

The Legends of Dhanen'Mar

Auguries of Dawn

Volume 1

Copyright ©2012 by Peyton Reynolds

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Cover Art by Christas Vengel

Cartography by Josephe T. Vandel, Arden-Maps

Dedication

Lyrics to "Angus and the Swan" used with permission by

Liv Kristine Espenaes Krull/Leaves' Eyes.

The author wishes to thank the members of Leaves' Eyes for

allowing the magic of their music to be a part of this world.

A special thanks to Sherri Gurski.

Thank you for

accompanying me on this journey.

Table of Contents

Map

The Patrons

Prologue

Part 1: Ardin's Pride

Part 2: Homecoming

Part 3: The King's Challenge

The Patrons Extended Index

Character Index

The Music of Dhanen'Mar

Map

The Patrons

Anniah – Patron of Justice. Dominion: First-day.

Micka – Patron of Harvest. Dominion: Second-day.

Stahl – Patron of War. Dominion: Third-day.

Jardin – Patron of Travelers. Dominion: Fourth-day.

Suzumu – Patron of Harmony. Dominion: Fifth-day.

Rizea – Patron of Revenge. Dominion: Sixth-day.

Ehle – Patron of Destiny. Dominion: Seventh-day.

Ozvald – Patron of Commerce. Dominion: Eighth-day.

Katrien – Patron of Thieves. Dominion: Ninth-day.

Arawn – Patron of Chaos. Dominion: Tenth-day.

Zalis – Patron of Healing. Dominion: Eleventh-day.

Ardin – Patron of Arts. Dominion: Twelfth-day.

Dauphinee - Patron of Love. Dominion: Thirteenth-day.

Eris – Patron of Magic. Dominion: Fourteenth-day.

Cristiana – Patron of Death. Dominion: Fifteenth-day.

At the time of birth, each mortal is presented with their Birth Medallion, depicting to which of the fifteen Patrons they were born. For their entire lives, this medallion must be worn and visible at all times.

Once an individual has reached their fifteenth birthing-day, they are permitted to select their Choice Patron. This medallion is displayed at the discretion of its wearer, and while many reveal its information freely, others choose to keep its knowledge hidden. The only exception to this are the mages, who have their own sets of rules regarding these matters.

The combination of a person's Birth and Choice Patrons then act together to heavily influence the course of their life.

To make one's Choice Patron the same as their Birth Patron, one will either gain great fortune in their chosen dominion or suffer madness. Consequently, very few risk making this choice.

For more on the Patrons, see extended index.

* A Note on Time

Fifteen days comprise a week, six weeks to a season, twenty-four weeks to a year. The seasons mark the divisions of the year. For example, one would say, "It is Fourth-day of summer's fifth week."

Ninety minutes = one hour. Fifteen hours per day.

Prologue

Four days past had marked the tenth year of her imprisonment. Ten years of fear, of helplessness, of the bitterest hatred. Ten years' worth of wondering if this would be the day he finally killed her. And ten years of plotting what she would do should she ever manage to get free. She knew the day so precisely because four days ago, Sixth-day of spring's second week, had been her birthing-day—and they'd taken her the very day she'd turned eight.

Reagan Maves, Dhan'Marian-born but held here in the country of Jennen these many long years, extracted her hand from beneath the last hen, placed the two eggs she'd captured into her basket, and moved to exit the shed serving as their small coop. The outside air was cool and damp, the dawn gray, dull and cloud-laden. Her blue eyes gave the skies before her a quick, mindless glance as she started for the modest wooden dwelling that served as home to her master and as prison to herself, when suddenly she pulled up short. Her head cocked slightly to the right, listening.

Still paused, her eyes moved again to take in the two sights responsible for her halt. Upon closer inspection of both, her initial suspicions were confirmed and her mind began to race, stretching back in search of knowledge bequeathed to her during her long-ago and barely-remembered childhood. Separately, neither of the occurrences she now observed would've been enough to catch her attention, but together, their combined presence sounded a faint yet unmistakable chord.

She remained unmoving, her wicker basket of eggs now hanging slack in her hand, her eyes continuing to move back and forth from one image to the other. And then, she grasped it, the knowledge blooming into her consciousness with all the subtlety of a slap. Despite her ten years of isolation here in Jennen, far from any other Dhan'Marians, the childhood years in her homeland prevailed and the knowledge she'd dredged to the surface now infused her. Although commonly mocked and ridiculed by those born to other countries, Dhan'Marians held their legends and superstitions as sacred, their portents and myths an accepted and undisputed way of life. There was no exception to this amongst their race—even if the one in question had been just a small girl of six, curled upon her mother's lap and listening as a pages-long list of auguries and omens was recited to her.

Reagan finally moved, turning sharply so she faced the great, leafy apple tree sitting between the coop and the house. On one of the tree's lower branches sat a rook, and with its yellow eyes the bird seemed to be returning her intense gaze. As it stared, the rook cawed, again and again.

She acknowledged its observance and then turned once more. Now, she faced east, the sun a pale ball in the clouds before her. Rolling meadows, the vibrant green of early spring, rose and fell in every direction, the stunning hill country of lower Jennen. And riding toward her, along the sole dirt laneway coming from the nearest chain of small towns, was a man, a lonesome rider traveling at an unhurried pace.

A cawing rook that locked gazes.

Combined with the approach of a lone man with the dawn at his back.

Reagan felt a sudden, excited bubbling begin in her stomach, and a strange light-headedness pervaded her mind. Also came another feeling, one she'd not experienced in years and needed a few moments to recognize. She identified it as hope.

For those two occurrences, happening in conjunction, was but one of the hundreds of auguries and omens honored by the people of Dhanen'Mar. Foretold to her now was the promise of good fortune brought by abrupt and profound change, an event to occur before the sun sank into dusk this very day.

Continuing to eye the approaching rider, she wondered if his presence was only to act as harbinger, or if he had some role to play in what was soon to manifest. Not that it mattered—not so long as these days of degradation and debasement were finally about to reach an end, as she was now certain they were. The precise way of it wasn't of great concern.

She could now hear her master shouting at her through the open kitchen window. He wanted his breakfast, so where in all the Chasms of Fire was she with his eggs? His voice came to her distantly, barely registering in her mind, and she chose to ignore it. Typically, such a decision would earn her a lashing, perhaps even a broken bone or two, but not this day. Today, she had no fear, for the signs didn't lie.

Reagan began to walk forward, completely shutting out the sound of louder and more insistent shouting from her master. The rider had by now drawn near, and she moved to meet him. She was forced to halt her steps several paces back from the road, and there she waited.

The approaching stranger was astride a strong-looking brown steed, the horse tall and well-groomed. The saddle and bridle looked much more well-worn, bordering on shabby. The combination struck her as odd, for anyone able to afford such an animal should not have had a problem outfitting it properly.

As for the rider himself, she was now able to note he was younger than she first would've guessed. Older than herself by perhaps five years, he carried a dark look despite his rather pleasing features, causing a brief twinge of unease to ripple through her. He was dark of hair, tall and fit, with the snug cut of his worn overcoat making it clear he carried a fighting man's physique. It was also apparent by this time that he was indeed headed to the house where she dwelt with her master, and she wondered what business the two men might have together. Was the stranger a fellow raider, perhaps? For such was not an uncommon profession here in southern Jennen, and he certainly looked as though he knew how to use the sword strapped to his side. But maybe he was a relative, or simply a traveler looking for work. There were many of this sort out upon the roads these days as well. Curious but silent, Reagan continued to watch him as he drew his horse to a halt before her and dismounted.

He was even taller than she'd presumed, at least half a head taller than she, and she wouldn't have been considered a short woman in either Jennen or Dhanen'Mar. But she'd been correct about his look, although while dark, upon closer inspection she saw it wasn't necessarily unkind. His brown eyes were taking her in, not in the manner her master's friends often did, but in a way that bespoke mild curiosity.

"I'm looking for a man by the name of Hurl Bestry," he said, not taking his eyes from hers. His voice was deep, low-toned and direct as he went on. "I have good reason to believe he resides in this area."

Reagan's own gaze was unwavering as she replied.

"It appears fortune has favored you this dawn, stranger," she told him levelly.

A small smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth and a gleam of amusement lit his eyes. "Oh?" he said, looking unsurprised.

She took a half-step backward, turned and nodded once toward the house where her master, Hurl Bestry, continued to scream for his breakfast.

The stranger took in the small house briefly, then looked back as his almost-smile seemed to deepen. "Have you no care to ask me my business here?"

She paused at that, but only to drop her gaze slightly to his neckline. His Birth medallion was visible, as was law, lying atop the collar of his jacket. His Choice medallion, or Secondary, was not, as was his right, although already she'd seen enough to deepen her growing curiosity about this man. He'd been born upon a Tenth-day, which was ruled by Chaos. Today was also a Tenth-day.

He noted her scrutiny and lowered his eyes to her own medallion—the only one she currently possessed, for certainly Hurl had never given her release to go and pledge her Choice Patron, despite that she'd been legally able to do so since her fifteenth birthing-day. The stranger's gaze narrowed slightly as he took in the Patron of her birth, and his gaze turned darkly thoughtful.

Observing that look, Reagan made a rapid and impulsive choice. It was a gamble, but she clung to her faith in the portents dawn had shown her, and as she finally gave reply to his question, she brought a hand to her skirts and slowly raised them several inches above her right ankle.

"Your business here is none of my concern," she said, her eyes again locked on his.

He didn't hold her look this time. Instead, he stared, very hard and for several moments, at what she was displaying to him. It was obvious he knew what that bronze coil was, and fully aware of the mage-power it held.

The stranger finally looked back to her, and his features held no hint of amusement now. "Where does he keep it?" he asked.

Reagan fought the sudden and overwhelming urge that would've sent her sagging to the ground with relief. Somehow, she forced out her answer, and her voice remained steady as she did so.

"It is always upon him," she said.

He nodded once, turned, and drew his sword. "I've been hunting this man, as well as others known to him, for much of my life. But have no worry, for fortune has favored us both this day."

She was unable to keep back the tears now flooding her eyes, feeling them spill hotly over her cheeks. "Reagan," she told him quietly. "My name is Reagan Maves."

He didn't offer his own name in reply, but simply glanced at her and said, "Await me here, Reagan. Your freedom is imminent and not in question." He took a step, but then paused and spoke again from over his shoulder. "How long?"

"Ten years," she told him, her tears still flowing. "As of four days past, ten years."

He said nothing else as he started toward the house. His strides were sure and steady, his bearing devoid of any fear. Reagan watched him go, finally letting herself sink down to the grass, spilling her basket of eggs as she continued to tremble. She knew she should worry now—her master was a seasoned and life-long Jennite raider, after all, and while past his prime in years he remained a dangerous man to cross blades with.

But she didn't worry, watching as the stranger reached the house, his sword arm steady, and as he entered with all the confidence of a mountain cat finally closing in on its prey. And she didn't worry at hearing the sudden, surprised shouting of her master, or during the ominous and minutes-long silence that followed. And certainly, she didn't worry when the sounds of fighting, of breaking furniture and splitting wood, rent the air and carried back to her. Instead she continued sitting, her eyes and cheeks slowly drying, and waited, absently noting the ongoing presence of the rook as it continued watching her from the apple tree.

Finally, after another long period of silence, the man reappeared. His sword was now re-sheathed on his hip, and as he began making his way back to her she took note of the gash dripping red from the back of his left hand, the only injury her eyes could see, but also of the stains of drying blood upon his overcoat and trousers. Her master's blood, undoubtedly; it was truly over now, or would be in just a few moments more.

Reagan forced steadiness back into her still-trembling limbs and pushed herself to her feet. She waited for him there, paces from the edge of the road, unmoving. She held every confidence in his vow of earlier, that he wouldn't attempt to exercise the power now in his hands. For the augury, even more than his words, had been clear.

He reached her, saying nothing and simply kneeling before her. Again she clutched her skirts and revealed to him her ankle. The mage-bond wound dully about her pale skin, the bronze circlet that would've immolated her had she taken but a single step over the boundary of her prison. The bronze circlet that could only be removed by the holder of its key.

This key was in his palm now, and he moved it toward the lock, a device just as magical as it was mechanical.

"I wasn't able to take it from him until his last breath was expelled," he said to her now, carefully fitting the key into the lock. "For that added security, I have to presume Magic was his Secondary."

"It was," she confirmed, watching his wrist turn. A brief, sudden heat flared about her ankle where the circlet held it, and then the feeling was gone, the metal band dropping silently to the ground below. She watched as the man picked it up and pocketed it.

Reagan took a step backward, and then another. A few more, and she could feel the dirt of the laneway beneath her feet. At last, she was free.

She wanted to cry, wanted to laugh, wanted to scream, but allowed herself none of these. She watched as the stranger straightened to his feet before her, and then said, "There is nothing I can do to repay you. Nothing but honor the Life-Bond now owed."

He regarded her seriously, eyes narrowed. "Life-Bond... you must be Dhan'Marian."

She understood why he hadn't recognized her as this sooner; it was her hair. The long, thick, flame-red hair she'd inherited from her mother, its color a rarity in those of her race and seen only with frequency to the north.

"I am," she told him with a slight nod. "And despite my long absence, I will not dishonor its practices now."

The man quirked a dark brow and grinned crookedly. "There's no dishonor to be found, as I'm a Jennite. Your customs need not apply to me."

"That matters not," she replied stubbornly.

He paused, sighed, and made a move toward his horse. "My road is dark, Reagan," he told her, throwing a leg up and mounting, "and your dark days are past. Return to Dhanen'Mar—it lies only a few leagues to the south—and do whatever you must to forget this nightmare." His eyes flickered to her Birth medallion, indicating he knew the futility of his own advice, before adding, "Certainly you have family to return to?"

"My parents, along with nearly our entire village, were killed by the raiders who took me. I have a brother, Baiel by name, two years younger than I and taken as I was. I can only hope he still lives somewhere in the world."

The man nodded. "You survived, so he likely has as well. Make that your next step, Reagan. Go home and find your brother."

She was quiet a moment, but her blue gaze narrowed on him. "I cannot force you to take me with you so I can honor the Life-Bond. It is in your power to deny me that. But it's not in your power to make any other demands."

His look was pensive as he took in her words. "You misunderstand. I make suggestions, not demands. I trust you've not had the opportunity to select your Choice Patron?"

She shook her head. "That is my first priority. Perhaps you can direct me to the appropriate city?"

He sighed again, understanding her implication. "Go back to Dhanen'Mar—Inuria is much nearer than the Jennite city of Revenge, which is far north of here." He paused, glanced again at her Birth medallion. "Surely you know what you'll be risking?"

"I know," she said, taking a step closer to his horse.

"But your captor already lies dead. You've no need for this."

She grew quiet, thinking carefully on her response. Finally, she said, "He was but a piece in a much larger game." No chance would she say just how large a game, never mind that she was speaking to a Jennite who wouldn't be inclined to care all that much anyway. Still, she would be cautious.

He continued staring down at her. "Do what you feel you must, then. May Rizea bless you."

The Patron Rizea would either bless her, or strike her mad, Reagan knew. For it was precisely this reason why few ever risked doubling up, making their Choice Patron the same as their Birth Patron, as the odds tended to fall at half on whether they even made it through the ceremony with their sanity intact. But it was a risk she was willing to take, for if she'd survived the past ten years without losing her mind, certainly she could survive doubling her fortune. Besides, how could Rizea deny her, knowing how much she, of anyone, deserved a chance at revenge?

"I wish you luck upon whichever path you choose," he added then, preparing to start away.

"Wait!" Reagan issued quickly, and he stopped, looked back. "Your name," she said.

"Kale," he told her, after a slight pause. "Rydin Kale."

She nodded. "Rydin Kale of Jennen. You deny me now, but we will meet again, you and I. And upon that meeting, I will honor the Life-Bond."

The statement appeared to amuse him. "You seem very certain," he remarked lightly.

She nodded. "The myth may be Dhan'Marian in nature, but rooted in both Destiny and Chaos." She paused to pointedly eye his visible Chaos medallion. "You've saved the life of a Dhan'Marian. Events will shape themselves so our positions are reversed, if ever you're in need."

He snorted. "Well, I'm often in need, but not too partial to the idea of an insane, Double-Revenge harrying after me, obsessed with the notion of saving my life."

His reaction wasn't surprising, as Reagan was well aware of the fact that Jennites typically held the beliefs of other races in much contempt. Still, he'd sparked her anger.

"What sorts of ideas you're partial to matter not—neither to me, nor to Destiny or Chaos," she told him in a cold tone.

