii_. None were taken hostage. Those wounded during the surprise-attack were beheaded.

Troll surveyed the carnage, and grimaced. Sarah, Anne, and Byron were among the devastation somewhere. If still alive, they'd no-doubt join in on finishing off any pernicious soldiers. Troll's heart felt heavy, strained. Pulse quickened. His left-shoulder throbbed in a dull ache.

_Boom_. _Crash_. Another wave of catapult fodder cascaded upon the wall.

Troll turned to Diego, and said, "When ye'r done here, round up a group of trained _d'el guardii_ and join us on the wall."

Nodding, he replied, " _Si_."

Troll said to Montalvo, "Come, my friend, we've not a moment to lose."

****

Anne tore the helmet off a soldier's head.

Having sustained several arrow wounds, the king's man lay quivering on the ground, imbued in his own blood. He stared up at her. His gape widened in terror. Lips trembling, he said, "Please, help me."

Oh, she would help him all right.

Anne smiled, and slit his throat with blood-stained steel.

He clutched at his spurting neck. Gasping and gargling, he slumped back.

Anne loomed over him and watched the light fade from his eyes.

Just over yonder, Byron repeatedly bashed a soldier's head in with a rock. The soldier's leg twitched sporadically. Byron cackled.

Arms swinging, Sarah hobbled toward Anne. Gore splattered her chest-plate and bruised, freckly face. But her sword appeared untarnished. When she saw Anne, Sarah pressed a hand to her breast, and gasped, "Oh, thank God!" She shambled toward Anne, and asked, "Where have ye been?"

She wiped the blood from her knife with her tattered dress, and said, "I was toward the front, with Troll and the others. Second row. The thrusters!" Pumping her knife in the air, she cried, "Ar!"

Byron howled, "Ar!"

Anne marched toward another trembling king's man, and cut his throat without hesitation.

Sarah pleaded, "Anne, ye don't have to do that."

"Yes I do," Anne replied. "Ye don't know what these people are like. They'd do so much worse to ye, if they could. And the only way they're gonna stop hurting people is if we make them stop."

Sarah stepped back. A tear streamed down her swollen cheek. She asked, "Oh, Anne, what has happened to ye?"

****

_Budda-budda-budda-budda_.

'Ro yelled, "What the hell is that thing?" His hands covered ears, but that didn't dampen the cacophonous rataplan.

"Gatling-gun," Gunner replied.

'Ro, Ally, Roy, and rebel, Sergeant Gunner (a young, black man with facial piercings and a short mohawk), cowered in an impact-crater. They weren't wearing their helmets, none of the rebels did, too much smoke and haze to see clearly through the face-mask.

'Ro and the others had been separated since the melee began.

There were two other rebels in 'Ro's group as they retreated toward the empire walls. Then, they got pinned down under the fusillade. The two un-known rebels were blown to pieces.

Ally appeared flushed, flighty. Not his usual gun-fight countenance.

'Ro hollered, "Don't worry, I'm sure Sandy's fine, she's a tough cookie."

Ally said, "Yeah." He ducked as the sand above his head sprang from gun-fire.

'Ro cupped a hand over his mouth, and said, "Hey, Roy!"

Roy peered at 'Ro. His gaze narrowed.

'Ro asked, "Still got that gizmo you and Paulie were playing with back when we first met Fedic?"

Roy nodded, then his eyes widened in epiphany. He riffled through his satchel, and retrieved the grenade-launcher.

Gunner asked, "Ever fire that before?"

Roy stared at him.

"Give it here," Gunner said. Roy handed him the weapon. Gunner slid the barrel away from the firing mechanism, flipped a switch, cradled the weapon between his shoulder and neck, and said, "Hold it like this." He handed it back to Roy. "It's armed and ready, just point and shoot, like a regular gun."

Roy hoisted the weapon on his shoulder and steadied it. "Cover me," he said to 'Ro.

'Ro popped out of the redoubt. Staying low to the ground, he fired a few controlled bursts toward the Gatling-gun with his speed-shooter.

_Budda-budda-budda-budda_.

Sand flew.

'Ro dropped into the pit.

Roy stood, aimed, and fired.

_Fwa-shoom_. The grenade rocketed forth, followed by a cloudy jet-stream.

Roy flew backward against the opposite side of the pit.

_Ka-boom_. The Gatling-gun exploded into flame and black smoke. The shrieks of soldiers' screamed

'Ro and Ally helped Roy to his feet.

'Ro said, "Good shot."

"Way to go, buddy," Ally added, patting Roy on the shoulder.

'Ro said, "Come on, let's get outta here while we still can." He turned to Gunner, and asked, "Ready?"

"Fuck yeah," Gunner replied.

The four darted out of their fox-hole and sprinted toward the empire.

_Pop-blam-pop-pop-blam_.

"Urk!" Gunner collapsed.

A cloud of pink-mist exploded from Ally's stomach.

'Ro rolled to the ground. He crawled through the sand, and called, "Roy! Roy! Ya hear me, Roy? Ally's been hit?"

A slight breeze blew. Armaments crackled and burned. Shouts and reports echoed in the smoky distance.

'Ro glance back.

Roy lay sprawled out on the sand, his head blown clean off.

Stomach churning, 'Ro groaned, "Aw, fuck!"

How many of his friends was he going to lose?

Knowing his luck, he'd be the only survivor; left with nothing more than memories and regret.

He glanced at Gunner. Motionless.

Ally's breathing turned into an acute wheezing.

Ahead, voices barked.

'Ro readied his speed-shooter, and aimed toward the shouts and billowing smoke.

Three figures emerged through the haze; speed-shooters drawn in tight to the crooks of their arms.

'Ro squeezed the trigger.

_Ka-pang_. The slide locked. Empty.

"Over here!" a soldier barked. He signaled his buddies with a wave.

The king's men trotted toward 'Ro.

He removed the clip, and tried to re-load, but the slide wouldn't lock into place.

A soldier yelled, "Over here, I see him!"

The figures lined up and aimed at 'Ro.

_Blam-blam-blam_.

The soldiers went down. Pink-mist swirled around their heads.

'Ro glanced back.

Ally sat up, holding his bleeding stomach, smoking six-gun in his steady grip.

'Ro said, "Holy shit, bro, ya just saved my life!"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Ally replied. He fell backward with a muted thud.

Footfalls thumped in the distance.

'Ro said, "Next wave's coming. Can ya walk?"

Ally tapped the toes of his boots together, and said, "Think so."

'Ro hoisted his brother to his feet, and draped Ally's arm around his shoulder.

"Just do me a favor," Ally coughed. "Get me to my wife. Let me kiss her once more before I die."

"Don't worry, bro," 'Ro grunted. Hobbling toward the empire, he said, "We ain't dying today."

****

The Dog felt exhausted; running on fumes. Sweaty, bleeding profusely, overworked, his wounds healed slower.

Shadeem's mouth hung ajar in a constant scowl. Gaze narrowed. His face flush and soaked in perspiration. He appeared infuriated. He probably thought the battle should've been long-over. Obviously, he hadn't expected such a fight from _this_ scab.

As weary as he was, the Dog would not back down.

Their battle had taken them away from the train. Somehow, they ventured into some archaic construction or demolition-site (depending on one's point of view). Stacks of moldered cinder-blocks poked out from the dirt like stalagmites. Mounds of construction debris riddled the hard-pan flooring. Piles of long, twisted, and rusted iron rodding.

The two tumbled on the ground in un-armed combat.