"All right, let's not quibble," he said, holding up a hand. "This has been a momentous day for us both, and there's no reason to part acrimoniously. It's true I find your beliefs and customs ridiculous, but I suppose it isn't my place to disparage them. Also, I imagine you don't have a very high regard for Jennites at this time, so it seems we're on fairly even ground."

She stared at him wordlessly for a moment, surprised, before quickly finding her tongue. "Yes. It would mean much to consider the one who liberated me a friend."

He nodded. "Friends, then. Yes, I think we can both be satisfied with that. Should the day come that we meet again, know I will greet you as such," he promised.

"And I you," she told him.

"I wish you blessings and much good fortune, Reagan Maves," he went on, turning and nudging his heels to his horse. "No matter the path you choose."

She watched him ride away in the same direction he'd come, until finally his form disappeared from sight over the top of a rolling hill. Holding her stance for another long moment, still looking east, movement in her peripheral vision then caught her attention and made her turn. The rook, with a last shrill caw, had now left its perch to begin winging its way south. South was where Reagan would also be headed, after seeing to one final matter.

Ignoring an internal shudder, she crossed back over the invisible boundary that had held her prisoner so long and began a quick stalk toward the house. Her overwhelming relief at knowing she was free had yet to ebb, but now eclipsed by a cold rage. Hurl was dead, but this wasn't enough, nowhere near enough. Pausing briefly by the log pile next to the house, she took up the handle of the axe she'd been made to use daily to chop wood.

The door had been left slightly ajar, and she kicked it the rest of the way open as she entered. She paused and looked around. The table had been overturned, as well as two of the four chairs. There was a smashed vase on the floor, and a mighty crack now splintered the south wall. She didn't see Hurl, but there remained little mystery as to where his body must be. She followed the splashes of drying blood into the bedroom and paused again.

Clearly, Rydin Kale hadn't only had reason to kill Hurl, but had utterly hated him. Nothing else could explain the condition of the body; this kill had been savored, and been neither quick nor easy. She briefly regretted not asking him the reasons for his pursuit, but her curiosity did nothing to stifle the wide smile now breaking out across her face.

Reagan turned and began swinging the axe. First went the parchment-thin pallet she'd been made to sleep on—when she wasn't dragged to Hurl's own lumpy mattress—followed by the small dresser and then the bed which had seen her shame more times than she could remember. She paid no mind to the fact that his body now lay still in death upon it.

Once finished with the bedroom, she returned to the front of the house and continued her treatment on the kitchen, and then into the small sitting room fashioned around the fireplace. Some time ago she'd distantly realized she was screaming with every swing.

She didn't drop the axe until she was back outside. The house behind her was now quickly becoming engulfed in flames, a further and final result of her fury. Looking down, she realized her dress was spotted with blood and there were splinters of wood caught up in the long, loose locks of her hair. Uncaring, she turned and began walking south.

She took nothing but for the clothes on her back, as the very thought of bringing anything with her had turned her stomach. Eventually she became aware of the soreness in her shoulders and arms, a result of her ferocious yet satisfying destruction of Hurl's home, and the pain gave her an odd sense of comfort. She realized she was grinning as she walked.

Rydin had said the border separating Jennen and Dhanen'Mar was only a few leagues distant. This meant she would reach it by sunfall, and could then keep straight on for Inuria, the home city of her Birth Patron, Rizea. Rizea held dominion over all those born upon a Sixth-day, all those born to the dominion of Revenge, and there in Inuria Reagan would enter her temple and at last partake in the rite of selecting her Secondary. Madness was a risk. But to pursue a revenge against the one truly responsible for what had become of herself and her family, as well as so many others, she would need every blessing and favor Rizea could lend her.

Then, and provided she survived the ceremony with her mind intact, she could begin. She would search for Baiel of course, for there'd be no peace until she learned her brother's fate, but she would do this even while making her revenge schemes, plans meant to lead her to the one ultimately to blame; the one with both the forewarning and the power to halt those Jennite raids, those that had destroyed so many more families and villages than just her own. For from his seat in Justice's home city of Aralexia, Redgar DeSiva had done nothing. He'd not deployed any forces from the Legion of Justice, nor even responded to the numerous pleas for aid from the thousands of Dhan'Marians dwelling in the country's northern regions. He had left them, with no protection or concern, to be butchered and taken into slavery by the Jennites.

But backed with a double-fortune of Revenge, Reagan felt she might stand a chance. Even if the one she pledged to kill—a pledge now ten years and four days old—was Dhanen'Mar's own king.

Just before dusk, she reached the border. She crossed into her homelands and continued due south for Inuria.

Part 1

Ardin's Pride

Chapter 1

There remained only a few hours until the week-long festival of Ardin's Pride was to officially begin, and already the streets were a thronging mass. Oliveah Oslund, a musician in one of the most prestigious troupes in the country, continued to weave her way through the crowd as she took in the familiar sights of the city she'd not beheld in nearly a year.

This was Tyrell, home city of the Arts and of her Birth Patron, Ardin. Every performer in Dhanen'Mar, as well as thousands of spectators from all across the realm, were now gathering in the city, all eager to take part in or be witness to the annual celebration honoring the Patron of the Arts, the festival known as Ardin's Pride.

Oliveah was presently brimming over with excitement. Her family's lands sat on the outskirts of Tyrell, and because of this she'd attended the festival for most years of her life. After turning sixteen, however, she'd joined the troupe to which she still belonged, and become part of the festivities herself these past seven years, taking the stage with hundreds of other performers. Occurring the first week of summer, the fifteen-day celebration had become something nearly magical to her. It was the week Tyrell never slept, a time when the merriment, feasting and performances didn't cease. A time when—to Oliveah, at least—all that mattered was the music.

She was especially looking forward to the celebration this year. Although her parents regrettably wouldn't be making the journey from their prosperous vineyard, her sister Navalee and brother Deakin would soon be coming to Tyrell. Oliveah, busy traveling all over Dhanen'Mar with her troupe, hadn't seen her younger siblings since the previous summer, but would soon have the opportunity to spend the final eight days of the festival with them before all three returned to the Oslund vineyard. As always, her troupe-master was allowing his performers a week of vacation following Ardin's Pride, and Oliveah, like many of her troupe-mates, was choosing to travel home and spend this time with her family. Consequently, she now had two glorious weeks ahead of her.

"Oliveah! Here!"

The voice was familiar and she paused and spun, creating a small pile-up of people in the crowd behind her. At another time the action might've elicited a few rude comments, but the atmosphere of the city was simply too light-hearted this day for any such negativity.

"We're supposed to be in the Circle by the end of Eleventh-hour," the man who'd hailed her went on as he elbowed his way near, "which leaves us about ten minutes. Moriss will have our heads if we're late."

Oliveah laughed, linking her arm through his as he pulled up beside her. "Ten minutes is plenty of time. Admit it Reavis, isn't it wonderful to be home?" Like all born to the Patron of the Arts, the city of Tyrell was where all performer's and artist's hearts truly dwelt.

"It won't be wonderful if we're late," Reavis kept on, although with a smile. "And it would certainly be the last time we're given top billing."

"I suppose that's true," Oliveah finally relented, quickening her pace as much as possible through the crowd. Reavis's words had sent a ripple of excitement through her, as well as one of nervousness. Both musicians, she and Reavis partnered each other for many numbers, and it was they—along with several dancers, tumblers, and backup musicians—who'd soon be opening the festival. It was an honor unparalleled for a performer, and one that would prove very lucrative not only for Reavis and herself but for their entire troupe. Their troupe-master, Moriss Tipley, had been haggling for the position for years.

"Nervous?" Reavis asked as they pushed on toward the city's center, where the great Circle of performance lawns, always meticulously maintained, lay.

"Somewhat," Oliveah admitted.

Reavis nodded. "You'd be crazy otherwise. You know, I heard a rumor this morning that the king himself might be attending."

She felt herself blanch. "Truly?"

Reavis shrugged. "He attended a few years ago, don't you remember?"

"Of course," Oliveah said, quickly side-stepping a wayward toddler. "But we weren't then the opening act!"

He laughed and she turned her green eyes on him searchingly, seeking even a fraction of the anxiety she now felt. It failed to surprise her when she found none; Reavis Bohmer was seven years her senior, a master of his craft, and from what she'd discerned in all the time they'd known each other, completely immune to the stage fright that plagued so many performers. He was also a good friend who knew her well.

"Don't work yourself into a state," he then cautioned seriously. "You own this opening song, and you know it."

Taken literally, he was half right. The song they meant to perform to commence the opening of this year's celebration was in reality their shared creation—just one of many they'd written together, but one they both felt was their best effort to date. Indeed, Moriss nearly had a fit upon first hearing it, and expected the song's debut performance to bring his troupe much acclaim.

Recalling this, Oliveah, who just minutes before had been feeling utterly carefree, suddenly felt herself begin to panic.

"But what if I miss a note? Forget a lyric?" she burst out, eyes wide. "What if my voice cracks? Such an error would shatter Moriss's reputation, especially if done before the very king himself!"

"Not to mention your own," Reavis added, glancing down at her.

She took this in, and continued to panic for the next ten steps or so. Then, as was typical of her, the feeling passed completely.

She exhaled heavily. "What would I do without you, Reavis?"

"At least you don't throw up anymore," he commented as they reached the street leading into the Circle.

Oliveah said nothing. While it had been several years since her performance anxiety caused her to become physically ill, she felt she'd come very close to re-living that experience just moments ago.

She clung tighter to Reavis's arm as they continued along the road, leaving much of the press behind; the crowd would make its way onto the Circle soon enough, but until then would continue walking the streets and observing the wares brought forth from all across the country. For if there was one Patron represented here in the streets of Tyrell this week as much as he who governed the Arts, it was without question Ozveld, the Patron of Commerce.

The city streets were now so packed with traveling merchants selling every item imaginable, carriages could no longer even pass down them. But the same could not be said for the grasses of the Circle; patrolled by numerous members of the Legion of Justice, no merchants were permitted on the performance lawns, ensuring only spectators and the acts themselves inhabited the area. Distractions wouldn't be tolerated during the ceremony opening Ardin's Pride.

Oliveah reached up and made a quick check of her Birth medallion, ensuring it was prominently visible as they reached the outer grasses of the Circle. From the corner of her eye she could see Reavis doing the same.

An extremely tall man adorned in the white regalia of his station was moving to meet them. His sword stayed sheathed on his hip, but his expression was no-nonsense and unwavering.

"Reavis Bohmer, with the Moriss Tipley Troupe," Reavis said as the Justice officer reached them.

The man glanced at Reavis's Birth medallion, nodded curtly, and turned to Oliveah.

"Oliveah Oslund, also with the Moriss Tipley Troupe," she told him, watching as he then took in her own medallion.

The Justice officer nodded again. "Your troupe is opening the celebration this year, yes?"

"It is," Reavis answered proudly.

The officer smiled faintly. "Much blessings and good fortune upon you. You're clear to pass." He stepped back and gestured.

Oliveah held her tongue until she and Reavis were several paces away, crossing the lawns toward the inner Circle. "Did he actually smile?" she then issued quietly, with great and exaggerated surprise.

Reavis grinned. "Apparently even our somber friends in white find reason to be jovial this time of year."

Oliveah didn't believe she'd ever before seen a member of the Legion of Justice smile—or at least, not while on duty. She decided to take it as a positive sign and stepped lighter as they closed in on the massive stage sitting directly in the center of the Performance Circle. There was a small tent erected behind, where she, Reavis, and the rest of their troupe-mates joining them in the opening performance would get into costume and makeup. Due to the importance of the event, she knew this process would take some time, and further give her a chance to go over their numbers in her head one final time. Her nerves, she was happy to note as she preceded Reavis into the tent, had now completely settled.

"Oliveah! Reavis! To your places, now!" the familiar voice of Moriss Tipley bellowed the moment they both stood within.

The two exchanged an amused glance before separating and heading off to get costumed. Oliveah observed the fact that Moriss, generally an unflappable man, was pacing nervously and muttering to himself under his breath as he oversaw the readying of his performers. Perhaps he too had heard the rumor of the king's attendance.

Once laced into her dress, a beautiful white and yellow gown Moriss had uncharacteristically splurged on, Oliveah gave herself over to the hair and face artisan. She disliked the thick makeup put upon her, but had grown used to it and now let her thoughts drift to the opening song she'd soon be performing. The chaotic sounds within the tent fell away to silence as she ran through the notes, the lyrics, the music she was about to premiere before the world. She suddenly couldn't wait to be out upon that stage . . . just as soon as one last matter was seen to.

With an eerie timing Oliveah had long ago given up believing was coincidence, she opened her eyes just as the familiar voice called to her.

"Oliveah! Praise Ehle I caught you before you took the stage, that imbecile Justice officer had the nerve to detain me until he could confirm my standing in the troupe."

Oliveah barely suppressed a grin imagining the scene. Striding toward her through the bustle of the tent was her fellow troupe-member and closest friend, Madilaine Savannon, her eyes alight and cheeks rosy with the recent irritation caused her. The scene described was understandable, however, for Madi did not wear an Arts medallion.

"Do you have something for me?" Oliveah asked quickly, leaning forward in her chair.

Madi smiled and pulled something from the small leather satchel she carried. "The perfect thing. I walked all morning hoping to find one—and behold!" With a flourish, she brandished the item dramatically.

Oliveah's breath caught, and then she exhaled in awe.

"No reason for any nervousness now," Madi told her with utter confidence as she proffered the feather.

Oliveah took the eagle feather—one of the most powerful good luck pieces found in all Dhan'Marian lore—and stroked it gently. "Thank you, Madi. Truly." Although her nervousness had fled some time ago, her confidence had just received a ten-fold boost. There was now little doubt the opening performance wouldn't unfold brilliantly.

Madi's smile widened, giving her features a near-glow. Madilaine Savannon was, even at the worst of times, rather stunning. Several inches shorter than Oliveah, her build was dainty but blessed with generous curves at both hips and chest, her hair a black glory usually worn loosely about her shoulders. Her eyes were gray and ringed by thick lashes, her lips pink and full. Yes, Madi certainly drew her fair share of male attention—at least until those men happened to discover who she was.

"Will you be watching?" Oliveah then asked, tucking the feather out of sight into the bodice of her dress. No chance would she risk taking the stage without it, as this would only be an invitation to disaster.

"Of course!" Madi enthused. "But I won't be able to meet back up with you until tonight. I'm booked solid past evenfall."

Oliveah nodded, not surprised. Her friend's reputation and family name of Savannon preceded her; Madi was the latest in a long line of women born to Destiny, women heavily blessed by their Patron and known as diviners. Madi traveled with their troupe to give readings of fortune, to lend help to those who sought her aid in finding their life's path. The tools and methods she used to provide these readings varied with the individual, but almost always proved frighteningly accurate. Madilaine Savannon, at the age of only twenty-two years, was a highly respected woman, and for all the same reasons, one much feared. But Oliveah found nothing at all fearsome about her friend—a fact perhaps aided by Oliveah's own Choice Patron of Destiny. It was a revelation that had molded their friendship several years ago.

"Let's meet up later then, at The Rejoicing Rooster," Oliveah suggested, naming one of her favorite local taverns.

"I'll see you there at Fifteenth-hour," Madi agreed. "May you reside in Ardin's grace this day, Oliveah."

Oliveah watched as her friend turned and swept away, her long skirts billowing out around her. Moriss Tipley, catching sight of his diviner, hurriedly accosted the young woman before she could exit the tent, and though too far away to hear his words, Oliveah would've bet her eagle feather their troupe-master was now seeking assurances regarding the upcoming performance. The response Madi gave worked as if by magic, for he exhaled mightily, then spun back to his preparations with sudden alacrity, a new spring in his step. Such was the power of Madi's divinations.

Oliveah settled back in her chair and gestured for the face artisan to return and finish her applications. A few minutes later she was ready, and after getting to her feet, felt someone latch onto her arm. It was Moriss, now nearly vibrating with excitement.

"You should see the size of the crowd out there!" he told her, practically dragging her from the tent to join Reavis, who waited calmly before the rear steps leading up to the stage.

Oliveah didn't need to see the crowd to appreciate its size; she could hear it quite well from where she stood. "Any word on the king?" she asked as they drew up next to Reavis.

Moriss shook his head impatiently. "Just rumors, so far as I've heard," he said.

She had to admit, she was somewhat relieved to hear that.

Moriss now moved to stand before her and Reavis, and quickly grabbed each of their hands in one of his own. "You two are my best. I've no doubt you'll do Ardin, and all of us, proud this day. Rejoice in his blessing."

Oliveah managed a nod, feeling stirrings of nervousness again, but Reavis just smiled assuredly.

"We can discuss the renegotiating of my contract after the performance," the singer told his troupe-master smoothly.

Moriss laughed dryly, shaking his head as he walked away.

"Ready?" Reavis asked, looking down at Oliveah and holding out his arm.

She took a breath, nodded, and linked her arm through his.

Once they'd ascended the stairs to the stage, with the thick yellow curtains still drawn and blocking the view of the crowd beyond, Oliveah could see that everything and everyone was already in place. At each end of the stage stood the tumblers, ready to begin their routine to the upcoming music. The dancers stood toward the rear, preparing to whirl themselves about in their practiced steps. The musicians were center stage, but paces back from the forefront, their instruments gripped in hand or settled before them. Oliveah's own harp sat alone and awaiting her just a few paces back from the center of the drawn curtains.

"Ardin's blessing, everyone," she called as she and Reavis continued past their fellow musicians. Amid numerous returned well-wishes, they took their places, she before the harp and he beside her. The two exchanged one final look, and then Oliveah turned and found the stage-hand with her eyes. She gave him a curt nod to signal their readiness, and then put her hands to the harp strings as the curtains began a slow rise.
Chapter 2

Due to her discovery of the eagle feather, Madi was utterly confident that her troupe's performance would be a stunning success. Even so, she found herself breathless by the conclusion of the opening number, as excited as the rest of the crowd as they cheered and applauded enthusiastically.

The opening ceremony consisted of five songs in all, with the fourth a ballad seeing Oliveah alone on the stage with only her harp for accompaniment. Her voice, a high, smooth soprano, soared with perfection over the crowd as it told the story of a lost and then rediscovered love. It was a song as old as Dhanen'Mar itself, but in Oliveah's hands was given new life, and as her eyes welled with pride Madi wondered if her friend knew how truly talented she was. It was sometimes difficult to be certain when it came to Oliveah, for she was as level-headed as they came, or at least for a Dhan'Marian.

The final number was fast, loud, and designed to end the performance with a tumultuous and uplifting crescendo of both sound and sight. Clapping along with the rest of the crowd, Madi watched, transfixed, as the tumblers flipped in dizzying displays to the beat, as the dancers writhed in rhythm, as the fire-masters twirled their flaming batons, and as Reavis and Oliveah led them, their voices the power behind them all.

The audience, a gathering comprised of thousands, went utterly wild as the last note died and the yellow curtains swept closed. Caught up completely in the revelry and infectious celebration of the crowd, Madi had to forcefully remind herself she had no time to dawdle, having a busy night of readings ahead of her.

She broke away from the outer fringes of the throng and headed west down the generous, cobbled path leading from the Performance Circle. Nearing the street, she passed by the same Justice officer who'd given her such a hard time earlier.

"Lady Savannon," he nodded now as she swept by.

"Officer," she returned curtly, noting the respect now heavy in his tone. Of course, that respect hadn't been gained by learning of her standing as a diviner, but on the truth of her family name. It was a fact that all male Savannons were born to Commerce, all females to Destiny, and consequently this made her family one very dangerous to offend or oppose; a truth that angered her at times. She often felt the reputation of her line worked only to smother much of her own identity.

Madi didn't mind being feared as a diviner, but she absolutely detested being feared as a Savannon.

Now outside the Circle, she found the streets thronging. This wasn't surprising, for many, and not just those born to Arts, waited all year for the festival of Ardin's Pride, a chance to toss all responsibility aside and do nothing but enjoy the numerous entertainments Tyrell had to offer. Historically, the opening and closing nights were the rowdiest, explaining the dense presence of the Legion of Justice, their white-mantled bodies present in every direction she looked.

Madi took the next street south, her destination only a few blocks down. Twice men grabbed at her hand, attempting to entice her into joining them for the evening, but she politely declined and kept to her path. Although her schedule this week was busy, she'd tried to leave herself a few days and nights free to seek out her own enjoyment, times she was very much looking forward to. Indeed, the next morning she and Oliveah planned to do nothing but shop.

It was still several minutes before Thirteenth-hour when Madi entered the Savannon-owned shop, The Seeing Eye, operated by her cousins Mika and Haile. The two lived and worked here in Tyrell year-round, earning the family a healthy income by selling the many arcane items displayed within the shop.

Madi nodded a greeting as she stepped inside. Not surprisingly, Mika was behind the counter, counting out the day's earnings, while Haile busied herself by stocking and organizing shelves filled with augury stones, spirit boards, healing ointments, good and bad luck potions, books on auguries and omens, catalyst gems, and a slew of other items fashioned and endorsed by the Savannon line of diviners.

"How went the opening festivities?" Haile asked, glancing up from straightening a few jars of wart-cure.

"Fantastic," Madi told her, still infused with the light-hearted energy of the crowd. "A pity you had to miss them."

Haile looked forlorn, but said nothing.

Mika spoke up, finally tearing his gaze away from the coins before him. "Everything's all set up for you, Madi." He then diligently checked his time-piece. "It's nearly Thirteenth, you'd best get yourself ready."

Madi agreed—she was booked solid for the next two hours, and her first appointment would be along at any moment. Leaving her cousins behind, she moved past Mika and swept aside the beaded curtain hanging at the rear of the shop, entering the small room where she would perform her readings.

After giving the darkened room a quick once-over, she nodded in approval. Mika had everything ready for her. The candles and incense already burned, her augury stones were in their pouch on the table next to her glass fortune ball, a pot of tea steeped in case she was required to read leaves, as well as many more items, other possible divining tools, displayed along the shelves lining the walls. Everything was near to hand, and she was grateful for Mika's efficient manner. The methods of her readings could differ widely depending on her subject, and Madi liked to keep all her options open. One of her strangest divinations had been made through geomancy—a practice that consisted of throwing earth into the air and then reading the pattern of how it came to fall.

She moved now to stand before the mirror at the far wall and gave herself a quick inspection. Her station demanded she appear dignified, and she was pleased to note her brief trek through Tyrell's rowdy streets hadn't disheveled her. She quickly smoothed a few locks of her ebony hair back into place and then seated herself at the table.

"I'm ready," she called out to Mika. "You may send the first in when she arrives."

"Very good," Mika returned, sounding distracted as he no doubt continued adding up his precious figures.

If the matter was solely up to Madi, she would charge nothing for her readings—her family was one of the wealthiest in Dhanen'Mar, after all, and she hardly needed the money. But being part of a troupe demanded that she ask for at least a small fee, which she handed over to Moriss in totality, requesting no salary for her services. The week of Ardin's Pride was different, however, for all performers were permitted to keep the entirety of their earnings, meaning everything she brought in this week would be going into the Savannon coffers. Since she was given a seasonal allowance from her father that amounted to more than she could ever hope to spend, Madi didn't mind this. In truth, most of her money went into donations to the temple of Ehle in Kohtala, the home city of Destiny.

The appointments for this night as well as the rest of the week had all been made by Mika and Haile, who'd been promoting her upcoming presence in Tyrell for some time. She wanted to wince at imagining what Mika was likely charging for her services, a thought that only reaffirmed the good she did by being part of the Moriss Tipley Troupe. It was said people saved lifetimes to afford a reading from a Savannon diviner, a fact which didn't hold true when she was on the road with her troupe. It was because of this that her chosen position wasn't looked kindly upon by some of her family members, although the support of others as well as her own steely resolve had refused to waver. The relationships within her family were complicated.

While she waited, Madi removed a slip of parchment from the pocket of her dress and read over the names of her upcoming appointments. First upon the list, and due at Thirteenth-hour, was a woman named Risane Tulan. The Tulans were a wealthy line that dealt primarily in horses, and Madi had made the acquaintance of several members of their family throughout her life. She found them, with very few exceptions, to be a haughty, pretentious people, and insight now told her that Risane was coming to her regarding a matter of the heart. Madi found this unsurprising, and further surmised Risane sought assurances that she would wed the wealthy, handsome nobleman of her choice, and produce for him handsome, well-bred sons. Madi fought off a sigh—readings for the highborn could at times be tedious and feel like a waste of her talents, but she would do her duty and provide aid to any who sought her out, no matter how frivolous their reasons.

She also recognized the second and third names on her list, both also born of well-known, established families, although the third was somewhat unique in that many of her line were born to Death. But the fourth and final name on her list was completely unfamiliar to her.

Lendiv Vakli, she read, pondering.

If he wasn't from one of Dhanen'Mar's highborn families, which his unfamiliar name implied, then likely he was one who'd saved for many a year just to step into the presence of a Savannon diviner. It was a pity this man hadn't found her while she'd been traveling about the realm with her troupe, for his reading would've cost a pittance in comparison to what it would today. Perhaps she would speak to Mika about making him some sort of bargain.

"The Lady Risane Tulan," she then heard Mika announce.

Madi remained seated as the curtain parted and gave entrance to her first client, a woman of about her own age but with a somewhat plain face and pinched expression. Madi told her to take a seat at the table, then proceeded to listen as Risane explained she was here to gain confirmation that she would marry the nobleman she currently fancied and bear him several strong sons who would not be born to War, Thieves, Chaos, or Death. The woman's own Birth medallion displayed Love, backed by her prominently displayed Choice medallion, Commerce.

Withholding another sigh, Madi adhered to the intuition that suggested tea leaves for this reading and bade Risane to drink of the steaming brew.

After assuring the woman that she would indeed wed the man she fancied, and bear him two sons and one daughter (although she could lend no insight into their Birth Patrons, as all three remained unclear), Madi next saw a middle-aged lord who questioned the fidelity of his much-younger wife—and for good reason, according to the augury stones.

The heavy-set lord took this revelation in silently, fuming, before issuing his next request.

"Can you put name to the one with whom she betrays me?"

"I have no name to give you, but can see he wears a Travelers Birth medallion," she replied, suspecting where this was now heading. It was the most unsavory aspect of being a diviner, but something she could do nothing to change.

The lord's eyes gleamed, and his Revenge Choice medallion briefly caught the glow of the nearest candle. "Tell me this, then, diviner. If I should have them killed, will my deed go unpunished?"

He wanted to know if he would get away with the murders, obviously. And if she tossed the stones, and they showed he would, she'd have no choice but to tell him so—and then reveal to no other living soul this conversation had taken place. For all diviners were bound to the strictest secrecy regarding anything they were told or learned during a session, and to break that confidentiality meant being stripped of their title and possibly even jailed.

With a heavy heart, she put the lord's question to the stones and gave them a final toss. He seemed to hold his breath as he waited for her answer, and then laughed gleefully when she gave it. Money would need to change hands, but the murders of his wife and her lover would go unpunished.

Promising to leave her a nice tip, the lord ambled his way back through the beaded curtain to settle his debt with Mika. Madi fought off a shudder as she watched him go. Praise be to Ehle that these sorts of readings were rare, although they nonetheless made her feel guilty and unclean. She knew she'd just aided in the killing of two people. She also knew there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. It was the only aspect of being a diviner she truly detested, for she felt unequivocally that her purpose in life was to help people, not harm them.

Madi shook her head and attempted to clear her mind before her next appointment arrived.

Her third client was a frail-looking woman who appeared in her late twenties. She was a Reif, a family of noble standing but one which remained distanced from the many intrigues of court as well as being frequently afflicted by the Patron of Death. The Reifs were generally ridiculed and ostracized for this, but since Madi had never met any of their clan personally, she yet held no opinion of them.

The woman held herself rigidly, but her eyes were kind and she gave what seemed a genuine smile as she sank down opposite Madi at the table. Her Birth medallion was Death—which almost never boded an easy life—and her Choice Healing. It wasn't an uncommon pairing for those born to the dominion she was.

"How may I aid you this day?" Madi asked quietly.

She then listened as Mila Reif spoke of the three miscarriages she'd suffered over the past five years and of her desire to know if she would ever deliver a healthy child, or whether she and her husband should simply stop hoping.

Madi felt terrible for the woman, and hoped she'd be able to provide a positive answer. After a brief moment of contemplation, she reached for her deck of fortune cards and handed them to Mila.

"Shuffle and then cut with your left hand," she instructed.

Mila did so slowly, and then watched as Madi began laying the cards out in a pattern.

Madi held her face impassive as she studied the cards. Yes, there were the miscarriages—all girls. It also appeared as though some sort of tragedy had taken Mila's parents when she'd been but a child.

"You were raised by your aunt and uncle?" Madi asked her.

Mila nodded. "Since I was five. They have two sons of their own, one who also bears the curse of our family." She was speaking of their Birth Patron, of course—her own and her cousin's.

Madi looked back to the cards. "You and your cousin are very close, yes?"

"As if he truly was my brother."

Madi saw shadows she didn't understand around that young man, but since he wasn't the subject Mila had come to question her about, she moved on to the next cards. She was then silent a long while as she struggled to find a way to say what she must.

"Please, do not be hesitant," Mila's soft voice issued quietly. "I knew to prepare myself for anything you might say, good or ill, before coming here tonight."

Madi nodded and raised her head to meet the other woman's eyes. "I see a son. He is healthy and born to War. But he is not of your husband."

Mila's sudden jubilation froze, and it was clear her mind was racing through the possible implications.

"Is my husband to die, leaving me to remarry, or will I be taken by force?" she finally asked in a steady tone.

Madi shook her head. "I regret I don't know, for the cards are unclear. But there is violence surrounding this child—not by his doing, but violence all the same."

"But he . . . is good?" she asked, tears rising to the corners of her eyes.

Madi looked again at the cards, wanting to be certain.

"I see no evil intent within him."

Mila was suddenly nodding. "Yes, that makes sense, if he is born to War—no doubt he will make his way to Lutarre Keep, and one day ride with the warlords. Surely that would explain the violence you see."

"That is entirely possible," Madi told her, frustrated she could discern no clearer conclusions. But that was sometimes the way of it.

"Thank you, diviner," Mila said then, wiping away her tears. "Although not precisely what I longed to hear, I'm overjoyed to know that I will bear a healthy child."

Despite these words, Madi was left feeling depressed after the woman departed. She hoped her final reading, with the mysterious Lendiv Vakli, would end on a happier note than had her previous two.

Her last appointment arrived precisely on time. She turned her eyes curiously to the curtain as she heard Mika greet the man, and when the beads parted a moment later, an instant change in the feel of the air alerted her.

"Diviner," Lendiv Vakli greeted as he entered.

"Please, take a seat," she replied with a gesture, even while rapidly trying to assess the feel now all about her—or, more accurately, all about him. It was dense, heavy, leading her to conclude there was much to this man hidden beneath the surface of his appearance.

His age seemed near to thirty, yellow of hair and blue of eye. He was not tall and not short, of medium build, and clearly Dhan'Marian. Given his odd name, she'd been wondering if he was native to another country, perhaps one lying on the western continent. Obviously, however, this wasn't the case. His Birth medallion revealed he'd been born to Arts. His Choice Patron was concealed.

He observed her study of him and smirked slightly as he dropped into his seat.

"Do I catch your fancy, diviner?" he asked.

She raised a dark brow at him. "I find you interesting, although not particularly your appearance."

He laughed. "A diviner worth her salt—always trust to a Savannon. A lesson I've learned the hard way, I'm afraid."

She narrowed her eyes even more. "How may I be of assistance to you this evening?"

He sat back and gestured. "I thought that would be obvious. Tell me my fortune."

"One typically has a specific request to put forth to me," she replied.

"Is that required?" he came back challengingly.

She pursed her lips together, barely able to refrain from frowning. "It is not. If you don't ask after anything specific, I will simply relay what I'm shown."

He nodded. "Then begin."

Madi's gaze strayed, seemingly of its own accord, to her glass fortune ball. She reached out and pulled it to the center of the table, then asked the man to lay his hands upon it briefly. He did so without comment.

Madi leaned forward and gazed into the ball. She remained somewhat unsettled by the feel of her client, and tried to prepare herself for anything as she looked into the depths of the glass.

"You are a man of many faces," she began. "In fact, you're wearing one not your own even now."

He snorted. "Did you truly believe "Lendiv Vakli" to be my real name? To be anyone's real name? Use your head, diviner."

She glanced up at him. "Surely you must realize that such subterfuge is unnecessary. Diviners are bound to the strictest of laws regarding the confidentiality of our clients."

"I am aware," was his only reply.

Madi fought off another frown and looked back to the ball. Colors were now swirling there about the images, their shades and hues becoming very clear, and utterly indisputable.

"You carry with you a great secret. A secret of such magnitude that it could potentially affect...all Dhanen'Mar," she trailed off, unable to keep herself from looking back at him.

His eyes had narrowed and he was leaning toward her now. "Go on," he said.

She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat and gazed back at the ball. "You've come to me with the purpose of discovering your next step. If you should pursue the truth that lies beneath this secret, or leave it be and forever turn away."

"And?" he demanded.