The Dog lunged.

Shadeem rolled on his back, and caught the Dog's wrists. He kicked the Dog in the gut.

Dog spun away, but not far enough.

Shadeem scurried to his knees, and socked the Dog square in the face. Shadeem fell upon the Dog, and pummeled him over and over again.

Dog clawed at Shadeem's open wounds.

Hissing, Shadeem reeled back.

The Dog craned upward and sank his fangs into Shadeem's neck. He violently rocked his head, and tore out a chunk of flesh. The Dog hoped to expose his jugular, but Shadeem seemed to have a lot of meat. Dog reached for another knife.

Shadeem caught him by the wrist, and with his other arm, rocked an elbow into the side of the Dog's skull.

Body limp, Dog's eyes rolled up into the back of his head. The Dog fought to keep from fainting.

Shadeem loomed over him and tugged at the Dog's belt.

The sensation of daggers twisting in his flesh returned the Dog to his senses. He struggled.

Shadeem held him down and drove a blade into the Dog's chest.

"This is why you shouldn't wear a belt of knives," Shadeem snarled. Blood and spittle flew.

The Dog managed to free a hand, and thrust his palm into the side of Shadeem's already injured knee.

Shadeem grunted and floundered backward.

Dog hurried away and pulled the knives from his flesh.

Shadeem hopped to a stance and (as best he could), rushed the Dog.

Dog meant to pounce. Not quick enough. Squirming loose, he hit Shadeem in the side of his knee again.

Shadeem rolled away and lunged.

They grappled, punched, kicked, kneed, and tore open old wounds.

The two tumbled down into the construction pit.

They rolled away from each other, both lay on their backs, bleeding, and breathing heavily.

Dog clambered to a stance.

Shadeem struggled to his feet, as well. Wheeze. A pink-mist sprayed from his cracked lips. "Is that all you got?" he snarled between breaths. "Huh? Is that all you got?"

"No."

"Well, come with it, then!"

The Dog leapt. His lead-leg extended in a flying-kick.

Shadeem lurched forward and grabbed the Dog's ankle.

They both waffled to the ground.

The Dog hurriedly crawled away.

Shadeem scurried to his feet, and grasped Dog's ankle with both hands.

With his free foot, the Dog tried to kick him away. No use.

Shadeem hopped in a circle; dragging the Dog through hot, coarse sand before gaining enough momentum to elevate the Dog. He spun the Dog 'round a few times and released.

Dog sailed through the air. He flipped just before impact, landed on his back-armor, and skidded across the dirt. Before coming to a complete stop, Dog rolled to his feet and charged. He leapt and tucked his feet. The Dog collided into Shadeem. Dog grasped hold of Shadeem's shoulder straps, wrapped his legs around the barbarian's waist, and repeatedly smashed his forehead into Shadeem's face.

Spurting blood, Shadeem hollered.

Head pounding, completely drained, the Dog reeled back a final time and bashed his face into Shadeem's as hard as he possibly could.

Dog's vision fuzzed. His ears rang like the tintinnabulation of Al'ber Que's carillon. He collapsed to the side, and rolled on his back as he gasped in exhaustion. The world faded in-and-out. Dog strived to stay conscious.

Shadeem loomed over him, grabbed him by his chest plate, and flung him into a stack of iron rods.

Shadeem's eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the ground. Apparently, that one throw was all he had left.

The stack of rusty rods toppled over, burying the Dog.

****

Troll and Montalvo raced back to the wall.

Out of breath, heart beating arrhythmically, shoulder throbbing, Troll cried, " _Hermanii_ , prepare to fire."

Along the watchtowers _d'el guardii_ lit torches and awaited command.

The king's catapults launched more boulders.

"Prepare for impact!" Troll roared.

The _d'el guardii_ braced themselves.

_Boom_. _Boom_. _Crash_.

The wall trembled.

A good portion of the northwestern machicolate exploded in rubble.

An eastern watchtower crumbled.

_D'el guardii_ screamed as they plummeted to their demise.

Diego and a troop of _d'el guardii_ trotted toward Troll.

Troll glanced beyond the walls.

Rebels flocked toward the city.

Two more waves pursued them.

Lamar asked, "What are you waiting for, _easta_?"

"Patience," Troll replied.

Another wave of catapult fodder descended upon the wall.

Parapets and _d'el guardii_ burst into smithereens.

Diego cried, "We are being slaughtered!"

Troll watched the advancing soldiers. "Prepare the cross-bows!"

_D'el guardii_ lit the arrows.

"Steady."

Below, rebels pounded against the gate, pleading to be let in.

Troll roared, " _Efuegii_!"

The _hermani_ i fired upon their designated targets.

The kegs they planted exploded.

Soldiers flew through the air.

Troll turned to Lamar, and said, "Open the gates."

Lamar stammered, "B...but..."

"Do it," Troll commanded. "Those are our people down there."

Lamar nodded and sprinted off.

Troll turned to Diego, and said, "Gather all the young, elderly, injured, and those too scared to fight, and take them into the mines."

"I believe that has already been done," Diego replied.

"Make certain. I only want those of able-body and mind fighting. All others might get in the way. And we haven't a soul to spare." He whirled toward Khariiff, and asked, "Do ye have the _Nou'heim-Du'tawa_?"

Khariiff smiled and patted the satchel strapped across his emaciated shoulders.

Troll said, "Good, go with Diego. I have a twinklin' we shall be joining ye shortly."

****

Star and Mia trudged through the smoke and haze. They abandoned their helmets, some time ago.

Luckily, they were far enough from the explosions to just be knocked on their asses, and the wind stolen from their lungs.

Mia twisted her ankle.

Star wrapped Mia's arm around her shoulder, and they hobbled toward Al'ber Que before the next wave caught up to them. Star glanced back.

A wall of fire and thick, black smoke stretched across the horizon. Soldiers screamed as they burned alive.

The barricade would only slow the army down.

Star tripped.

Mia spilled forward. She tottered and landed on her back. Snarling, lips curled, she drew and aimed at Star.

Star's hand dropped to her holstered hip.

_Blam-blam_.

Mia fired over Star's shoulder.

Grunt. Gurgling

Star pivoted.

Tartus stood there. His dagger raised. Blood seeped from the two holes in his forehead. He collapsed to the ground in a thump.

Was he the traitor? According to recent information, the one who would betray her had been among her the entire time. She just met Tartus. It didn't make sense. It seemed too easy.

Mia turned over on her stomach and vomited.

Star rested a hand gently on her shoulder.

Mia shrugged it off.

Star said, "Come on, more will be coming soon."

****

"That's it, keep on keepin' on," 'Ro grunted. Ally hung from his shoulder like a satchel full of bricks. "Almost there," he mumbled.

Ally groaned, "Ya don't need to coach me." He hopped along with his hand pressed to his wound. His body armor stripped so 'Ro could tie a piece of cloth around the hole in Ally's back and stomach.

It had only been a gut-shot, through-and-through. If any organs hit, surely they would have known by now. Abdominal wounds hurt like a bastard. But Ally was tough.

"Ain't for you," 'Ro gasped in exhaustion, "Talkin' to myself."

Marching and running in shifting sand took its toll on 'Ro's legs. The only thing he felt in his calves and feet was a tingling numbness. Still he pressed on, one foot in front of the other. "That's it," he said again. "Easy does it, now."

The smoldering walls of Al'ber Que inched closer.

Ally said, "Bro, look."