Madi blinked, staring down into the colors of the ball now completely obscuring the images. The dominant color was yellow, its outer fringes purple. She knew what that meant.

"The one you must next speak to wears the medallions of Arts and Destiny. This person is a woman and her name is . . ." Madi broke off and stared in shock at the letters the colors in the ball had now formed. This couldn't be right. But how could she deny it?

"Well?" the man across from her issued intently. "What is the name?"

Slowly, she raised her eyes to him.

"Oliveah Oslund," she said.
Chapter 3

The man whose name was not Lendiv Vakli was watching the diviner carefully, and completely without her notice. He was, above all things, a skilled actor, but her obvious caution at revealing those last words made his proficiency in this area rather moot—indeed, the young woman's eyes remained fixed on her fortune ball as if trying to convince herself she'd seen a lie.

The man wasn't foolish enough to consider an untruth, for fortune balls were not misread by diviners, particularly Savannon diviners, but he was rather concerned regarding any possible explanation it might further reveal to her. Clearly, Madilaine Savannon recognized the name Oliveah Oslund, and this didn't sit well with him at all. Regardless of the confidentiality clause that would bind her lips against telling anything revealed during a session, he would not rest easily if the ball divulged too much.

"Where can I find this Oliveah Oslund?" he asked, continuing to watch for any signs of deeper revelation. He saw none, at least not yet, and so felt free to give a couple quick moments of thought to the name she'd given him. The Oslunds were well known throughout Dhanen'Mar due to their noble standing and large, prosperous vineyard, and he worked to dredge forth every detail he knew of the woman in question. He was left with little besides a shaky confidence that Oliveah was Lord Ean Oslund's eldest daughter, and like her mother before her, a traveling musician.

The diviner finally glanced up to meet his eyes, a mixture of expressions lining her features. Surprise remained, and there was confusion, but hesitation now eclipsed both. Not hesitation over what else she may have read in the fortune ball, though—it was his question that was unsettling her.

"Well, diviner?" he snapped, aiming to keep her off guard and unbalanced. "Where can I encounter this woman?"

Madilaine Savannon looked briefly down into the ball again before she answered.

"I see the signpost of a local tavern," she revealed haltingly.

"Which tavern?" he demanded. He would gain this knowledge and be gone. He couldn't risk being in the diviner's presence a moment longer than necessary lest she see too much. Indeed, he'd only chanced this reading at all in hopes of finding some sort of resolution, and the ball had already provided this. Apparently this wasn't a secret meant to stay buried.

She finally gave him his answer.

"The Rejoicing Rooster," she said, toneless and looking pained.

The man rose to his feet and stood looking down at her. "Is she there now?"

Madilaine Savannon bit her lower lip and stared back at him in silent torture.

He withheld a sigh and took pity, for he understood her concerns.

"I intend no harm, diviner," he told her, his hand rising to clasp his Arts medallion. "Upon Ardin's name, I swear this."

The young woman deflated visibly with relief, a long breath issuing forth silently from her lips. "She is there now," she confirmed.

He left without another word, pausing on the other side of the beaded curtain to settle his fare. A young black-haired man, clearly another Savannon, stood waiting to take his payment.

The man whose name was not Lendiv Vakli tossed over a pouch containing fifteen gold—a fare higher than what was required, but low enough not to be remembered or remarked upon—with an easy smile.

The Savannon man made note of the payment as well as the look.

"It appears you found a favorable fortune this day," he commented with a nod.

"Indeed," the man replied. Favorable fortune? he then repeated to himself. Not remotely. The diviner's conclusions had, in fact, done just the opposite. But he would follow the path they'd indicated, no matter the consequences—those that wouldn't be his to shoulder alone.

"I would ask you to aid me in one further matter," he then went on. "I'm to meet with some friends at The Rejoicing Rooster, but fear I've only just arrived in Tyrell and do not know the way."

The Savannon man began nodding. "Of course. That is one of the city's most popular establishments. But I do hope your friends saved you a seat, or you may find yourself unable to so much as get past the door. This is the first night of the festival, after all."

He feigned interest in this blather and prompted, "You can direct me, then?"

"Certainly. Head north three blocks, then west for two more. You can't miss it."

The man spoke his thanks and left the shop, turning north as directed. The streets, if at all possible, were even more crowded and boisterous then when he'd arrived for his reading, and he fought his way through the throng. It had been some years since he'd attended the festival of Ardin's Pride, but his memories were all returning to him now. And the Savannon man was right; at this time of night, he'd be lucky to get close enough to even peek in the door of The Rejoicing Rooster, or any other half-decent tavern in the city.

But his Birth medallion might just lend some help to this, he further considered. Although not a known resident of the city, or a famous troupe performer, this was the week of Ardin's Pride, and anyone showcasing an Arts medallion could expect certain privileges this week.

As predicted, he found the tavern without incident. Also as predicted, he could scarcely get near its front doors, much less through them. Feigning a mild, excited intoxication rather than outright drunkenness, he maneuvered his way into the thick crowd about the doors. Most were swaying to the music pouring forth from inside, and he smoothly caught the rhythm and joined in.

"You're an excellent dancer," a voice said just a few moments later, very close to his ear.

He turned slightly, keeping in time, and regarded a pretty young woman of about eighteen as she pressed up closer against him.

"Only in certain company," he answered, giving her a slanted grin. Truth was, he could likely outmaneuver even the best of dancers gathered here in Tyrell this week. Of course, revealing so would be unwise.

The girl giggled and continued swaying with him, her hands now resting lightly on his hips. She was a fair dancer herself, and also wore an Arts Birth medallion.

"Sure is thirsty work, though," he commented as they moved within the crowd. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to get them any closer to the doors.

Her eyes dropped briefly to take in his medallion, and then her smile widened. "They're not letting anyone inside without an Arts, but it looks as though we're both covered. Come with me," she said, slipping her hand into his.

He followed, noting with interest that the girl seemed to have little trouble opening a path for them. Within moments, they were past the threshold and within The Rejoicing Rooster.

"What's your secret?" he asked, genuinely curious. Her gender and looks alone didn't explain it—Tyrell was currently slopping over with attractive women.

She spun to face him, giggling again. "I'm a tumbler with The Moriss Tipley Troupe," she explained, still attempting to dance with him despite the even denser push of bodies within. "We opened the festival."

The man nodded in sudden understanding. Anyone belonging to that troupe would have a free pass anywhere in the city this entire week. He briefly wondered at his luck for having chanced upon her, and then wondered how deep that luck actually ran. Following his instincts, he chanced it.

"So you must know Oliveah Oslund, then?" he nearly shouted. The musicians currently on stage were making so much noise the entire tavern seemed to be vibrating.

The girl's look darkened slightly at his question, but at seeing this reaction he felt only a tingle of victory.

"Of course I know her," she said, a little shortly.

He took this to mean both were part of the same troupe. Destiny was definitely on his side this night, just another sign that he was meant to be following this path. He thought quickly.

"I was speaking to her friend, Madilaine Savannon, earlier this evening, and she asked if I would relay a message to Oliveah should I happen across her."

The girl's look of disgruntlement only deepened at mention of the diviner, but she then seemed to consider further and evidently found no reason to be jealous.

"Well, Oliveah's right over there," she said, gesturing to one of the busiest and noisiest tables in the tavern. "She's the one in the white blouse. Why don't you go deliver your message while I get us some refreshments?"

He nodded, returning her smile, and then waited until she'd spun away toward the bar before promptly vanishing himself into the crowd. He had no further use for the girl, and saw no reason to entangle her any deeper into his business. For if his intentions here were discovered, not only would he lose his head, but it was likely anyone who'd been seen in his recent company would suffer the same fate.

He began trying to circle the table holding the one he sought. He didn't intend to approach her now, not with so many witnesses about, but he was a patient man and could wait for his opportunity.

After about an hour, he lucked out and snagged a stool after watching its previous occupant keel over, dead drunk, to lie passed out on the floor. He stepped smoothly over the man and settled himself down. After a few minutes of subtle positioning, he again had a line of sight to Oliveah, although gyrating revelers constantly came and went to obscure his observation.

He noticed with interest but not surprise that another had now come to join Oliveah and her companions. His eyes upon the diviner, he watched as her head swiveled suddenly in his direction. They locked gazes, and he stared back at her unflinchingly.

She would not warn her friend of him. In fact, she would make no mention of him at all. Her oaths as a diviner prohibited it.

He didn't sense challenge in her gaze though, but rather a steady acceptance. He pondered on this for several moments before understanding it.

Of course, a diviner's true purpose was to place people on Fate's path, and the fortune ball had shown her his—as well as Oliveah's. The two were meant to speak, and at his oath that he would do the young woman no harm, he'd actually gained an ally in Madilaine Savannon.

His opportunity didn't come for several more hours, and it was closing on Fourth-hour before the tavern was cleared of even half its occupants. Performers still held the stage, at only a slightly lower volume than earlier, and drunken bodies slept in stupors on the floor and even atop some of the tables. Others still went strong, drinks in hand as they danced to the ceaseless music. Typically, Tyrell's taverns closed at Second-hour, but this was the week of Ardin's Pride, and no tavern owner would be so foolish as to enforce such a law now. Even the Legion of Justice turned a blind eye, so long as basic civility remained; they had enough to occupy themselves with just watching the streets.

There were now few left at Oliveah's table. One, naturally, was the diviner, another a dark-haired man who appeared to have an amazing capacity for ale, and two other young women who were just getting to their feet. He watched these two depart, and through the thinning crowd, again locked eyes with Madilaine Savannon.

Her face gave absolutely no expression as she held his gaze. But when she turned away, she broke out in a sudden smile and grabbed the hands of their male companion, hauling him from his seat and toward the dance floor. Laughing, he went with her.

Watching this, the man had no trouble understanding the favor the diviner had just done him, nor did he intend to waste it. Oliveah was now alone, and he approached her without further pause. With no telling how long the diviner could keep Oliveah's male companion occupied, he would need to be as quick and efficient as possible.

Unfortunately, he still had very little idea of where to begin. How this woman was connected to the web of deceit he now aimed to penetrate and unravel he did not know, and having to keep her ignorant of his true purpose only complicated matters.

"May I?" he began, smiling as he paused before her table and sipped casually from his tankard.

She'd been watching her companions on the dance floor, and turned to him in surprise. A quick appraisal saw her taking in his Arts medallion before she returned his smile and said, "Certainly. My name is Oliveah."

"Oliveah," he repeated thoughtfully while dropping into the seat across from her. "Oliveah Oslund? I thought I recognized you. You were a part of the opening ceremonies."

"That's right," she affirmed. She didn't seem overly curious at his appearance and request to join her, likely assuming he was merely looking for company as his own friends, by this late hour, had either retired or passed out. Or possibly that his intentions were to woo her.

His next words, chosen very carefully, were not nearly as random as one might've assumed. Because the one he truly sought, the one Oliveah was somehow able to lead him to according to the fortune ball, wore a War Birth medallion, he knew questioning her over professional acquaintances would be a waste of time. Whatever their connection, it would be of a personal nature, which meant she'd either encountered this man while traveling about Dhanen'Mar with her troupe, or else there was some manner of family connection. The fortune coin he'd just surreptitiously pulled from his pocket and flipped into his palm prompted him to pursue the family angle.

"I believe I'm acquainted with your lord father," he said. "And if I may say, your family's vineyard produces the finest wine in all Dhanen'Mar, if not the very world."

He'd gained her interest now, and perhaps the faintest hint of suspicion. She was not so easy to read as the diviner.

"Forgive my rudeness," she came back, watching him, "for not asking your name sooner, stranger."

"The slight is mine, and I apologize for not immediately introducing myself. The name is Elvin Vikdal." Another anagram; he had a hundred, and could think of a hundred more in moments if he had too.

Oliveah appeared to give serious consideration to his name before slowly shaking her head. "I'm afraid I do not know you."

He gave a casual wave. "You'd have little cause to," he replied, fingering his Arts medallion while giving a self-deprecating shrug.

She paused, then asked, "I'm sorry, how do you know my father?"

"I was on the road, passing by Lord Oslund's vineyard not long ago, and he was kind enough to offer me a night's meal and lodging in exchange for a performance. I'm a storyteller, you see," he smiled.

Oliveah visibly relaxed at his words and returned his smile. "My father does possess a love for performers of all kinds. Although Arts is only his Secondary, he's gifted with a beautiful singing voice."

The man whose name was not Elvin Vikdal rapidly reassessed the woman before him. While it was entirely possible her father's Secondary was in fact Arts, and that he displayed his Choice Patron openly, her words had been a bait. And indeed, anyone attempting to fool her would likely have taken it. Fortunately, however, he was not just anyone, and far cleverer than most.

"Well, I regret not receiving a performance in kind," he laughed, "but it's now of no wonder that he spoke of you with such pride. Sometimes those born to the arguably less exciting Patrons, such as Harvest, take vicarious victory in their progeny's abundant talent. Particularly if it's a talent they themselves share."

Although still smiling, he now held his breath. Given Lord Oslund's vocation, Harvest had been a fair bet as to his Birth Patron. Unfortunately, Commerce would've been just as logical, and he'd only gone with Harvest after another subtle toss of his fortune coin. But if the coin had misled him, he'd just announced himself a liar; for anyone who'd spent the night at the Oslund vineyard would've assuredly made note of their host's Birth medallion.

But Oliveah evidently found no untruth in his words. "I'm pleased to hear of his courtesy toward our kind. However, I do hope he's being cautious. Not all who travel the roads are as good-natured as you and I."

His mind raced. Oliveah Oslund was no fool; despite her easy expression, she was continuing to test him. He therefore had no choice but to carry on where she'd led, and could only hope Destiny still had a hand in this—a very real possibility, for although Destiny wasn't his Secondary Patron, he saw it was in fact Oliveah's. Considering this, he decided to simply follow the thread of her conversation, throwing in one of the scant details he knew regarding the one he sought.

"I don't believe there's much cause to worry for your family's security," he came back reassuringly, after only the briefest of pauses. "That young man of about your own age—there was little doubt he knew how to use that sword he carries." As any male born to War would, naturally.

A quick frown line appeared in Oliveah's forehead. "You mean Taleb? Or Nathon?"

He numbed the sudden explosion of excitement erupting within him and shrugged back at her. "You know, the one with the War Birth medallion."

Her features melted into a faint laugh. "Well, that could be either of them. And both are equally deadly with their swords, in case you were curious."

He willed his racing pulse to slow, commanded himself to think. "Recruiting your security from the warlord's keep? I didn't realize your vineyard was under such threat of invasion."

She at last appeared sure of him, and gave a casual wave while sipping from her goblet. "Actually, both were acquired as slaves, but given their aptitude for the sword my father quickly put them on security detail. They both now share the master-at-arms position."

He could barely keep his thoughts coherent, so many now tumbling about in his mind. Acquired as slaves—yes, that could fit. Both boys had been incredibly lucky to have been purchased by the Oslunds, a family well known for their fair and warm-hearted treatment of their bought workers.

"Both are quickly approaching the conclusion of their tenth-year of service, however, and as much as he'll miss them, my father will soon need to grant them their freedom," she went on, her eyes back on the dance floor and her gyrating companions.

He was now frantically trying to devise a way of distinguishing which of these two men—Taleb or Nathon, she'd named them—was the one he was searching for. He then rapidly surmised that any overt attempts to do so would only raise her suspicions again, and quite possibly create a myriad of other problems he'd have to deal with in the future. Although his interest could lie in either man, he now had a name, and just as importantly, a location. He would take this victory and think on how best to proceed later.

"Well, Oliveah," he said, rising to his feet and affecting a yawn, "I think I'd best call it a night."

She looked surprised at the abrupt turn in conversation, but simply nodded.

"I thank you for your company, and know it was pleasing to discover that the grace and courtesy of your line isn't exclusive to a single generation."

"I'll be certain to let my father know you said so when I return home next week," she replied with a smile.

In truth he was hoping she forgot this encounter entirely and did not mention it to her father, but in any case, he'd be back in Aralexia by then, and it was extremely unlikely anyone here would ever put a name to his true identity even if the Oslunds did uncover his lie.

"You're too kind," he told her, giving a final nod before turning away and starting for the door.

The diviner remained on the dance floor, engaged in a raucous three-step, and he met her eyes one final time before exiting.

Never doubt a Savannon diviner, he thought as he stepped out into the darkness just preceding the dawn.

Chapter 4

Opening night of Ardin's Pride—there was no other celebration like it anywhere in Dhanen'Mar. Flynn Fajen's Birth medallion displayed neither Arts nor Commerce, but as a rule, this week's festival would prove extremely lucrative for him and his cohorts; for all three, whether by Birth or by Choice, were governed by the Patron of Thieves.

"I think it's safe to say the Legion has noted our arrival," Flynn remarked in a low, amused tone. He and his companions, just arrived from their home city and base of operations, Corbit's Canyon, were presently strolling along one of Tyrell's main laneways. Although very nearly dawn the streets were far from deserted, with many die-hard revelers still going strong.

"Well, our collective presence is hardly subtle," Knoxx Alvik replied genially.

Flynn grinned. There was no doubt the local Justice officers had been anticipating their presence here, and indeed the three made for a memorable group. Flynn, a native of the country of Ceja, had brown skin, blue eyes, and a reputation that preceded him—even before his actions had earned him an exile from Ceja and won him the command of the entire Thieves network here in Dhanen'Mar.

His male companion, Knoxx Alvik, was also somewhat notorious in his own right. Born to Magic, Knoxx had defied the rules of his kind by refusing to choose either Justice, Healing, Harmony, Magic, or Destiny as his Secondary. Instead, he'd chosen Thieves, earning himself much scorn from his fellow mages as well as his own exile from their Isle, Venaris Sheea. His combination of Patrons—Magic and Thieves—made him extremely proficient in his chosen occupation.

Their trio was completed by the presence of Tishan Ravare. Tishan disliked drawing attention to herself in any form, and while her skills as a thief didn't often threaten this, her appearance did. Her hair was long, curly and golden, her eyes hazel, and her face one to make even queens weep with envy. Born to Thieves, her Choice Patron remained a mystery, turned inward and hidden from curious eyes.

"They can't arrest what they can't catch," she said now, her gaze subtly scanning the street before them.

"And they can't catch what they can't see," Knoxx added, smiling into the face of a passing Justice officer.

The act responsible for Flynn's exile from Ceja had impressed the Thieves of Dhanen'Mar so much that they'd voted him their commander, a position he'd now held these past four years. As such, his presence was always expected at the country's numerous yearly events and the law tended to watch him carefully. Of course, and despite all their efforts, the officers had never yet managed to outright catch him at anything.

Besides Knoxx and Tishan, Flynn was aware of a multitude of other Thieves now present in Tyrell. Many were also from their Patron's home city of Corbit's Canyon, others from the networks of Dhanen'Mar's other fourteen cities, and some wayfarers who made their way along the roads. Many of these Thieves would be apprehended and charged this week. Many others would not. But all would provide a distraction to the Justice officers, allowing Flynn and his chosen cohorts the freedom to pull off their own heist. And this year, their spoils were to be particularly bountiful.

"I'm hungry," Knoxx announced then, looking about.

"I could eat," Flynn nodded. "Tishan?"

She shrugged.

The nearest tavern was an establishment named The Rejoicing Rooster, and Flynn led the way toward it with a determined stride. He was aware of, but didn't acknowledge, the stares of the Justice officers following his every move, and wouldn't be surprised if a few of them followed his party into the tavern. By this time, he was well accustomed to his own notoriety.

They nearly bumped into two young women and a man leaving the tavern just as they were entering. Not surprisingly, Knoxx hurriedly swept aside with a flourish and held the door while graciously gesturing the women through.

"My ladies," the mage said to them with a wide smile.

The taller of the women humored him with an amused grin as she swept past. "Kind sir," she returned with a nod.

Knoxx's grin widened as he clearly took this as encouragement. The females in their home city of Corbit's Canyon all knew better, but this woman clearly had no idea what she was in for, Flynn thought.

"I'd be most pleased if you were to remember my kindness, should the fates be so generous as to favor us with another chance encounter. Perhaps later this evening?" Knoxx called to her retreating back.

Flynn and Tishan exchanged a look, both rolling their eyes.

The tall young woman had now paused and turned. It seemed Knoxx's invitation had caught her interest, although her expression made it difficult to determine the nature of her response.

"If the fates truly wished to be generous," she then replied, staring Knoxx full in the eye, "they would surely offer me a suitor who isn't a chosen thief."

Knoxx's Secondary medallion was rarely if ever concealed, displayed proudly almost as a sign of honor, and this woman had clearly taken note of it. Her apparent prejudice toward Thieves wasn't uncommon, a fact of life they all lived with, but it was obvious Knoxx hadn't been expecting such a barbed response.

"I see the lady keeps to a rather narrow world view," he replied in a cool tone.

The women's male companion now stepped past, giving the mage a brief pat on the shoulder as he sauntered by. "Don't take it personally friend, for that one has specific tastes. I should know, I've been trying to bend them now seven years running."

Knoxx shrugged. "The other is more to my liking anyway."

The man laughed. "At your own risk, then. She's a Savannon diviner."

Although a native Cejan, Flynn was well aware of the Savannon line here in Dhanen'Mar, and he turned his eyes to the woman in question. She was petite, with glorious black hair and lots of curves. She was also now turned and staring back at him with slightly narrowed eyes. He hoped she wasn't picking up on any of his imminent plans here in Tyrell, for since he'd not paid for her services, anything that came to her would be free game to report to the Legion.

Thankfully though, she simply turned and started away. "Come along, Reavis," her voice carried back. "I believe it unwise to get mixed up with that lot."

"You should be so lucky!" Knoxx hollered after her, adding a crude hand gesture.

"Serves you right," Flynn said, shoving the mage through the doorway before him. Tishan brought up the rear, muttering under her breath. Even a hint of prejudice toward Thieves tended to ignite her temper.

Flynn settled his party into a booth where they'd have the privacy to speak freely. Although far from deserted, the tavern wasn't nearly as busy as it must've been even a few short hours earlier. The celebration in Tyrell the week of Ardin's Pride never fully stopped.

They waited until their breakfasts had arrived before addressing their business.

Flynn removed a hand-drawn, detailed map of Tyrell from his sleeve and laid it down atop the table. "The Tulan ranch lies here," he said, indicating an X on the map just outside the city. "On the last night of the festival, the Tulans are planning a grand ball, on which they've spared no expense. Performers from the opening troupe have been hired as entertainment, as well as mages for a fire-show."

"Mages," Knoxx repeated sourly. "I suppose they'll fall under the shadow of my responsibility."

Flynn nodded. "The sight of your Birth medallion should further keep any suspicions from arising over your presence, if you're even seen at all, that is. Just be certain to keep your Secondary well hidden."

"That should work well enough, so long as the other mages take no notice of me. I am rather infamous among my own kind, you know. Not for seven hundred years has one born to Magic chosen Thieves."

Flynn looked at him. "The last known was Sury Nye, born in the year 922 in the country of Gaitlin. Died 948 in the country of Jennen. Most renowned heist: The jewels of Swythe Island, taken in 939 and still hidden to this day."

"No one appreciates a smart ass, Flynn," Knoxx said.

Tishan chortled. "Have you any idea how much coin I've made wagering on his Thieves' knowledge? He's never wrong."

"I thought we were plotting here," the mage scowled.

"Very well then, let's plot," Flynn returned. "But as for you staying clear from sight of your fellow mages, I'm certain that's one task you can handle," he said pointedly.

"What of me?" Tishan asked, pushing the fruit salad around on her plate.

"You," Flynn went on, turning to her, "are soon to strike up an acquaintance with Lord Tulan's eldest son, Myron. He recently lost his wife to childbirth, and rumor claims he's already seeking her replacement."

"He's not yet secured accompaniment to the ball?"

Flynn grinned at her. "You ask as though it would matter."

She didn't reply.

"However," he went on, "he may show suspicion at sight of your Birth medallion." Because Thieves was her birth dominion, she would not be able to conceal this information as she did her Secondary. But this didn't appear vexing.

"That won't be a problem," she assured him without pause.

He was curious, but didn't ask. "Invitation to the Tulan ball is coveted and exclusive. Only some of Tyrell's highborn have been invited, along with a slew of lords and ladies from other cities about Dhanen'Mar, here now for the festival."

"Clearly the Tulans are using this as an opportunity to show off their wealth," Knoxx observed.

"Indeed," Flynn agreed, "while giving us the perfect opportunity to humiliate them on a truly grand scale." He smiled.

An extreme lack of foresight had led Lord Beran Tulan to personally offend Flynn, as well as his entire network of Thieves, at last year's Ardin's Pride celebration. The year since had seen the Thieves plotting their retaliation.

Flynn's Choice medallion was Revenge.

"Who's handling the distraction?" Tishan asked, spearing a piece of watermelon with her fork.

"Those from Sekasortia will take the streets of Tyrell," he answered, referring to the branch of Thieves based in the home city of Chaos. "I figure they'll be most effective, being highly familiar with the environment they'll be looking to create. For certain, this will be one closing night not soon forgotten." His smile widened.

"And along the road?" Tishan pressed.

Flynn nodded. "On the night of the Tulan ball, I'm expecting Justice officers to be in attendance for security purposes."

"The nobility must be kept safe," Tishan said with mocking concern. Her intolerance for the highborn was well known to her companions.

"In any case," he went on, "we'll have to figure on their pursuit once we've made off with what we've come for. I've requested those from Beavihm to aid us there," Flynn told them, referring this time to the Thieves based in the Travelers home city. "We're still in the planning stages of how to best work it, and I'll need to know how many officers we'll be up against."

Knoxx shrugged. "We have time."

Flynn nodded again. "True, and while I'm seeing to these strategies, I want you two on your own assignments immediately. Tishan, seek out Myron Tulan and do whatever you must to gain his invitation to the ball. Knoxx, you need to start nosing about to discover which mages will be present, and what their strengths are. Should we find ourselves in trouble, I want to know what to expect."

"Spy and intrigue against my fellow mages?" Knoxx said. "I can do that."

"Good. Tishan?"

"I will secure my invitation before the sun has set this night," she stated.

Flynn grinned. "Excellent. Then let's get to work."

Tishan left the tavern first, while no doubt plotting out her task of the day. Almost without exception she favored working alone, her exact methods therefore a mystery, but so long as the job was accomplished—as it always was—Flynn was satisfied. For the occasional tasks that did require a partner, Knoxx was without fail her choice. The two laughed and fought like siblings, likely encouraged by the fact that Tishan was one of the only women in all Dhanen'Mar the mage wouldn't proposition. Flynn suspected Knoxx knew things about Tishan no one else did, but this wasn't a confidence he'd ever tried to penetrate.

The mage, lean as he was, ate enough for three men before getting to his feet and leaving Flynn alone in the tavern. Flynn turned to the map he'd drawn, considering. The Thieves from Beavihm, those he would position on the road leading to the Tulan ranch, were going to be instrumental in seeing he successfully made off with his prize, although he wasn't yet certain how best to use them. But as Knoxx had said, they still had some time to strategize.

He chuckled quietly to himself at imagining Lord Beran Tulan's forthcoming humiliation. His attempt of a year ago to have all Thieves banned from Tyrell during the week of Ardin's Pride hadn't been accepted by the city council, but had kicked up a mighty ruckus, bringing nearly the entire city to a clash as each side prepared to protest either for or against the proposition. Flynn had presented himself to Lord Tulan in an attempt to smooth matters, only to be publicly denounced as a "useless and shameful stain on humanity" as well as having all his Thieves named "sneaks and honorless wastrels who should've all been drowned at birth."

The last had been a particularly pointed barb, for all knew the infamous Thieves credo of Honor Only Among Thieves.

Naming them all honorless wastrels had indeed been a serious mistake, for every thief in Dhanen'Mar had taken it as a personal insult and accordingly vowed revenge. The fact that their current commander wore a Revenge Choice medallion only seemed to validate their own wisdom in voting him their leader four years earlier, and the hundreds of Thieves now in Tyrell were eagerly awaiting the smallest of instructions so they might have a hand in the imminent vengeance. For they all wanted to play a part.

And there would be tasks for everyone, Flynn knew. Infiltrating the Tulan ranch would be the least complicated step; acquiring their objective, and then successfully making off with it, would be one of his greatest challenges. Considering his past successes, however, Flynn figured it could be managed so long as his planning was sound. Timing would also play a great part, although he was confident both Katrien and Rizea, the Patrons of Thieves and Revenge, would be generous in their blessings that night.

Flynn then debated picking up a few good luck charms, primarily for morale. Although Ceja wasn't a country as superstitious as Dhanen'Mar, it was not so strictly against such beliefs either, as were the Jennite lands. In any case, he'd adapted to life quickly here in Dhanen'Mar, and figured a bit of extra luck certainly couldn't hurt, as well as boost the confidence of his Thieves. Maybe he could even manage to locate an eagle feather – the luckiest of all fortunes.

He paid the barmaid and made his way out to the street, where he immediately noted the presence of three loitering Justice officers, men clearly awaiting his reappearance. The others, he determined, had most likely gone after Tishan and Knoxx.

Flynn briefly amused himself by imagining the ways Knoxx was no doubt using the situation to annoy and confuse the officers, for his mage-power was the ability to turn invisible. A gift which made such mischief almost effortlessly easy, as well as being a talent incredibly useful for a thief.

Flynn smiled and waved at the officers, and then quickly lost himself in the early-morning crowd. He wasn't known as the sneakiest man in Dhanen'Mar without good reason.
Chapter 5

Seventh-day, ruled by Destiny, began late for Oliveah. The night before had seen the staging of the annual Ardin's Pride parade, a light-hearted but rowdy affair. She and Madi hadn't made it back to their inn until almost Fourth-hour, both collapsing into their beds exhausted and more than a little drunk. Now waking slowly, Oliveah vaguely recalled nearly getting arrested by some Justice officers the night before, although the details of the encounter eluded her.

Shrugging, she pushed aside her blankets and sat up, moaning at the pain in her head. Looking across to the adjacent bed, she saw Madi had already risen and departed, no doubt off to see to her morning appointments. Oliveah herself had little to do this day; at Tenth-hour she would meet with Reavis for a performance, but beyond that she was entirely free. This gave her plenty of time to prepare for the arrival of her siblings, an event that had her extremely excited—although for more than just the obvious reasons.

Suspecting she wouldn't be back to her room before her performance, she dressed with care, donning a lilac-colored dress accented with white satin trim. She left her light brown hair loose, but added a ribbon to keep the strands free from her face before judging herself visually acceptable.

Once down in the common room, she made her first order of business locating the innkeeper and ensuring the rooms she'd reserved for her family were still vacant and awaiting their arrival later today. The price for this had been incredibly steep; the week of Ardin's Pride was Tyrell's busiest time of year, and generally the rule of thumb was first-come-first-serve. The innkeeper, however, had been secured with her silver, and now reassured her there would be no problems. Satisfied, she next headed into the dining area, harboring the hope that food would help ease her head and calm her stomach. To her surprise, she found Madi there, seated alone at a small corner table.

"I thought you'd left already," Oliveah greeted, taking the seat across from her.

The diviner was pale and delicately sipping from a cup of tea. Generally not one for drinking, she'd far surpassed her limits the night before, a fact now evident.

"I still have some time before my first appointment," she replied. "I was hoping to clear my head some beforehand."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Oliveah wanted to know.

"I tried. You sleep like a rock."

They ordered honeyed porridge and ate tentatively. Confident after the first few bites that her meal was going to stay down, Oliveah asked the diviner if she recalled what they'd done to almost get themselves arrested the night before.

Madi looked at her with alarm. "What's this? I remember nothing of trouble."

Observing her friend's distress, Oliveah affected a casual air. "I'm sure it was nothing," she said, waving a hand. Madi continued to look worried, however, so she hurried on. "Will you be free to join my siblings and I for supper tonight?"

Madi nodded. "I intend to try. When are you meeting them?"

"I instructed them to be at The Yellow Orchid at Twelfth-hour."

"I may be a few minutes late, but I'll definitely be there," Madi vowed, taking a minuscule bite of her porridge. She then sent a sly glance to her friend. "Do you know yet which of them will come?"

Oliveah immediately felt herself start to redden. Madi was no longer speaking of her siblings, but of the escort they were certain to arrive with. Her father wouldn't have entrusted the safety of his two youngest children to any but his best man, so it was a surety either Taleb or Nathon would be bringing her sister and brother into Tyrell today.

Oliveah finally shrugged. "It could be either," she finally replied. She'd be in love with both of them since she'd been a maid of fourteen. But now, their ten years of service to the Oslund family was nearly fulfilled, both men now less than a season from being granted their freedom. Oliveah knew she had some tough decisions ahead, and was hoping Madi's skills as a diviner would help ease them.

Madi was already well informed of the circumstances, including Oliveah's wish for guidance. "It shouldn't matter which of them comes. If the Patrons are generous I will see your path, one way or the other," she stated confidently.

Oliveah nodded in response. This closure was a long time coming, and something she both longed for and dreaded. But the time for Destiny to step in and provide insight had finally come, and she possessed every confidence in whatever verdict Madi was sure to give her.