'Ro crouched. His thigh muscles ripped and tore 'neath heavy armor and the weight of Ally. He raised his speed-shooter, and asked, "What?"

Ally nodded toward a pair of shadows slumping through the haze. They too headed toward the gates. One also leaned on the other for support.

Was it a mirage? Some distorted reflection of him and Ally?

Ally groaned, "I think that's Star and Mia."

'Ro peered harder.

One rebel did appear small enough to be Mia.

And the other did have Star's saucy gait.

'Ro gasped, "Let's check it out."

They hobbled toward the rebels; gaining ground.

Star's golden hair fluttered in the breeze. It was them.

She must have heard or sensed them, possibly both. She pivoted, speed-shooter drawn.

Waving, 'Ro called, "Star, it's me."

Squinting through the haze, she asked, "That you, 'Ro?"

"Help me, Ally's been shot."

Star trotted toward 'Ro. "Where's he been hit?"

"In the back, came out his belly," 'Ro replied. "That Mia with ya?"

"Yeah."

"She hurt?"

Ally groaned as Star inspected the wound.

"Just twisted my ankle," Mia said. She shuffled toward them, and amended, "I think I'll live."

Ally doubled over.

'Ro tried to hoist his brother to his feet, but he was exhausted. "Damn your heavy," 'Ro panted. "Guess chow is good in the army, huh?"

Ally snarled, "Kiss my ass."

'Ro and Star each took an arm and helped Ally to his feet.

Star said, "C'mon, we gotta get back to Al'ber Que before the next wave attacks."

****

The keg fires were smoldering out.

Troll could see the army once more.

No advancing waves. No catapult fire. The ranks just stood there, as if waiting for something.

Probably, Troll's next move.

He gazed down at the rebels pouring through the gates. More flocked toward the empire by the moment, now that the army had been stayed -- Temporarily.

Star was down there somewhere.

He knew it. He could feel her.

Montalvo approached. He nodded toward the army, and asked, "Are they not advancing?"

"It does not appear so," he replied.

A _d'el guardii_ asked, "Should we prepare for another breach of the wall?"

Troll said, "I should think not. Not after their last attempt."

"Why not?" asked the _d'el guardii_.

So much soot smeared his face, Troll couldn't tell if the poor lad native or _teran-oht_.

Troll replied, "Because a small breach in the wall funnels them, allowing only so many soldiers to enter at one time. We would crush them. No, I think they'll all try to get in at once, somehow, or possibly not at all."

Montalvo asked, "What does that mean?"

Troll ran a hand down his scar, gazed out at the army, and said, "That means, that maybe the reason no more waves have been sent this way, is because they're not going to advance."

****

Most all the rebels safely retreated inside by the time Star and the others made it to the portcullis.

"I don't think they're coming," Mia said, nodding toward the army. She hobbled alongside as 'Ro and Star helped Ally.

Star said, "Hold up."

Ally grunted.

Star glanced back.

Mia was right.

The soldiers should have been hot on their asses by now. Nothing pursued them but billowing smoke, fire, and haze.

What was going on?

_Clickity-crack-sckrickity-scrack_.

Star peered up at the wall. She couldn't see Troll, but she felt him up there.

_Scrick-scrack-scrip-scrap_.

The time had come. Star held up her end of the bargain. Now, Furion was calling her out.

Star turned to Mia, and said, "Here, help 'Ro get Ally inside."

Mia's thin brow cocked, bottom lip protruded, but she did as Star bade.

Star said, "When everyone is inside, have them close the gates. Tell Troll I'll see him soon."

'Ro nodded.

Ally said, "Be careful." He coughed wetly and clutched at his wound.

"Always am," Star replied. Then she marched toward the army, toward Furion.

_Scrip-scrap-screeeeeechhh-scrack_.

Taking Ally's arm, Mia called, "Wait, where are you going?"

Star glanced down at the officer's button pinned to her armor. It was all up to her. Speed-shooter strapped across her body, Star loaded her shooters, and said, "To end this."

****

From behind a stack of cinder blocks, the Dog watched Shadeem rouse.

Hand shielding his eyes from the sun, Shadeem gazed around, exposing his backside.

Dog darted forward and pummeled Shadeem in the small of his back with a piece of iron-rod.

Gaze darting about, Shadeem waffled to his knees.

The Dog hid behind a crumbled concrete wall.

Dog lunged, and bludgeoned Shadeem in his rib cage before bounding away.

Shadeem whirled and roared in anger.

Shadeem tried to rise.

The Dog pounced again; slamming the rod across Shadeem's broad shoulders.

Shadeem pivoted.

Dog bore the rod into a wound in Shadeem's side.

Shadeem yelled. He smacked the Dog away.

The Dog rolled, pounced, and swatted the cudgel into Shadeem's chest. Dog raised the rod over his head.

Shadeem grabbed the Dog's braid and yanked him down. With his free hand, Shadeem rubbed a handful of sand into the Dog's eyes.

A burning sensation stabbed at the Dog's oculars. A leathery boot to his face and the Dog reeled.

He blinked. Sand grated against his eyes. He couldn't see.

Grunt. Grunt. Advancing foot falls.

Dog lunged, swinging wildly at the air.

Thud. Resistance. A hit.

The ringing of a blade pulled from its scabbard.

Shadeem's other sword.

The Dog noticed it earlier, back when he could see.

Dog zeroed in on Shadeem's galloping heartbeat.

Wind purled subtly around the blockage of blade.

His senses showed him Shadeem now brandished a cutlass, slightly bigger than the Dog's sabre had been.

Shadeem advanced.

Forgetting the pain in his eyes, the Dog focused.

Sand crunched between boot and hard-pan. Grunting and panting revealed Shadeem's position. His palpitating heart was the bull's-eye. The salty aroma of blood and sweat oozed from Shadeem's pores.

The Dog might be blind, but he saw Shadeem plain-as-daises.

The gentle rush and slight ping of wind and sand bouncing off blade.

Shadeem swung laterally.

Dog parried.

Thrust. Slice.

_Clink_. _Clank-tink_.

Shadeem grunted in frustration.

The crunch of shifting sand as Shadeem shifted his footing.

The pulsing of Shadeem's heart canted to an angle. A side-stance.

The whoosh of metal cut through air.

Dog readied.

_Clank-tick-tack-tank_.

Shadeem growled. Pulse rising. Thrust. Parry. Riposte.

The Dog parried and stumbled over a block. He fell backward, tumbled down an embankment, and whacked the back of his head against another block. The cudgel flew from his grip. Senses rattled, fuzzing in and out.

Sand crunched. Pant. Pant. Pant. Shadeem's acerbic body-odor tickled the Dog's sinuses.

Shadeem's pulse faded in, but Dog couldn't lock in on him yet.

Blade pierced through the Dog's thigh. An arch of hot pain shot up his body. The blood around the blade hissed and sizzled; burning against the metal's touch. Silver. Dog screamed.

Shadeem pulled the sword from the Dog's leg.

Dog's eyes welled with tears, clearing some of the sand away. He could see now, but everything was blurry.

Cutlass hovering inches from his face, Shadeem inspected the blood boiling upon the blade. He grunted in amusement.

The Dog's leg-wound smoked and sizzled.

The sword couldn't have been made from silver. It wasn't strong enough to--

Shadeem grabbed the Dog by his hair, and ran him through.

An instant searing sensation. Pain beyond articulation.

The Dog tried to scream, but only expectorated gargled blood. He briefly (and instantaneously), shifted into fully-feral form before phasing back.