With her porridge only half-eaten, the diviner pushed to her feet, still looking slightly ill. "I'd best depart if I'm to make my first appointment," she said.

Oliveah nodded. "Until this evening then."

She finished the remainder of her meal in silence, and feeling much renewed by the food, left the inn. She still had two hours before having to appear for her performance, but figured she might do best tracking Reavis down now. He'd been with them the night before, and could no doubt tell her just what sorts of trouble they'd gotten into. Despite the nonchalance she'd displayed to Madi, she was somewhat concerned by the matter; the last thing any of their reputations needed was Justice trouble. She hoped no warrants had been issued, and kept a paranoid eye about for officers as she made her way up the street.

Reavis had already departed his inn, but she tracked him down a short while later after making some inquiries to mutual acquaintances. As reported, he was currently seated on the lawns of the Performance Circle, watching a play. Unable to get to him in the crowd without causing a disturbance, she waited several minutes before managing to catch his eye and then waved him over.

Watching his approach, she was instantly annoyed to see he looked none the worse for wear, a gleam in his eye and bounce in his step as he strolled to meet her.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" he greeted, pausing smoothly before her.

She narrowed her eyes warningly. "I'm not in the mood, Reavis. What happened last night?"

His grin widened. "You mean with the Justice officers?"

Oliveah swallowed nervously at seeing that grin, as it all but confirmed matters were somewhat more serious than she'd been hoping.

"I recall little," she confessed, staring at him worriedly.

He looked at her a moment before responding. "You're not in any trouble, but you may want to pass along a warning to Madi, if she remembers no more than you."

Her eyes widened. "What happened?"

"I was escorting the two of you back to your inn after the parade," he began, "when a passing Justice officer made the apparent error of springing out of Madi's path while saying "A thousand pardons, Lady Savannon." For some reason this offended her, and she began yelling at him as well as pelting him with street rubbish. I was rather impressed with her aim—she struck him square in the face with an apple core."

Oliveah winced. She knew Madi detested being given such courtesies simply because of her family name, a line well-known for its generous donations to the Legion of Justice, but she must've been very intoxicated indeed to react in such a fashion.

"What happened?" she sighed.

"We ran," Reavis told her, shrugging. "The officer pursued, and some others took up the chase with him, but we lost them in the crowd."

Oliveah was horrified by the fact that she recalled almost nothing of this. She silently vowed then and there to never again drink to excess. She was also now extremely concerned for Madi.

"What do you think they'll do?" she asked, shifting her stance uncomfortably.

Reavis glanced away, pondering. "Well, under normal circumstances I'd say no Justice officer would be stupid enough to pursue a Savannon over a matter as trifling as some thrown trash. Unfortunately for Madi, however, there were scores of witnesses, and I imagine the officer in question is taking his humiliation into account. Not to mention the entire Legion seems to be cracking down on even the lesser crimes this year. Why, just yesterday I saw them actually arrest a couple of tavern brawlers—how ridiculous is that?"

Oliveah sighed again. "Bottom line?"

"I'd say she has half a chance of escaping this without punishment. But if they do decide to pursue, she won't be hard to find."

Oliveah blew out a long breath. "We need to warn her immediately."

Reavis glanced upward at the sun. "We'd be cutting it pretty close."

Frowning, she realized he was right. The Savannon shop where Madi conducted her readings was several blocks away, and with the streets as crowded as they were, it was questionable whether they could get there, impart their warning, and then travel all the way across the city with enough time to make their performance. Oliveah bit her lower lip pensively.

"Hire one of the urchins to take her a message," Reavis suggested.

Oliveah nodded at him, liking the idea. Every major city in Dhanen'Mar kept to its population of orphans living on the streets, and Tyrell was no exception. In fact, from what she'd seen these past several days, it seemed running messages was how many of these children earned their daily bread.

She hurried from the lawns of the Circle with Reavis on her heels, inwardly trying to determine how Madi was likely to react to this. She decided horror was the most reasonable guess as she spied a group of street children on the next adjacent corner. Their ages looked to be between eight and twelve years, making them all eligible for the slave markets if they happened to be caught, but clearly Justice had more pressing matters to deal with this week.

One of the older boys now looked to be conducting just the sort of business she was in need of, taking a small scroll from a young man marked as a slave and tucking it into his waistband. His customer handed him a coin and then promptly vanished into the crowd. Oliveah quickened her pace toward him.

"I need a message taken to The Seeing Eye immediately," she announced, halting before the boy.

He appraised her quickly. "Immediately, you say? Three coppers, then."

The price was outrageous but she was in no mood to argue. "I also need parchment," she said.

The boy produced a thin scroll but then paused before handing it over, clearly debating whether he should risk requesting a higher payment for this extra service. After a glance at Reavis, now standing behind her, he apparently thought it best not to push his luck and tossed her the scroll wordlessly.

"The Seeing Eye, you know it?" she went on, accepting a charcoal drawing pencil from Reavis. He often carried them, as he occasionally had an urge to sketch. While his talent for drawing nowhere near matched what he possessed for singing, he was a fair artist and did sell most of his work.

"I know it," the boy was saying to her now. "That is the Savannon shop."

Oliveah nodded, satisfied. She paused in thought for a moment, and then began a hurried scrawl across the parchment, explaining to Madi the circumstances of the night before.

"This is to be put into the hand of Madilaine Savannon and no other," she warned the boy once she'd finished and tightly re-rolled the parchment.

"Madilaine Savannon," he repeated with a nod, taking the scroll and tucking it into his waistband next to the one given him by the slave.

Oliveah withheld a frown as she then paid him. She refrained from commenting by reminding herself her payment would ensure the boy had means to feed himself for the next few days.

"With luck our message will arrive before any trouble has the chance to occur," she fretted, watching as the boy started off down the street.

"If there is any trouble," Reavis replied, starting off in the opposite direction.

Oliveah followed after him, brow furrowed. "I thought you believed this possible?"

He shrugged. "Yes, but the more I think on it, the less convinced I am that the Legion would be stupid enough to challenge the Savannons over something so trivial."

Oliveah wasn't certain what to think. She also found it ironic that the cause of Madi's behavior would perhaps be the very thing allowing her to escape punishment.

She and Reavis spent the next half-hour fighting the crowds to get to the north side of the city. This was an affluent, residential section of Tyrell, and for this reason the crowd thinned considerably as they closed in on their destination.

Reif Manor was only one of the properties held by this family line, and among one of the largest in the city. The Reif family, while highborn, weren't typically held in the highest of favor due to the unfortunate legacy of their lineage. More than half of all Reifs were born upon a Fifteenth-day, which was governed by Cristiana, the Patron of Death. A fair amount of the others were born to Healing, the line's only saving grace as far as the rest of the country seemed concerned.

Lord Guerin Reif, patriarch to the southern sect of the family, had made the arrangements with their troupe leader some time ago for Oliveah and Reavis to perform privately at his home this day. Such a request wasn't unusual in and of itself, but due to the foreboding reputation of the Reif family, Moriss had sought agreement from both his performers before agreeing.

Reavis had offered no objection, stating that so far as he was concerned, the Reif's money was as good as anyone else's. Oliveah's reply had been somewhat more pointed, for the Oslunds were in fact very friendly with the Reifs; her father thought the prejudice against them ridiculous and Oliveah agreed. She'd been rather candid in stating this opinion to her troupe-master.

She was now quickly finishing the giant pickle she'd bought from a street vendor as she and Reavis approached Reif Manor. Lord Guerin himself greeted them at the door with a smile and brief embrace for Oliveah.

"It's been too long, my dear," he said, releasing her and stepping back. "How is your father?"

"Very well," she answered, returning his smile. "I'm pleased to see you are the same." Due to her travels, it had been several years since she'd last lain eyes on this man, but knew he and her father got together several times a year to share conversation and a meal.

Lord Guerin led them through an expansive hall, its floor tiled a shiny black, and into a grand chamber. There was no stage, but at the forefront the area had been cleared, with Oliveah's harp, sent over that morning by Moriss, tuned and awaiting her touch.

"Approximately thirty members of my family have gathered here for the festival this year, and I thought to give them a private performance," Lord Guerin explained, stopping next to one of the many couches set about the room. "You need only play for an hour or so, then are more than welcome to stay and join us for supper. I trust you both favor roast duck?"

Oliveah's smile fell at the invitation. "While that sounds lovely, Navalee and Deakin are soon to arrive and I fear we've already made arrangements to dine." She was genuinely disappointed; spending time with the Reifs was always enjoyable.

But Lord Guerin's smile only grew wider. "Can these arrangements not be broken? It would be an honor to play host to all three Oslund children."

Oliveah considered. The Yellow Orchid would likely fine her for breaking her reservation, but it would be worth the price, she decided.

"You'll need to send a runner to our inn with instructions for them to meet me here instead," she replied.

"Splendid!" Lord Guerin said, slapping his hands together as he turned to Reavis. "And what of you, young man?"

Reavis shrugged. "It would take a far bigger fool than I to turn down a meal of roast duck," he said.

Lord Guerin laughed and spun. "Excellent. Now come," he urged, turning to lead them from the room. "Let me introduce my clan before you begin your preparations. Oliveah, you may encounter some familiar faces amongst them."

She smiled as she followed after him, now looking forward to the evening more than ever. It would be interesting to see where the night led, for any such shift of circumstances on a day ruled by Destiny were unquestionably for compelling cause. Content to leave the reins in Destiny's hands, she stepped after Reavis as Lord Guerin led them deeper into the manor.
Chapter 6

By the conclusion of her final appointment, Madi was more than ready for the day to be over, and almost regretting her promise to meet with Oliveah and her siblings for supper. Her ailments of earlier had slowly receded over the course of the afternoon, so she no longer felt ill, but her temper remained short and the downright oddness of the day wasn't helping.

Of course, as Seventh-day, it wasn't uncommon for bizarre or unexpected circumstances to arise, particularly around those born to Destiny, as she was. However, tonight's full moons already appeared to be exercising their influence, eliciting even stranger results than what was normal. Destiny was one of the five dominions of the moons, along with Justice, Travelers, Chaos, and Love, and whenever both bloomed full upon such days the results were always interesting. Judging by the day's standards, Madi was almost hesitant to see what night would bring, once the full light of the white and the green showered down their radiance.

Her first appointment had been with a drunken man whose very smell had almost caused her to lose what little porridge she'd managed to consume. Growing exasperated—and disgusted—with his constant flirting, she'd called for Mika to evict the man while in the very midst of the reading. Her cousin had complied without question, and refused the refund the lout demanded. Thankfully, he'd finally skulked off after Mika threatened to summon the Legion of Justice and have him arrested.

Madi's second appointment was with a woman who'd decided to bring her two squalling infants with her, in hopes of swindling extra readings for them in addition to her own. At another time Madi might've been generous and complied, but the woman was annoying and arrogant, and so became the second eviction of the day.

Mika had poked his head into the back room after this, his look concerned. "Everything all right with you, cousin?"

"Fine," she replied. "I suspect today's oddities are simply an influence of the moons."

He accepted this with a wordless nod, vanishing back through the curtain.

Now having some time before her next appointment, Madi decided some fresh air might do her some good. She was just stepping outside The Seeing Eye, her hand still resting upon the door handle, when a boy of about twelve appeared suddenly before her. Taking him in, without pause she then said, "I am Madilaine Savannon."

The boy looked momentarily spooked as he stared back at her, but composed himself quickly after glancing away and muttering "diviner" under his breath. "This is for you," he then said more clearly, pulling forth one of the two small scrolls wedged into his waistband and holding it out to her.

Madi thanked him and took the scroll with little interest. It had most likely been sent by some lord or lady looking to be squeezed into her schedule before the conclusion of the festival. They would find little luck at this barring a cancellation, which was a rare occurrence indeed.

Sighing, she began unfurling the parchment, thinking to give it no more than a quick glance before dumping it in Mika's hands. Scheduling was his concern, a duty she was more than happy to let him handle.

Her brow then furrowed as she began to read. Although there was no addressee or signature, it took only a moment for her to determine this letter hadn't been meant for her—clearly the messenger had bungled his assignments. She looked up, her eyes scanning the surrounding crowd, but the boy was no longer in sight, gone as quickly as he'd appeared.

Madi frowned and took in the parchment again.

Mages Villian and Synna identified.

Officers to be on premises: 20

Staring downward, she abruptly became aware of the insistence now rising in her mind. Whatever the meaning of this, these words most certainly weren't meant for her eyes. Then, she was smelling smoke, and knew that somehow, in some way, the content of this message would relate to fire.

Crumbling the parchment in her hand, she closed her eyes and leveled her breathing until her nostrils cleared of the acrid stench. Perhaps this wasn't error, but rather Destiny, she then found herself thinking. But if so, Destiny wasn't giving her much to go on. She'd just have to remain vigilant to any circumstance that might explain the meaning of this.

Sighing, she retreated into The Seeing Eye to await her next appointment.

The oddness of her day continued with her third session, as it required a rare divination by gyromancy. This involved the practice of walking in a circle until she fell from dizziness, an act that resurrected her nausea and set her head back to pounding. By the time her fourth and final appointment arrived, her mood was downright foul.

The session started off well enough. The minor lord at first simply asked what he could do to counter his failing eyesight. Madi recommended the wearing of emeralds, as they were known to aid in this, although it was then she realized she should've been wearing an amethyst the night before, a gem which prevented intoxication.

The lord readily agreed to her suggestion of emeralds, but then asked where he might procure substantial amounts of fenyl, dashing Madi's hope for a decent reading. Fenyl was largely used as an aphrodisiac, and the intents of this man's uses for it became clear as she divined his fortune with a toss of her augury stones. She breathed a sigh of relief when he finally removed his perverse presence from the shop, leaving her alone with her cousin.

"What is my day tomorrow?" she asked wearily, anxious to be on her way.

"Busy," Mika replied, pausing and looking up from his bookkeeping. "Appointments from Seventh-hour to Twelfth." Seeing her barely-concealed grimace, he went on. "I left all of Tenth-day open so you'd have more time to enjoy the festival. And Fifteenth you need only appear at the Tulan ball for some readings—the rest of the day is yours."

Madi paused then, for a quick flash of vision swept through her mind's eye at mention of the Tulan ball. Unfortunately, it passed so quickly she didn't have a chance to make out its content, but this in itself wasn't alarming. It wasn't unusual for her senses to give her insights in this way, although typically they held to somewhat more clarity.

Wondering if this day was ever going to end, she bid her cousin a good evening and gratefully left The Seeing Eye behind as she started down the street.

She'd told Oliveah she would meet her at The Yellow Orchid at Twelfth-hour, and already she was a few minutes late. The streets weren't aiding her progress, as crowded and rowdy as ever as the celebration of Ardin's Pride raged into its seventh evening, and she finally closed in on her destination well past the appointed time. At least she'd given Oliveah warning she might be late.

The Yellow Orchid was one of the more expensive eateries in the city, and consequently patronized by the highborn. Madi had previously dined there on several occasions, and was looking forward to their signature dish of emu and noodles baked in a rich cream sauce. Having eaten nothing since those few bites of porridge this morning, her stomach was rumbling at the very thought as she eagerly reached for the door to push her way inside.

"Madi, is it?"

Pausing with her hand aloft, she looked over and locked eyes with a man standing just a few paces away. Appearing only a couple years older than herself, he had thick brown hair just brushing his shoulders and bright green eyes, and wore a sword on his hip and turquoise-colored band about his upper left arm. The sword marked him as potentially dangerous, the band as a slave. Quickly assessing he wasn't familiar to her, Madi's gaze narrowed with caution.

Lounging casually against the wall of the building, he grinned at her scrutiny and said, "Oliveah sent me. There's been a change in plans, and we're to dine at Reif Manor this evening."

Madi digested this a moment, taking a few steps closer as she rapidly surmised this must be either Taleb or Nathon. Out of reflex she glanced to take in his Birth medallion, already knowing it would show War no matter which of the two this was, but completely unprepared for what followed. The moment her eyes settled on the bronze circle at his throat, her head spun. Blurred images raced past her mind's eye, one after another and sending bolts of shock and utter terror into her heart.

She'd not forgotten the one who'd given her the name Lendiv Vakli, the strange man who'd come to her for a reading the first night of Ardin's Pride. The man she'd had no choice but to send to Oliveah for reasons she still did not understand. And it was that man's face in her mind now, telling her he was in some way connected to the one before her, with Oliveah acting as the link between the two. This was not all she saw. Whether it was Taleb or Nathon standing before her, death, steel, and blood surrounded this man. Both past and present, violence lay all about him, inescapable and undeniable—and she wanted her friend to have no part of it.

Frantically trying to disguise her shock and confusion, Madi blinked quickly, her eyes still holding to his Birth medallion. Distractedly, she noted his Secondary was also clearly visible, showing his Choice as Destiny. Typically, seeing this would've pleased her, but in light of everything else it just made her all the more wary. She finally dragged her eyes back up to his face and saw him watching her with a slight frown.

"Taleb Okin," he introduced himself.

She nodded back at him, taking this in. Taleb, then. She would therefore be giving Oliveah a strong recommendation in Nathon's favor just as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

"Madilaine Savannon," she murmured in reply. Who was this man? No mere slave, that was certain.

He gestured at her and began stepping away from the wall, leading her back into the thronging streets. "It's pleasing to at last put a face to the name. I've heard much of you from Oliveah over the years," he said.

"I suppose we have that in common," she replied, still thinking furiously.

He shot her a glance at that but said nothing.

"So, why are we now dining with the Reifs?" she asked, just as something else occurred to her. "Was it Oliveah who sent me that message? For I fear there was a mix-up and I received someone else's in error."

Taleb frowned briefly and shook his head. "I know nothing of any message, only that after my party arrived at Reif Manor, Oliveah claimed you needed to be informed of the changed circumstances. She asked if Nathon or I would attend to you."

"Oh, so the both of you came, then?" she asked, keeping stride with him as they rounded a corner and headed for the northern end of the city.

He glanced over at her again. "Lord Oslund agreed it would be prudent to have us both along, yes. The roads can be dangerous this time of year."

She nodded, wondering at Oliveah's reaction to this. Her friend hadn't been expecting to confront both of them until her return to the Oslund vineyard the following week. Ehle, the Patron of Destiny, was certainly letting her presence be known this Seventh-Day of the full moons, and Madi was now more cautious than ever to see what the night still had in store; her gift had already revealed more this day than she'd typically receive in a week.

"Madilaine Savannon!" a commanding voice then shouted from somewhere behind them. "Halt, I command you!"

Madi stopped and turned, more curious than alarmed. Taleb, however, had already drawn his sword and stepped in front of her before she'd even finished turning. She stretched onto her toes and peered past his shoulder.

Three Justice officers were fast approaching, their strides as one as they closed in. Madi, still not particularly concerned, moved around Taleb and regarded them.

"Can I be of assistance to you, officers?" she asked.

They drew to a stop and the man at their center pulled a small piece of parchment from his belt. "A warrant. For your arrest."

Madi felt her jaw drop before suddenly recalling what Oliveah had said to her that morning over their porridge. As it happened, they might've started some trouble the night before, although neither had remembered enough of the incident to be certain.

"What is the charge?" she managed to ask.

"Assaulting an officer, as well as inciting a riot. Your actions began a block-wide brawl, you realize. Several officers were injured while attempting to quell the fray."

Madi blinked in shock, trying desperately to recall any details of this. Her memory remained blank, however, and she again cursed herself for not wearing her amethyst. And then Taleb was suddenly hissing at her from the side of his mouth.

"At Oliveah's wish, I am yours to command. If you intend to resist, rest assured I'll have no trouble overcoming these three."

She stared at him dumbly for several moments before finding her tongue. "Of course I don't intend to resist!" she finally issued incredulously.

"You'd do well to sheath your blade, slave," one of the officers barked then to Taleb.

Rather than comply, he looked again to Madi, waiting for her nod before sliding the steel home.

"Come with us now, Lady Savannon. You're off to the jail until someone pays your charge."

Madi's eyes widened even more. Jail? Me? She swallowed over the sudden knot in her throat.

"Shall I fetch Oliveah?" Taleb now asked her quickly.

"No!" she came back, deciding she couldn't allow this to ruin her friend's long-awaited reunion with her siblings. Although, she supposed it was possible Oliveah and Reavis were also being sought by the law. Since she couldn't remember a single detail regarding her own involvement, she couldn't be at all certain over the extent of theirs.

"I need you to go to The Seeing Eye. It's a shop on Nestleburn," she instructed. "There you will find my cousin Mika. He'll come and pay my fine." He would also likely be furious—indeed, the entire family would not be impressed.

"The Seeing Eye on Nestleburn," Taleb repeated with a nod.

"Please hurry," she added, then watched as he spun and sprinted off. Turning her attention back to the Justice officers, she saw they were waiting for her. Gulping, she stepped over to them, saying nothing as a hand was clamped onto each of her shoulders, propelling her forward.

The walk to the jail took all too brief a time. She estimated that even if Taleb didn't get lost on these streets unfamiliar to him, it would probably be at least an hour before he returned with Mika. Needless to say Madi had never before been in jail, only able to recall the tales she'd heard of the experience, mostly from Reavis, so she was bordering on terrified when her escorts marched her into the building.

"Not to worry, Lady Savannon, for you'll have plenty of company to pass the time," one of the officers sneered as he paused before a cell and inserted a large brass key into its lock. "After all, half these cells are filled with those who participated in the riot you yourself began last night."

Madi stared at him, horrified. He'd clearly spoken this loud enough to be heard by everyone in the cell he was now roughly shoving her into, as well as those surrounding, and she heard the door slam shut behind her while spinning to keep her footing. Halting, she then raised her eyes and cautiously looked about.

There were six others in her cell, five of them men. The lone female was on the floor sleeping, or more likely lost to a drunken slumber as she appeared covered in her own sick. Of the five men, Madi noted nervously, all were staring at her quite fixedly.

The nearest, leaning against the bars adjoining this cell to the next, was very tall, very muscular, and showing features clearly not Dhan'Marian. Jennite, she quickly deduced.

This man seemed to be appraising her slowly, his dark eyes lingering on her Destiny Birth medallion before rising to meet her stare. She was fervently hoping her fear was well hidden, but since she'd never been very adept at concealing her emotions, knew it was far more likely to be written all over her face.

"So you're the one who started all this," the Jennite said to her. "Not one of the better street brawls I've seen, but mildly entertaining even so. Were you aware that half a block burned in the west end?"

Madi's eyes widened, and he smirked at her reaction.

"I would be curious to know what began it all," he went on, sounding amused.

Still cautious, she replied. "I wish I could tell you. I'm afraid I remember nothing." Then, slowly, "Is that why you're in here? The brawl?"

He shifted slightly and shrugged. "I suppose one could say that. As well as that I have a certain talent for finding trouble."

His slight movement had given her a better view of him, and her look closed in upon his throat. His Secondary was hidden, as was her own, but she could now make out his Birth medallion with little difficulty. This man had been born to Chaos.

"I can see how that might be true," she returned pointedly.

He grinned slightly in response.

"In any case, I'm sorry my actions led to you being here," she went on. Despite his candor, this man had a definite sense of danger about him, although whether it was a sort of danger she needed to personally beware remained unclear. However, given the fact she was currently locked in a cell with him, she thought it best not to take any chances.

He shrugged again at her words. "This certainly won't prove my first week in jail, and is unlikely to be my last."

"A week?" she repeated, aghast. "Over some silly fighting? This is the week of Ardin's Pride, these things happen!"

"Well, I also resisted arrest and injured a number of the officers attempting to detain me."

Madi looked at him in silence for a long moment, casting about for something appropriate to say to that. Then she remembered her own infractions.

"They list one of my charges as assault upon an officer as well. I really can't imagine what I might have done," she then added, almost to herself. The Jennite made no reply, continuing to stare at her, and she went on. "But there's no need for you to serve a full week, so long as someone will pay your fines," she told him. Certainly he should know this—by his own admission, this wasn't the first time he'd been incarcerated. But perhaps those instances had occurred in other countries, where the laws differed from those in Dhanen'Mar.

But the Jennite didn't appear to think much of her comment. "I'll serve my week," he said. "It is only fifteen days."

Madi glanced around, presently unable to think of anything more horrible than spending an entire week in this cell. She'd only been here a few minutes and already felt in dire need of a bath.

A sudden commotion then erupted in the outer chamber beyond the cells, near to the doors leading into the building. Madi turned, hearing the shouted voices of the Justice officers but unable to see much beyond the archway separating the two rooms. She didn't realize the carelessness of her action until she felt the hands seize her from behind. In that moment, when instant panic gripped her, she understood just how foolish it had been to turn her back on those in her cell.

Her vision was a blur of motion as the hands pulled her back, groping at her as they did so. Then she was free, and falling, and striking the floor with a force destined to leave bruises. Scrambling, she managed to get her feet under her and shoot upward, just as a loud, repetitive banging began sounding out. She furiously pushed her disheveled hair from her face, frantically scanning the scene.

The Jennite had a hand around the neck of one of the other men sharing their cell, and was rhythmically slamming his face into the bars. He appeared unperturbed as he did this, despite the grunting sounds of pain coming from his victim as his nose shattered and began gushing blood.

"Are you all right?" he asked, watching her as he continued slamming the other man's face into the bars.

She found herself unable to speak, instead just giving him a jerky nod.

After a few more slams, the Jennite dropped the man's unconscious body to the floor, sparing him not so much as a glance as he fell.

Madi, still trying to find her tongue so she could thank him, abruptly felt her attention dragged back to the commotion that now seemed louder than ever. Dazedly, she turned her head, craning it over her shoulder while carefully keeping her back to the bars of the cell. She then realized what had caught her ear; one of the Justice officers was rushing toward her cell, keys in hand, while calling her name.

"Lady Savannon, ten thousand apologies for your inconvenience!" he was exclaiming, spearing the key into the lock.

"What?" she managed, as another officer, one of the three that had arrested her, rushed in and began trying to wrest the key from his comrade.

"She assaulted me and caused all manner of uproar!" he yelled, red-faced and furious. "She'll remain here until her fines are paid!"

"Are you mad?" the one intent on liberating her roared back, spinning about. "You think to throw a Savannon diviner in jail and not face the wrath of her family? Have you any idea their donations to our cause? The Legion would all but cripple without their support!"

"I don't care!" the other raged in reply. "She should be held accountable, the same as anyone else! It's not as though her family won't have her sprung within the hour anyway!"

"Don't be a fool! Risking their retribution is sheer madness! And to throw her in with this lot—why, we're beyond lucky she's still clothed and on her feet!"

Madi had stepped back and turned, forgetting the danger in the cell behind her as she looked back and forth between the arguing officers. Her emotions, building all day under numerous bizarre incidents, finally came to a head—mindless of all other circumstances, the words regarding her family had brought forth her fury.

"ENOUGH!" she screamed at the officers, even as her mind continued to thunder over the implications of their dialogue. If the charges against her were indeed sound—and she had no reason to believe they weren't—she had every reason to be locked in this cell, no differently than anyone else who'd committed such crimes. The possibility that she'd be released, her acts ignored simply because of her family name, enraged her.

"I'm not going anywhere," she went on to state clearly, her voice now low but still trembling in anger. "My cousin will be along shortly to pay my charges, but until then, don't even consider releasing me!"

Even the officer she'd assaulted was now staring at her, dumbstruck. After a moment he turned to exchange a glance with the other, and then they simply turned away, stepping back through the archway and disappearing into the outer room without a word.

Madi spun furiously to again face the interior of her cell. "Can you believe this?" she demanded, pacing forward several steps. Of course, she'd been aware of such things happening; in fact, she'd heard many a tale significantly worse during some of her readings. But to have now been confronted with the circumstance personally, the matter was taking on a whole new reality, and one she didn't care for in the slightest. Unfortunately, she suspected the majority of her family weren't going to agree with her view.

Her pacing had now taken her very near the Jennite, and she noted him regarding her strangely.

"You are a very peculiar woman," he said when she met his look.

Sighing, she drew to a stop before him, already feeling her anger draining away; she rarely lost her temper, and when she did it never lasted long. "Well, I'm having a most peculiar day," she told him, "which rarely bodes well for those of my kind."

"Yes—a diviner," he said, clearly repeating what he'd overheard from the arguing officers. "You know," he then added in a mildly amused tone, "in my country you'd be named a witch."

Madi gave him a flat look. "Yes, I'm well aware of the opinions held by Jennites regarding the matters of destiny and divinity. But since we're presently in Dhanen'Mar, I'd appreciate you showing some sensitivity and keeping this attitude to yourself."

His eyebrows rose at this, but he also seemed to be fighting off a grin. "In the interest of not adding to what has obviously been a trying day, I'll do what I can," he replied.

Madi bit down on her lower lip, reminding herself that she'd be wise to keep a tighter rein on her tongue. The Jennite might have saved her from one of their cellmates, but that wasn't reason to completely drop her guard with him; he could have any number of motivations for doing what he had. She retreated a few steps, nearly tripping over her unconscious assaulter, and then sent him a cautious glance.

"So," he said, still watching her, "tell me more about this peculiar day you've had."
Chapter 7

Needless to say, Taleb hadn't been anticipating the arrest of the woman he'd been charged to escort, thinking the task but a simple errand. Now sprinting off into the surrounding crush of bodies, and leaving Madi in the hands of the officers who would take her to the local jail, he found himself wondering if Oliveah had known anything of this before dispatching him. If so, it would've been unlike her to say nothing of it, but he couldn't entirely rule out the possibility. It was feasible she'd sent him off unaware simply to see how he dealt with the matter.

Grinning faintly at the thought, he pushed on southward but soon had to pause and ask for directions to Nestleburn Street. The populace appeared friendly but intoxicated. After his third inquiry, he felt he was able to piece together a promising route across the city and continued on with renewed determination. He thought it imperative Madi not be left in jail a moment longer than necessary, for although he'd never been incarcerated himself, he could well imagine what sort of environment awaited her there. And he had no intention of delivering Oliveah's friend to her in anything but pristine condition.

Due to the increasing number of revelers, it was nearly Thirteenth by the time he rounded onto Nestleburn and spotted The Seeing Eye halfway down the block. Aware of Madi's vocation, he wasn't surprised to smell the thick scent of incense and see the various cures and good-luck charms displayed all about the interior of the shop once he stepped inside. Looking about, he spied two middle-aged women perusing a rack of liquid-filled vials, and a young man of about his own age behind the counter in the back corner making figures in a book.

"You are Mika?" Taleb called, striding down the aisle toward him.

Lifting his head, his resemblance to Madi was obvious, both sharing the same ebony-colored hair and sharp cheekbones. For a moment he didn't reply, his eyes dropping to take in Taleb's sword, before next fixing on the arm band marking him a slave. Taleb was literally counting the days until he could tear that strip of cloth from his arm and declare himself a free man.

"I am," the black-haired man then said, now looking unconcerned.

Taleb stopped before the counter. "Your cousin Madi has been arrested and taken to the jail. She needs you to go pay her fines."

Mika stared at him. "Is this some attempt at trickery? Who are you, and to which family do you belong?" he demanded.

"My name is Taleb Okin and I belong to the Oslunds. Oliveah sent me."

Mika paused and frowned, but evidently these words were proof enough to clear his doubts. "What are the charges?" he finally asked.

"Assaulting an officer and inciting a riot."

Mika's face turned purple. "There must be some mistake."

"I'm afraid not. She went with them willingly."

"They actually arrested her? In public, no less?"

"They did."

Mika's eyes blazed. "How dare they! Did they not realize who she is? A Savannon?"

Taleb paused, thinking he should've expected this; belonging to the Oslunds this past decade, he'd remained shielded from this common snobbery often evidenced by the highborn.

"They made certain of her identity prior to her arrest," he finally replied blandly.

Furious, Mika slammed the book shut before him and withdrew a bulging, leather money pouch from beneath the counter. "I can't believe this," he muttered, affixing the pouch securely to his belt before covering it over with his billowy gray shirt.

Taleb wasn't certain if he was referring to Madi's actions or those of the arresting officers. Either way, he was anticipating an ugly scene once he and Mika arrived at the jail.

Mika made a move to step out from out behind the counter, but then spied the two middle-aged women continuing to browse about the shop. To Taleb's disbelief, he then preceded to wait for several minutes, doing nothing to hurry his customers along, until finally they came forth to make a few small purchases. Once they'd vanished out the door, the smile he'd affected slipped from his face, replaced by a fierce scowl.

"Let's get this over with, then. Thankfully I was soon to close anyway," he snapped.

Taleb said nothing, following the other man outside and waiting as he locked the door securely behind them. Mika then proceeded to storm his way through the streets at the quickest pace possible, his temper clearly growing along with his silence. As a slave, Taleb wasn't supposed to speak unless directly addressed, a rule he didn't much mind in the present circumstance, so he said nothing as they wove their way through the crowds.

Tyrell's jail, Taleb learned, was located near the heart of the city, a large, square building constructed of light gray stone. Several Justice officers loitered outside its front doors, nearly becoming causalities of Mika's wrath as he shoved his way through them without a word. Taleb followed through the doors with somewhat more care, remaining on the other man's heels.