Shadeem raised his sword (Dog included), and bounced up and down, causing the blade to saw through the Dog's innards as the silver set his blood to burn. If not for the armor, he might have been halved. Shadeem tipped the cutlass, allowing Dog to slide of the edge.

Dog curled up on the ground. Coughing up blood, he spasmed in anguish. The wounds made by the silver crackled like campfire kindling. Muscles ceased, he couldn't move.

Shadeem chuckled. Cough. Cough. Hack. Spit. He hobbled, encircling the Dog. "It seems you can be killed after all." Shadeem lightly tapped the tip of his blade against Dog's exposed arm. No reaction. "So, silver makes your blood burn, huh? Truly, you are an odd and disgusting creature." He snorted and hawked a blood-loogie.

Dog tried to crawl away.

Shadeem brought the sword down through the Dog's back, puncturing through the armor, and piercing Dog's lung and ribcage.

Dog choked and gasped. Blood sizzled. Lungs filled internally with smoke. His fists clenched involuntarily, one wrapped around an iron-rod buried in the sand.

Using the blade as a lever, Shadeem pried the Dog to his knees.

Dog let the rod slide through his fingers but held onto the tip.

Shadeem grabbed a fistful of the dog's hair, and pulled the sword from his back.

Dog quivered in agony.

"Come now, you always knew it would end like this." Gasp. Gasp. Wheeze. "At least hold your head high. You put up a hell of a fight." He jerked the Dog's head back, exposing his throat.

Shadeem continued, "No matter what happens, should I die of my wounds this very night, I just want you to know, that despite what anybody says about you; this day, this fight, was my greatest victory. My greatest honor."

Metal vibrated against the desert gusts. Wind raced around the sword Shadeem one-handedly raised over his head.

The Dog closed his eyes. Sand grated against his already irritated oculars. The wind rose. Sand sifted down like snow. Cold silver hummed in anticipation. The crackle and hiss of the Dog's burning blood. The pungent stench of cooked flesh wafted about like dust-devils. Shadeem's heart galloped. The feel of rusty iron as the Dog tightened his grip around the end of the rod he hoped Shadeem didn't notice. Time stood still. The ring of metal as it swung through air.

Dog dove to the ground. The hair Shadeem held firmly in his grip ripped audibly from the Dog's scalp. Dog ducked and rolled under Shadeem's swing, which would have lopped the Dog's head off.

Dog pivoted, knelt, and drove the rod straight into Shadeem's sternum.

Shadeem screamed. Gurgling blood, he flounced backward.

Dog twisted and turned the rod, and climbed over Shadeem.

Shadeem arched. His body tensed.

Dog planted his foot along the rod and pushed off it like a stepping stone. He loaded his working gauntlet.

Spewing bloody chunks, Shadeem lurched forward.

Dog forced him back to the ground, grabbed his hair, and put his hand underneath Shadeem's chin.

Shadeem skirled in agony.

The Dog just screamed. He clenched his fist.

_Ka-shink_.

The gauntlet blades shot up through Shadeem's jaw and into his head. His eyes cocked to impossible angles, as if severed from the brain.

Still screaming, the Dog ripped the blades through Shadeem's face, scattering it in fragments of flesh, blood, and bone fragments that sprinkled the Dog in a fine crimson-mist.

Gauntlet dripping gore, Dog roared an inarticulate cry of triumph toward the sky, as if challenging the very heavens themselves.

****

The empire of Al'ber Que was the biggest most majestic place 'Ro had ever seen. Too bad he couldn't gaze upon it during the height of its glory.

Ally clung to his shoulder and coughed up blood.

"Oh, my God, Ally!" Sandy said racing toward them.

Hickey trotted behind her.

"Oh, my God," Sandy iterated, eyes wide, face pale. "What happened?"

Ally said, "Got shot." Cough. Cough. "Don't worry. I feel better now."

Sandy kissed Ally and hugged him tightly.

Ally reared back, "Ah! Careful, I been tenderized."

Hickey spat, and asked, "Y'all seen Roy?"

"He didn't make it," 'Ro replied.

Sandy said, "Xaza and one of the twins made it here too."

'Ro asked, "What do you mean one?"

Sandy dipped her head.

Gaze averted, Hickey spat in the sand again.

Ally asked, "How's the other one taking it?"

Sandy replied, "How would you?"

Gaze darting, 'Ro asked, "Where is everyone?"

Hickey replied, "Women, children, the elderly, and the incapable are being directed to some sort of safe-zone. Everyone else is on the wall."

'Ro asked, "And Troll?"

"Leading them, of course," Sandy replied.

'Ro hugged Sandy, and said, "Get Ally to the safe-zone, and stay with him. I'm gonna get up on that wall."

Ally carefully embraced 'Ro, and said, "Take care, bro."

'Ro asked, "Hick?"

"Right behind ya," Hickey replied.

Sandy grabbed 'Ro's arm, she pulled him close, and whispered, "You better come back. I can't lose both of you. I won't."

'Ro smiled, and said, "You ain't losing no one else. Not today. I promise."

****

Hand in hand. Sarah and Anne followed the exodus toward the mines.

Only minutes ago, Anne appeared so sure, so aged. Now, her brow furrowed not in determination, but uncertainty. Bottom lip protruding, she squeezed Sarah's hand. She seemed frightened and confused.

This was the Anne that she knew.

Muttering to himself, Byron shambled beside them. Some strange black residue tarred his face, long, gnarly beard, and tattered shirt.

Waving, Sirii hailed, "Sarah! Anne!" She wore blood spattered Al'ber Quearian armor.

Satchel slung across his shoulder, Khariiff leaned on her arm.

Sirii asked Sarah, "Are you headed to safety with the others?"

"Aye."

Sirii said, "Take my father with you, _por favorii_."

"Of course, Sarah replied. "Where are ye going?"

Sirii said, "I'm going back to the wall to join the others. Be safe."

"And ye as well," Sarah said, bowing.

Sarah feared Anne would want to go with Sirii, but she made no mention of it.

Sarah led the others to the large opening where the slaves exited the mines nearly an hour ago.

Tugging at Sarah's arm, Anne squealed, "No, I don't wanna go back down there. Please, don't make me go back down there."

Sarah said, "T'will be all right."

"No! No!" Anne tried prying Sarah's hand off her wrist.

Sarah would not let go. Not again. Not ever.

Byron cackled, and said, "I told ye we belong down there! He calls us, the harvester, he's not dead. And we get to go back to him. We get to back down into the dark!"

Sarah swatted at Byron, and snarled, "Stop that. What's wrong with ye? Ye'r scaring Anne."

Tears streaming down her face, Anne screamed, "I'm not going back down there! I won't! I won't! I won't!"

Byron bounded around. He grabbed random exiles, and screamed in their faces, "Back into the dark! The harvester lives! The harvester lives!"

Diego and Lamar strode forward.

Anne cried and screamed, still trying to pull away.

People gawked and stared at the girl who had united the empire.

Diego clasped Byron's shoulders, and said, "You must relax, _easta_."

Byron halted. His face was stern, unreadable. He laughed insanely.

Lamar said, "It's all right, _easta_." Soot smudged his bald, egg-shaped head. "Come with us, everything's going to be okay."

"Yes," Byron giggled. "Everything will be right as rain down there. Right as rain, I say."

Sarah said, "Come on, Anne, let's go with them."

"No!" Anne yelled. Tears rolled down her emaciated face, carving track marks through the filth. "I'm not going down there!" She broke free and sprinted back toward the wall.

Lamar grabbed her, picked her up, and said, "Come _Madiriiette_ , we'll be safe down there."

Anne kicked and screamed as Lamar carried her into the mines.

Why was Anne so afraid to go back down there? After all, she'd survived the mines before?

Sarah glanced back toward the direction of the gates. There, a few yards away, propped up against a fallen brick, sat Maddy, the rag doll, grinning at her with that crimson-stitched smile and dead-black doll's eyes.

****

'Ro asked, "What's going on?"

Troll returned the monocle to his cloak. "Good to see ye, my friends," he said, shaking with 'Ro and Hickey, "I presume Star is with thee?"

'Ro replied, "She was. She retreated with the rest of us. She helped me carry my brother here. When we got to the gates, she turned around, said, she was gonna go end this."

Troll's heart felt heavy, shoulder throbbed.

She had gone after Furion. Alone.

Montalvo said, "There she is." Silvery hair whipping in the wind, he pointed at an ant-like figure below.

Troll muttered, "My Star what are ye doing."

'Ro said, "She said, when everyone got inside the empire, to close the gates."

"So?" asked the ranking _d'el guardii_. A chubby _teran-oht_ whom Troll trained.

He believed his name was Cortez.

Arms out, 'Ro scoffed, "So, everyone else is inside. And I hear others are tryin' to bury their heads even further."

They all stared at Troll, looking to him for answers.

He leaned upon what remained of the railing (careful not to lean into it), and watched Star plod toward her vengeance. A vengeance he once assured her she would die from if she ever faced alone.

His heart ached. His soul bore the weight of a deep longing, one never knew possible.

Cortez asked, " _Easta_?"

He couldn't close the gate. He just couldn't. What if she needed to retreat? Pish-posh. Star would never retreat.

" _Easta_?"

Weary, heart full of despair, Troll ran a hand through his greasy mange. Beads shucked and jived. He remembered the silky feel of his fingers running through Star's hair. The piquant smell of her skin. The taste of her lips, like strawberries.

Brown-eyes bulging, caterpillar-like eyebrows furrowed, Cortez iterated, " _Easta_?" His buxom, tawny face trembled.

Montalvo touched Troll's shoulder, and said, "My friend, we need you."

Troll watched Star drift further away into smoke and sand.

But Troll needed Star. And now it seemed he would have to wait. How long? Only time would tell.

Troll gulped, his mouth felt as dry as desert sand. A cold shudder rain down his spine as the Wraith's voice echoed within his mind.

_Your Dog is dead_. _And Star will die before ever you reach her_.

Troll wiped the sweat from his brow, and uttered, "Close the gate."

****

Her legs burned in agony but Star pressed on.

The army stood at attention behind the char-line of the keg explosions.

They could stand there and rot for all she cared. Her prize was Furion. And if she could get close enough to kill him, she might end the entire battle right here, right now.

_Scrip-screeeeeeeeck-scraaaaaaackkkk_.

_Come child_. _Come back to me_.

A myriad of thoughts flooded her mind, like a dam breaking.

Krin. Grandmere. The invasion. The fields. Mikhail. Her parents. Furion invading her, controlling her.

_Scrip-a-rick-raaaaacckkkkkk_.

Lost. Alone. Angry.

_Screeeee-rack-a-lack_.

The phantasmagoria quickened its pace.

Shantytown. Shale. Coffin Nail. Diamond. Tahl. The duel.

Anger, so much anger.

_Rackity-crickity-scccccccccraaaaack_.

Returning to the fields. Despair. Frustration. Hatred.

Star marched faster. Puffing, panting. Arms swinging.

_Scrickity-screeeee-scraaaaaaaw-scrackkkkkkk_.

And then Troll, and the Dog. Anne. Sarah. The Jessips. Her friends. Her family. But, mostly Troll.

_Screee-scra_ \--

Star held on to Troll's image and blocked Furion's voice. Troll's smile. His boisterous personality. The way he loved her, without reservation, without doubt.

An insect-like warble echoed across the sands.

Star plodded through a smoke cloud. Her legs felt like cumbersome logs.

Just ahead, less than a quarter of a mile, Furion and Shroud sat high on their respective steeds.

Furion nodded to Shroud.

If she wanted to, she could hear what the Lord of Black said to him. But she didn't want to. Not ever again.

Shroud's horse reared back in a neigh. The general thrust a fist skyward, and roared his war cry.

Weapons raised, the soldiers bellowed their support.

And then, General Shroud raced toward her.

****

The Dog roared until his voice grew hoarse and his adrenaline subsided.

Without silver constantly being introduced into his blood stream, his wounds smoldered and slowly healed.

He blinked, hissing as sand grated between the insides of eyelids and soft ocular tissue.

Hand trembling, Dog quickly unlatched the broken gauntlet and tossed it aside. He frantically wiped the sand from his eyes with the back of his gritty, hairy hand.

A stinging, piercing sensation as the sunlight flooded his blurred vision.

Heavy breathing. Racing pulse. The crunch of sand.

_Blam_.

Before he could pivot, a bullet tore through the Dog's clavicle; shattering bone.

A searing pain radiated from the wound's nucleus. The projectile ignited the Dog's blood. Once more, precious fluids sizzled and crackled like campfire.

The bullet was silver.

And it was stuck inside of him.

****

Troll clutched his shoulder, and yelled, "Ah!"

Face wrinkled in concern, Montalvo asked, "My friend, are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure of it," Troll replied. He rubbed his shoulder, and said, "Just a muscle spasm."

But he wasn't all right. Something happened. Or more to the point, something just happened to the Dog. And somehow, he had felt it.

Sirii asked, "Are you sure you're all right, _easta_?" Squinting, she leaned toward him, and said, "You're all pale and sweaty.

Gaze glued to the battlefield below, 'Ro said, "Y'all ain't gonna believe this. But Star just fell over. And that rider's still a-coming."

Troll leaned upon his staff, forced a chuckle, and said to Sirii, "My friend, I regret to inform ye, I don't believe I shall be well until the day is through."

****

Trying to dig the bullet out, the Dog clawed at the burning hole in his shoulder, but his fingers kept fidgeting.

The sultan stepped forward. Pistol aimed. His hand hovered over the hammer. The sultan smiled, and said, "This was a gift from my master. He asked me to share it with you."

Dog snarled. Bloody-foam dripped from his fangs. Swiping, he lunged.

_Blam-blam_.

Silver tore through the Dog's sternum.

****

Supporting herself with the speed-shooter, Star warily rose to her feet.

Shroud closed in.

Another two sharp pains drove Star to hands and knees.

Gasping, she clutched at her chest.

Hard to breathe, as if a lung collapsed, as if buried under leagues of sand.

What the hell was wrong with her?

****

Coughing, The Dog clutched at his chest, choking on his own burning blood.

Cringing, holding his bleeding abdomen, the sultan crept toward the quivering Dog.

Hacking, stomach wrenching, the Dog tried crawling away.

Every fiber of his body was on fire; burning alive, asphyxiating on thick, black smoke.

_Blam_.

Silver smacked into coccyx, shattering his hip.

Dog arched back in pain. Gasping, smoke escaped from his mouth, as if fleeing a chimney.

****

Troll's hip went numb. He swayed and would have fallen if not for his staff.

Heart beating arithmetically, left-shoulder tingling, he gasped, but attained no air.

Troll felt cold, sweaty, and woozy.

Pencil-drawn eyebrows scrunched, Sirii frowned, and said, "You do not look well, _easta_."

A cool breeze coursed through Troll's soul, and his head cleared a bit.

"Never better," Troll quavered, "Never better."

****

His blood literally burning, the Dog bayed in anguish. He'd never experienced such torture before.

"Oh, shut up!" The sultan said, spittle flying, "You sound like another of those whining whelps from the mines."

_Blam_.

Silver ripped through the back of his throat, severing his vocal chords.

The Dog dropped.

Smoking blood spewed from the Dog's mouth and the hole in his neck.

****

Unable to breathe, Star fell to her knees, and clutched at her throat.

What in the hell was wrong with her.

Whirling a spiked-bola over his head, Shroud closed in.

The trampling of his steed's hooves reverberated within Star's head like a monolithic kettle-drum.

Once more, Star tried to rise to her feet as Shroud closed the gap.

****

The sultan sneered, "Yes, this is working quite well. And to think, I was told it would be difficult to kill you."

Once more, the Dog clawed at the sand, trying to crawl away. But he hadn't the strength for it.

The sultan snorted, "Come on now, come back and face your fate."

Trembling, coughing up blood, the Dog clambered to his knees. He smelled Sarah's scent imbued all-over his body. Especially, his genitals.

The sultan continued, "Come now, turn and look me in the eye, I have no wish to shoot you in the back -- again. You hear me! Turn and look death in the eye!"

Dog locked in on the sultan's voice, his heartbeat. Choking on smoke, spewing sizzling blood, The Dog attempted a laugh that hiccupped and popped.

"Yes, go ahead and laugh, but you will die this day. My master has foreseen it. I will kill you. And I will watch the lights fade from your eyes as you die."

Perhaps, but before that happened, the Dog was gonna murder that son-of-a-bitch for raping Sarah; for putting Anne and Byron in the mines. Oh, yeah, this asshole was dead.

The Dog slithered a shaky hand down his blood-soaked body, toward his belt buckle.

"Turn! Turn and look me in the eye, you coward!"

The Dog removed the top-side of his buckle, and turned it clock-wise. Curved blades popped out of the grove running alongside the discus-like weapon.

The sultan roared, "I said, turn around so I can look into your eyes and watch the immortal die!"

Dog pivoted on his shattered hip and hurtled the disc at the sultan's throat.

_Blam_.

The sultan's head tumbled off his neck.

A searing, burning pain tore through the Dog's chest, squeezing his heart. Unable to breathe, the Dog toppled backward into the sand.

****

Shroud closed in. Spiked-bola whirling faster, his fiery red-hair blew in the breeze. He snarled filed-teeth. His horse snorted and neighed.

A sharp stabbing pained Star's heart. She collapsed to her knees.

Dog.

She could feel him. He was in trouble.

Star gazed back toward Al'ber Que, and said, "Sorry, my love. Not today."

She unslung the speed-shooter across her chest, drove the butt into the sand, and forced herself up. She grabbed the barrel and thrust the weapon at Shroud just as he released the bola. The gun tangled in the bola's chain and smashed into Shroud's face. The spiked heads bounced and the bola coiled around him.

" _Argh_!" He fell from the side of his horse. His foot caught in the stirrup; dragged as the horse bucked around in circles. Shroud shook loose. He rolled to the side and stripped the bola's chains off him.

Star marched toward him. A right-cross to Shroud's face. He warbled back. Star swung again. Shroud grabbed her arm and thrust her forward. Star ducked, pivoted. Shroud drove his knee into her chest. Star slammed backward into the sand. The wind knocked out of her. Shroud dropped all his weight on Star. Saddling her, Shroud throttled her with both hands, repeatedly slamming her head into the sand.

Star tried to pry his hands away. No use. She tried to claw at his face. Too far away. His arms were too long. Star tried fighting with her body, but she was exhausted, drained. Shroud was too heavy, and he wore armor.

Shroud snarled, "Did you really think you could win? Did you really think you could defy the king? Furion? Me?" He drove her head back again and squeezed tighter.

Star's head felt faint. The lights grew dim. She choked, desperately striving for air. Her legs kicked spastically.

Mikhail's face flashed in her mind. His wide frightened gape; broken jaw, warped, and trembling. The rock held firmly in her tensed grip. The feel of hot blood pulsated within the hollows of her fingers. Her terror and grief-stricken parents, standing there, forced to watch as they screamed. Shroud's twisted, laughing face.

"Huh, did you?" Shroud loomed over her, and shrieked, "Answer me!"

Spittle spritzed Star's face. His breath stank of rotting meat. He loosened his hold around her neck.

Star choked, and gasped, "Scree-scraw-scrap, mother-fucker."

Shroud's gape grew wide, the anger robbed from his eyes.

Star drove a hand through Shroud's chin, and ripped his tongue out through the bottom of his jaw.

Gargling blood, Shroud reared back, and clutched at his throat.

Star pushed him off her.

Twisting and writhing, he slumped to the ground.

Star clambered to her feet, and gasped, "I'm not gonna kill you. You have failed your master. Now, I'm gonna leave you here for him to deal with."

She pivoted toward Furion. He was still far-off. Star stared at him, ripped the commander's sigil of her chest plate, and thrust it to the ground.

Snorting and neighing, Shroud's horse gamboled toward Star. She lunged, grasped hold of the throatlatch, and climbed atop his armored steed.

She gazed off in the direction she felt the Dog in. She was wasting time. He needed her. She stared at Furion, knowing him laughing but blocking his voice from her head. She pulled a shooter and aimed at Furion's hooded face. The gun she had donned since a child felt foreign in her grip, wobbly. She fired, emptying the chamber. Nothing. She missed. She never missed. She should have been in range.

Furion laughed in an insect-like warble.

Star roared in anger. She kicked the horse and raced toward the Dog. She drew her other shooter, aimed, and fired, emptying the chamber.

She missed Furion again.

Furion wasn't in her head, she could feel it.

Something was wrong with _her_.

Furion waved a stubby arm.

Archers let their arrows fly.

Star kicked the horse to go faster as a hail of arrows descended upon her.

Hugging close to the steed, Star bore down.

The arrows fell. Most missed. Some bounced off Star and the horses' armor. One managed to drive through Star's thigh, and she hissed through clenched teeth.

Galloping toward the Dog, she glanced back at Furion; his figure incipiently shrank over the horizon.

She had missed. She had failed. And now she might not get another chance -- ever.

****

From atop the wall, Troll and the others watched Star defeat Shroud through monocles and binoculars.

'Ro ran a gloved hand through his hair, and said, "She missed." Face pallid, he reiterated, "She missed Furion. She never misses."

"No," Troll replied. "She doesn't."

Hickey snorted, "There goes our chances of winning the battle."

Furion's archers fired at Star.

Troll's heart raced wildly in his chest, shoulder throbbing. He prayed, Dear, God, protect her.

Star rode on.

Troll's heart went with her.

Hickey asked, "Where the hell is she going now?"

But, Troll knew. He could feel the Dog in distress, literally sharing the Dog's pain, as he presumed Star could, as well.

Binoculars pressed to his long face, Lamar said, "It seems your _Madirii_ is saving herself."

"Hey," Hickey spat, pivoting toward Lamar, "I don't' know who the hell you are, but I've fought alongside Star, and she don't run."

'Ro replied, "We also thought she didn't miss."

Sweating profusely, pulse racing, Troll said, "Enough!" He gazed out into the desert, and added, "Star knows what she's doing."

****

Anne sat curled in the shadows listening to the whines and cries of those unfit to fight.

Byron jumped around the mechanical chamber through which they exited the mines. He grabbed random people, and yelled all sorts of crazy things.

A few _d'el guardii_ had to restrain him from rousing people into a panic.

"We're going back Anne!" He cried. "We're going back to him!"

Anne shuddered.

She rubbed the sleeves of the Dog's jacket (which she still wore 'neath her armor). She just hoped the Dog returned before they ventured into the _actual_ mines.

Across the way, Sarah chatted feverishly with Khariiff.

Right then, Anne loathed Sarah. Hated her more than when Sarah told her she couldn't be friends with the Dog. If she had followed that tid-bit of advice, they'd all be dead by now. After all Sarah endured, how could she remain so naïve, so stupid?

Well, Sarah would find out, wouldn't she?

Oh, yes, when the doors closed, and the lights went out, they would all find out what a bad idea this was.

****

Snorting in tandem with its hoof-falls, Star's horse (formerly Shroud's), loped over dunes of ever-shifting sand.

The closer she got to the Dog the more her heart ached with a pain she hadn't felt in a long time.

She kicked the steed to go faster.

Wind and sand battered her down-turned face.

To her right stood three, black train-cars. Further ahead, the caboose laid smoking on its side. The sand already partially covered the engine car.

Star pulled back on the reins.

Neighing, front-legs kicking, the horse reared up.

Star was thrown from the saddle. She fell hard on her ass as the horse galloped off.

Apparently it wasn't her horse, after all.

Star yelled, "You asshole!"

Star stood. An arch of pain in her thigh, leg numb, Star toppled over. "Ah, Fuck!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

The arrow in her thigh pierced through the leg-plate and penetrated deep into her flesh. Star stripped the heavy armor (except for the leg-plate), and gasped in relief as the desert breeze assuaged her sweat-saturated skin. Her usual duds literally dripped from the soaked folds and bunched up creases.

She wrapped her sweaty hands around the arrow. Pain like flaming-staves pitchforked at her femur. She cringed. Star steadied her breath, counted to three, and pulled. No use. She tugged harder; those burning pitchforks burrowed deeper into Star's bones. Tears streamed down her face. Snot bubbled at her nostrils. Still, no give. "Ahh!" Star collapsed backward in the sand. Grunting, snorting, she pulled all the more. The fiery stave dug so deep, Star thought the bone would snap. "Argh!" Star would not let go. She tugged with all the strength she had left. The arrows head tore through muscle and tendon. Star brayed and tossed the arrow and leg-plate aside. She tore a sleeve off her shirt and cinched it gird around her thigh.

Star hoisted herself up. She limped a few paces. A stabbing sensation coursed through her leg with every excruciating step. A knee buckled. Star tottered to the sand. She panted through barred teeth, and gasped, "Damnit!"

Following the pain beating in her heart, like a compass, Star crawled through blistering granules of grit and stone.

She tumbled down a sharp decline, and landed hard on compact dirt. Her thigh throbbed.

Stacks of stone bricks and lengths of metal rods dotted the area, like strange landmarks.

What was this place?

Over yonder, Shadeem lay dead in the sand, face shredded.

Two more bodies lay ahead.

Star propped herself up and limped toward the Dog.

Tiny tendrils of smoke coiled up from the Dog's wounds.

The caustic aroma of burnt flesh violated the air.

Crackling and sizzling.

Star collapsed next to the smoldering, motionless Dog.

What the hell happened to him? It looked like his innards were on fire. Should she even touch him?

She hovered over him, and asked, "Dog?" Nothing. "Dog, are ya dead? Wake up." She gently prodded his side with an index and fore-finger.

Dog's eyelids shot open. His golden gape shimmered in anguish. The Dog bolted in a sit, and screamed a vocal-chord-tearing skirl. Black smoke billowed out from his gaping mouth. His wounds sizzled and crackled.

Startled, Star lurched back, and said, "Dog, it's me. It's Star. I'm here. It's okay."

Choking on smoke and blood, Dog trembled. He blinked rapidly and stared at her in disbelief.

"Man, they sure got you good, didn't they? Can ya get up? Can ya walk?"

She pulled at his arm.

The Dog arched back. Smoke rose from the gashes riddling his body.

Star said, "Come, Dog, on your feet!"

The Dog writhed on the ground, gasping, and clawing at his wounds. His Blood bubbled and boiled; melting the flesh on his fingers.

It didn't make sense. Why wasn't he healing?

Star drifted back to their first night after Silverdale. Sitting around a campfire, Troll had said, "Blood. He drinks blood. It heals him. Probably what keeps him young, too."

Star pulled the knife in her boot, slit the palm of her hand, and offered the blood to the Dog.

He cringed. Cough. Cough. Whine. He pushed away her hand.

"No, Dog, let me help you." She squeezed the blood into his mouth.

_Fwoom_. The blood lit up like candle oil as soon as it made contact with the Dog's blood.

Why wasn't this working?

Squirming, the Dog screamed. His wounds burned faster; more smoke.

He clawed tenaciously at the bullet-holes in his chest. But his elongated nails couldn't penetrate the armor he wore. Bubbling blood burned through flesh until the tips of his finger-bones were visible.

She just couldn't stand to watch him tear away at himself. She took his trembling hands, and he squeezed back.

Star whispered, "Let me help you, Dog. Tell me what to do."

The Dog opened his mouth. Smoke billowed out. His golden gape phased to yellow, and the hazel.

"What can I do?"

The Dog motioned for her to lean in close.

She did. The heat radiating out of his smoking wounds felt immense.

The Dog quavered, "T...te...ll...T...ro...ll..."

"Tell Troll what?"

"S...s...orr...y..."

"Sorry for what?" She wrapped her other arm around his head, and cradled him like a small child.

"J...ju...ss...s...orry..."

Star gazed down at his shivering blood-charred face; seeing Mikhail, Diamond, and everyone else she couldn't save. She wouldn't lose another. She couldn't. Her heart beat with a slow, heavy thud. Hot salty tears stabbed at the back of her eyes. She knew what this was. She'd seen it all her life. She combed her fingers through the Dog's short, sweat-soaked, multi-colored hair, and said, "Shh, Don't talk like that. You're not gonna die. You can't. You're one of the triumvirate, remember? You can't die."

Dog shuddered violently, muscles clenched. He choked and gagged through his locked jaw. His hazel gaze shifted to dark-brown, and then a deep-blue.

She was not going to lose him. She wouldn't. She just needed to get him up and at-'em. He needed to walk-it-off.

Star continued, "Listen to me, you're gonna be just fine. Ya, hear me? We're facing Hell back there, and we need you. Troll, Sarah, Anne, the Jessips, we all need you. And right now, we need you to get up."

The Dog shivered spastically, muscles spasmed. His mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water, running out of oxygen.

Teeth barred, Star growled, "No." Anger and frustration swirled within her. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to quite on me. I won't let you. You hear me, I won't let you. Now, get up! Now!"

He squeezed her hand tightly, and then his claw loosened and fell to the desert floor. His eyes turned the only color Star had never seen, a cataract-blue. His wounds ceased smoking and sizzling. His body went slack, head slumped to the side.

"Dog?" Panic filled her. "Don't do this to me, Dog. Don't do this. I can't go through this. Not again." She pumped her hands on the Dog's chest-plate, trying to force his lungs to work. "Don't you die on me! Don't you die on me, you fucking mutt! Come on!"

No use. The Dog was dead.

Yet again, she was too late. Yet again, she had failed.

Star slammed her fists on the Dog's chest-plate until her hands were bloody and numb. Then, she gazed toward the sky and screamed.

Star couldn't even hear her own shrieking over Furion cackling within her head.

****

The throbbing in Troll's shoulder sweltered to an excruciating crescendo. He broke out in a cold sweat. Lightheaded. Nauseated. His chest clenched up into tight, little knots. Breath short. Troll clutched at his breast, and roared, "Ahh!" His staff fell listlessly to the ground, and Troll collapsed.

Sirii and Montalvo rushed to his side.

Frowning, Sirii asked, "Are you all right, _easta_?"

Montalvo gently pressed a palm to Troll's forehead and the other on his chest. "It's his heart," he said, "It has been weakened due to all the strain he's been under."

'Ro said, "Uh, guys, I think you're gonna want to see this."

Sirii and Montalvo's collective gaze darted between Troll and 'Ro.

Troll tapped Montalvo's shoulder, and weakly gasped, "Go."

Gape's wide, jaws slack, faces pale, Montalvo and Sirii exchanged an uneasy glance before joining the others at the edge of the machicolation.

Troll's head pounded; heart beating arrhythmically. Dark splotches formed in his vision.

In his mind, Troll heard the Wraith cackling, "Your Dog is dead. And Star will die before ever you reach her."

****

Completely invisible, the Wraith stood atop a sand dune, rubbing his long talon-like hands satisfactorily as he watched the Dog die.

It had taken over a thousand years, but that cursed mutt finally received his due and proper.

The Wraith turned toward the train and the weapon held within.

He waved an invisible arm in the air

Miles away, and inside the cargo-car, the bomb re-activated. The dangling face-plate continued beeping its countdown.

The Wraith wafted his other eidolon extremity.

Slowly, the train's large, heavy wheels began to turn; heading back toward Al'ber Que.

****

Cortez scratched his swarthy, dirty forehead, and asked, "Have you ever seen the army do that?"

Silence.

Troll's breathing stabilized, as did his racing heart. "What is it?" Troll asked.

Binoculars in his armored hands, 'Ro said, "They're leaving. The army, they're just turning 'round and waltzing away."

"My friends," Troll called, gesturing for them to gather around him.

They did.

Troll wheezed, "Abandon the wall. Get everyone underground, into the safe-zone. I have a feeling there's a reason they're pulling back, and I don't think it's because they're afraid of us."

Montalvo asked, "What about you?"

"I shall stay until Star returns," he replied.

Arms crossed, Montalvo said, "Then I shall stay with you."

"As will I," Sirii added.

Troll said, "As ye wish. The rest of ye get going while ye still can."

Hickey glanced at 'Ro.

'Ro said, "I'm staying too. I owe Star that much."

Brow furrowed, fat lips curled, Hickey said, "Y'all are fucking crazy. But good luck." He shook Troll and 'Ro's hands, and then departed with the others.

Troll asked, "Montalvo, would ye be good enough to fetch an ol' boy his staff?"

Montalvo did.

Troll pried himself to his feet and hobbled toward the ledge. His friends beside him, Troll gazed out toward the desert.

Smoke and haze drifted away on the breeze.

Sure enough, Furion led his army back into the abysmal sands.

'Ro said, "They kinda look like parting storm clouds, don't they?"

But Troll knew better, oh, yes.

No longer did dark, murky storm clouds loom ominously in the distance, oh, no. The storm had finally arrived. And it was gonna be a thrasher.

TO BE CONTINUED...

J.S.F

October 2013

TROLL'S GLOSSARY

A brief note on translation: L' is equivalent to the word "the". So, whenever prefixed before a word, as in, L'tiendii, the literal translation is, the shop. D'el is equivalent to the phrase "of the", as in d'el guardii, the literal translation is, of the guard. Proper names of places are case-by-case bases, such as L'hermanii d'el Al'ber Que and El Na'tirii Tawa.

Titles for men are only capitalized when preceding a proper noun, as in Easta Troll.

Titles for women, as in Madirii or Madiriiette, are always capitalized.

The letter j is pronounced as an h sound, as in dejarii or falanjii. The g is pronounced as a j sound, as in ca-mangii. Anytime the letters ii are together, it is pronounced as a hard e, as in the word "bee". The letter "a" in the word dan, is pronounced is it would in the word "father". All other pronunciations are fairly straight-forward.

Adieo - good-bye

Appert'ivitta - a snack

Arretta - stop, halt

Basuriia - a portable trash cart

Basuri'iste(s) - a person operating a trash cart

Bazaan'stock - a worker or workers who bring produce to the bazaar'istes

Bazaar - a huge open-air market

Bazaar'iste(s) - a person operating a cart, stand, or shop within the bazaar

Bienii - safe, okay, good

Biente dias - literally translated as, "good day"

Bienvenirii - welcome

C'esta - it's, its, or it is

Ca-mangii - a declarative offering, inviting one to "come and eat"

Carceli'iste(s) - prisoner

Carcelii - prison

Carretii - a cart

Compatriotii(s) - friend

D'el falanjii - fighting style of the d'el guardii, literally translated as, "the phoenix"

D'el guardii - a member of the Al'ber Quearian watch/guard

Dan - title like Sr. or Mr. for a native man

Dejarii - to let or allow

Dinada - literally translated as, "you're welcome." Not to be confused with a welcoming

Dinerii - money

Dischaag - an apprentice

Easta - title like Sr. or Mr. for a male outlander

Efuegii - fire

El Na'tirii Tawa - the place of voices

En carcelii - imprisoned

Enfermeri'iste - a doctor

Enfermerii - a medical facility used for treating the sick

Excellente - excellent

Fiesa - a meal

Fiesa mananii - breakfast

Fiesa merendarii - lunch

Fiesa noche - dinner

Gracia -- thank you

Gratia - free, for nothing, without compensation

Hermana - brother

Hermanii - sister

Hermanii d'el Al'ber Que - a secret society formed by the previous empress

Hookah - a large, decorative, elongated pipe

M'pardonii - excuse me, forgive me, or I'm sorry

Ma'amirii - a term of affection, translated as, "my love"

Madirii - a title like Mrs. or madam for all women

Madiriiette - a title like Ms. for all young girls

Malii - bad

M'siempirii - a term of affection translated as, "my always"

Ninii(s) - a child/children

No - no

Nou'heim-Du'tawa - an odd collection of texts translated as, "the voice of time/worlds"

Obrii d'el repiriiddii - a day laborer or maintenance worker within the citadel

Patronii obrii - a work partner, equal, constituent

Plazii - plaza

Por favorii - please

Preparadii - to prepare, make ready

Pulprit - a small privatized space us for prayer/meditation

Punterii - to aim

Quietaii - to be quite, an exclamatory remark to "be quiet"

Revolucion - revolution

Sheckle - a monetary amount, a small coin used in the exchange of goods and services

Si - yes

Sirvientii-mudo - a "dumb-waiter"

Taxe - a tax, or service charge

Teran-oht - outlander

Tiempestii d'el ruega - prayer-time

Tiendii - a shop

Tribune - a tax paid by the natives and doled out to teran-oht in the form of financial assistance

Tribune'iste(s) - a tax collector

Va - my or mine

Vivirii - to live, or "long live"

Vos - us/our

Vot - for/with

Vulturii - vulture; the symbol for Al'ber Que