"How dare you arrest my cousin!" Mika bellowed, thrashing his way toward the long, polished wooden counter sitting in the antechamber.

The Justice officer sitting behind it raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. "Who are you here for?" he asked in a bored voice, picking up a piece of parchment from the top of the desk.

"Madilaine Savannon," Mika said clearly. "Savannon," he repeated pointedly.

"Yes, I heard you the first time," the officer said, scanning the list of names on the parchment in his hand. Apparently finding Madi's listed there, he looked up toward the archway leading back to the cells and called, "Madilaine Savannon!" to the officer standing there. The man nodded, turned away and disappeared beneath the arch.

"I hope you realize the depth of trouble you've stirred up by daring to arrest one of my clan," Mika was now going on, his face again growing flushed.

The officer looked to him with exasperation. "Lord Savannon, I collect payments and scratch names off a list. If you have a complaint or wish to contest an arrest, you'll have to do so through the proper channels. Yelling at me isn't going to do you a lick of good, I promise you; and if you insist on keeping at it, you may have more than one complaint to make over our conduct."

Standing behind Mika, Taleb fought off a grin. His attention was then drawn to the archway, where Madi was emerging looking more or less as he'd left her. He breathed a sigh of relief as she gave him a nod, which he took as thanks for acting as quickly as he had.

"Sign here, miss," the officer behind the desk now said to Madi, pushing his parchment toward her.

"She is a Lady, and you will address her as such," Mika then spat.

"Very well, sign here, Lady Savannon. As for you," he went on, looking back to Mika, "her fines amount to ten gold."

Taleb winced quickly in anticipation even as Mika howled in disbelief.

"Ten gold?" he repeated savagely, pounding his fist down onto the desk. "Are you mad?"

"Ten gold or she's headed back to her cell," the officer replied, unruffled.

"Hold your tongue and pay him," Madi broke in commandingly, just as Mika appeared ready to completely explode. She bent and scrawled her name where the officer indicated.

"This is outrageous!" Mika exclaimed.

Madi threw down the quill and turned to spear her cousin with an icy gaze. "I'm not in the mood to argue over this, and rest assured I'll make it right with you. Also," she went on, turning back to the officer, "we'll be taking care of the Jennite's fines as well. Rydin Kale was the name he gave me."

The officer snorted. "Kale, huh? As you please, then."

Mika's outrage had now come full circle, back to disbelief. "Have you completely taken leave of your senses?" he yelled at her. "Is it not enough for your own actions to humiliate the family, you must further add those of a scoundrel?"

"That scoundrel saved me from what could've been a horrific experience," she snapped back at him. "I think this would be an adequate way of showing our appreciation."

Mika was quiet only a moment before hissing, "Don't be so naïve, cousin! No doubt this man took one look at you, knew you as highborn, and devised a quick scheme to earn your favor! You're playing directly into his hands!"

"Just pay the fines!" Madi threw back furiously.

"For the two, that'll be twenty-five gold," the officer said, shuffling more papers.

"You little fool," Mika issued under his breath, reaching to free his money pouch. "Uncle Eward will be hearing of this."

"Do as you must," Madi snapped in reply.

Watching them, Taleb believed Mika actually had the right of it in this matter. Taking a few steps forward, he looked past the archway and found a limited view of a few of the cells beyond. The Jennite wasn't difficult to spot; not only was his the only foreign face to be seen, but he was standing against the bars of his cell, looking this way. Taleb moved into his line of sight, waited until their eyes met, and then sent him a challenging look.

The Jennite smirked.

Expressionless, Taleb then let his hand drop down to his sword. He didn't think this man would desire any further business with Madi now he'd gotten what he'd been after, but Taleb wanted to make it clear that he would have a fight on his hands if he tried.

The Jennite's reply to this was a brief laugh followed by a slight inclination of his head.

Taleb turned his back and stalked away, seeing Mika now literally dragging his cousin from the building. Hurrying to catch up, Taleb caught enough of their words to know they were now arguing because she'd wanted to stay and bid farewell to the Jennite.

"I'm afraid I must agree with your cousin," Taleb said, moving up next to them once outside. "It would be best to side with caution in this matter."

Madi turned to him with a frown, then roughly pulled her arm free of Mika's grasp. "He protected me! What's wrong with the two of you?" she demanded.

Taleb looked at her but didn't respond.

Mika ignored her completely and faced Taleb. "I trust you'll see her to wherever it is she wants to go? I've already wasted enough of my evening."

"That was my charge, yes," Taleb replied, keeping an eye on the door of the jail in case the Jennite suddenly appeared.

Mika stalked away without another word, more furious than ever.

"Do you still wish to attend Oliveah at Reif Manor, or would you prefer I escort you back to your inn?" Taleb asked, still looking about.

Madi appeared to consider the question quite seriously. Finally she gave a resigned sigh, saying, "I may as well discover what the remainder of the day has in store. Take me to Oliveah."

Taleb was surprised, but pleased to have the opportunity to conclude his errand. Setting off at a brisk pace through the crowd, he figured Oliveah was likely concerned over whatever was keeping them.

After a few minutes of silence, Madi began apologizing for his inconvenience and for having to bear witness to her and her cousin's argument. On the one hand, he was astounded a lady such as herself would do something so shocking as apologize to a slave, but on the other, she was Oliveah's closest friend, and Oliveah would not tolerate a snob. Whatever the case, he'd so far found much to like in Madilaine Savannon.

Quickly, he assured her that the unexpected events of the day had caused him no grief. She then gave him an odd look, akin to the one she'd cast him just moments into their meeting in front of The Yellow Orchid. Taleb wondered if her abilities as a diviner were showing her something, and if so, precisely what. Certainly his had not been an exciting life; but for his skill with a sword, his existence—so far, at least—was rather dull. Perhaps she was glimpsing his future, although if so, to judge by her expression it wasn't to be a favorable one.

Madi was silent for the remainder of the walk to Reif Manor, and Taleb followed her lead by keeping to his own thoughts. He also kept a cautious eye out for the Jennite, but saw no sign of him.

A servant greeted them at the door and escorted them into the dining hall, where the meal was already well underway. Oliveah's look of relief when they entered, first taking in Madi before moving to Taleb, told him much. Not enough for any conclusions to be drawn, unfortunately, but enough to maintain a level of optimism. But those answers would be coming soon enough; the end of the summer season would at last see his and Nathon's decade-long term of service complete, and then many things would change.

Madi headed straight for the seat left vacant for her next to Oliveah and Reavis. Oliveah's siblings, sixteen year old Navalee and thirteen year old Deakin, sat across from them. Reifs filled the remainder of the table, as well as the one placed next to it.

As a slave, Taleb would typically be given his meal in the kitchens, but at Oliveah's request he and Nathon had been squeezed in at the end of the table. Lord Guerin had no doubt obliged without surprise or comment, already well aware of the unique and warm treatment the Oslunds provided their slaves. Indeed, Lord Reif was well-acquainted with both Taleb and Nathon, as he journeyed to the Oslund vineyard several times a year to share company with Oliveah's father.

Taleb dropped into the seat across from Nathon and met the other man's look.

"Trouble?" Nathon asked.

Taleb shook his head. "Just a minor delay." Given they were surrounded by Reifs, he thought it best not to blurt out the fact of Madi's arrest. Although, a glance down the table then revealed the diviner gesturing emphatically as she spoke to Oliveah, apparently recounting the entire affair with complete abandon. But the Reifs were not a clan to judge or condemn; with so many of them born to Death, they typically had more pressing concerns than idle gossip.

Nathon simply nodded in reply, no doubt understanding Taleb's intentions perfectly. The two had so much in common it almost bordered on eerie. Their paths, so similar in both timing and circumstance, had resulted in the only possible conclusion; although not brothers by blood, they regarded each other as such in spirit, and it wasn't difficult to understand why.

Both had been born twenty-four years ago, upon a day of War during winter, only two scant weeks apart. Both had been raised in small villages in northern Dhanen'Mar, and lost their parents before the age of twelve; Taleb's to fever, and Nathon's to Jennite raiders. Orphaned, each had come to the idea of traveling to Lutarre Keep, home of the warlords, for it was widely known that acceptance of any wearing a War medallion would be found there. Neither made it so far, however, instead being caught on the roads by Justice and taken to the slave markets. It was there Lord Ean Oslund had found and taken them into his custody, bringing both boys back to his family's prosperous vineyard. Not long after their arrival, the current master-at-arms had discovered their talents for the sword. Both were put on security detail before the end of their first year of service, eventually taking over the master-at-arms' duties at the time of their predecessor's retirement. But it was here their differences finally began to emerge.

Upon reaching their fifteenth birthing-days, Lord Oslund had granted both young men brief leave to go pledge their Choice Patrons. Nathon had returned wearing a Secondary of Harvest, whereas Taleb had selected Destiny. Until recently, these choices had made little impact, but their importance was soon to see fruition.

Nathon was happy with his life at the Oslund vineyard, harboring the utmost loyalty for its lord and his family. With the end of his service looming, he'd recently gone to Lord Oslund, requesting to stay on in an official capacity. Lord Oslund had been more than happy to agree, offering Nathon a wage far more generous than was customary.

Taleb also had much love and respect for Ean Oslund, but didn't intend to spend the rest of his life guarding a vineyard. Although he hoped to always be welcome there, he felt it was now time to move on and finally see out the aim he'd begun more than a decade ago; at the end of summer, it was his plan to again take up the journey that would lead him south to the keep of the warlords. What was to happen once he arrived he didn't know, but the uncertainty itself was proving much of the draw. Not surprising, as he'd had so very little uncertainty in his life these past ten years.

But he did realize what this decision might cost him.

Although never openly discussed with her, both his and Nathon's feelings for Oliveah were well-known. Just as evident were those she held for each of them. Lord Oslund, knowing his daughter well, had anticipated her making her choice once their slave service was over, and already spoken his blessing to both men, claiming he would be happy to welcome either into his family.

So far as Taleb could determine, he and Nathon stood on relatively even ground. In addition to everything else they had in common, their appearances were quite similar as well; both stood six paces tall and were dark-haired, although where Taleb's eyes were green, Nathon's were blue. Their mouths and noses were nothing alike, but from behind they were often confused for one another, their physiques so similar. As far as their personalities went, Nathon was without question the more practical, Taleb the more adventurous. It would likely come down to which was more capable of offering Oliveah what she presently wanted.

At twenty-three, it was possible she wished to continue with her troupe for a few more years and enjoy her growing renown. If so, this would give Taleb the opportunity to travel to the warlord's keep and discover whatever Destiny had in store for him there, something he didn't understand but had always felt compelled to do. Furthermore, he was sure Oliveah would understand this compulsion, as she too had chosen Destiny as her Secondary.

However, if she'd by now grown weary of her nomadic existence, or if she desired children in her immediate future, Nathon was by far the better choice. Officially taking up the post of master-at-arms at the Oslund vineyard, a position he was sure to carry on once Deakin inherited the estate, marrying Nathon would allow her to return home and begin a family.

Taleb felt he knew Oliveah very well, but beyond the letters they exchanged regularly while she was on the road with her troupe, he hadn't been in her actual presence since the summer before, now an entire year. And because of that, he had very little idea where her desires presently lay. At the conclusion of Ardin's Pride, now only half a week distant, she'd be returning home, and it only seemed sensible she would use this time to make whatever determinations were necessary to decide her future.

He and Nathon had already discussed the matter exhaustively and vowed that her choice, whatever the result, would not be allowed to corrupt their friendship. Taleb only hoped this was a vow they'd both be capable of honoring.

She'll probably turn us both down and take up with Reavis, he thought now, glancing down the table to where Oliveah's singing partner was regaling many of the Reifs with what must've been an engaging and humorous tale, given their expressions. Looking back, he exchanged an amused glance with Nathon as they no doubt shared the same thought. Truthfully, neither saw any reason whatsoever to be jealous of the singer, despite all the time Oliveah shared with him.

Taleb took a few bites of his roast duck, finding it delicious, when he then noted one of the Reifs staring at him from a few seats down and across the table. The man was younger than he, perhaps twenty or twenty-one years, with a smallish build, yellow hair and dark eyes. Uncertain of what he'd done to gain this scrutiny, Taleb stared back, but then finally turned away after a long, unnerving moment. Peripherally, he could see the other man's look remain fixed.

"Who's that?" he hissed in a low tone to Nathon, making a subtle gesture.

Nathon glanced over, then looked back with a dark grin. "His name is Sabian," he replied quietly. "He's said to be cursed with the sights and sounds of the dead."

Taleb's eyebrows flickered briefly. No doubt this Sabian was one of the Reifs born to Death, as this was an ability unlikely to be granted by any other Patron.

"I don't envy him," he said, now more curious than ever to know why he'd gained this man's interest. Was Sabian perhaps seeing his parents, dead now thirteen years? Or hearing them? The possibility left Taleb feeling uncomfortable.

Turning back to his meal, he decided not to dwell on the matter, intending to avoid any further acknowledgment of Sabian Reif for the remainder of the evening. Only once more did he look in the man's direction, when Sabian had a short—and to judge by her expression, confusing—exchange with Madilaine Savannon.

Whatever a diviner and a seer of ghosts could possibly have to discuss Taleb couldn't speculate. Particularly as they'd both turned to consider him while doing so.
Chapter 8

Knoxx Alvik sauntered into The Giggling Hyena, one of the city's more disreputable taverns, and scanned the crowd. Spotting Flynn on a stool at the bar, he made his way over and dropped down next to him.

"You're late," Flynn greeted, glancing over. He pushed one of the huge ale-filled tankards before him toward the mage.

Knoxx took hold of the handle and gulped generously. "It's been a rather strange day," he replied.

"Seventh-days in Dhanen'Mar usually are. What happened to your face?"

The mage gingerly raised a hand to his bruised cheek. "I got caught up in a street brawl last night."

"I heard talk of that. You weren't the cause of it, were you?"

"No. Although Tishan and I helped it along by setting a couple buildings on fire."

Flynn's black eyebrows rose.

"The Justice officers were closing in and we needed a distraction," Knoxx explained. "We didn't want to risk getting thrown in jail." Typically, anyone incarcerated for crimes other than murder or rape would be set free once someone paid their fines. However, due to the less-then-favorable opinion Justice officers held for those of their profession, it wasn't uncommon for missing paperwork—or even missing prisoners—to delay the release of anyone wearing a Thieves medallion. Knoxx hadn't wanted to risk this happening with the Tulan ball only half a week away; both he and Tishan were imperative to the scheme, and having them sitting in jail would've mucked up the entire plan.

Flynn was now nodding, understanding their motives for the drastic course of action. "Probably a good idea. I heard scores were arrested in that brawl. Anyhow, what information have you brought me?"

Irritated, Knoxx shook his head. "A lot less than I'd planned. I can confirm two mages will be present at the ball, but I've been unable to identify them specifically." He lowered his tone and continued. "I bribed one of the Tulan slaves to send word of their names, as well as provide the number of officers to be present, but apparently there was something of a mix-up."

"Mix-up? How so?" Flynn frowned.

Knoxx sighed and pulled a small, squashed scroll from his sleeve. "All I can figure is the urchin confused his assignments, and by the time I noticed, he'd already vanished. I spent all afternoon and half the night trying to track him down, but to no avail. This is an ill omen, Flynn."

Flynn scoffed and snatched the scroll from the other man's hand. Unfurling it quickly, his eyes scanned the lines of neat, precise penmanship.

The mage watched him. "While it states the names of two women, I presume you understand my dilemma in tracking either down and asking for an exchange." There was little doubt the recipient of his message, one simply called "Madi", had read it. Now, it was possible the Tulan slave had adhered to his warning and written it in a way only Knoxx would understand, but it was just as possible he hadn't. Approaching this Madi person and requesting an exchange of scrolls would therefore be risky.

Flynn didn't appear concerned, however, and was now tearing the scroll into pieces. "This isn't anything to worry about," he declared. "Clearly this Madi person, whoever she is, has no love for Justice officers, so it's unlikely she'll approach any to report a mysterious message that may or may not implicate a crime."

The mage was relieved by the assessment, but the situation still left them in a lurch.

"I have no way of contacting that slave again," he said. "It was the greatest of luck that I chanced upon him in the first place." This had happened three days ago. The man had been acting as pack-mule to his owner, a woman Knoxx overheard to be one Lady Risane Tulan, who'd been enjoying a day of shopping. Following them, he'd observed the barely-concealed discontent—or perhaps downright hatred—the slave had for the woman, so while Risane was preoccupied with looking at jewelry, Knoxx had sidled up and made him a rather generous offer. The young man practically leapt at the chance to betray the Tulans, and probably would've done it for nothing. At the time, Knoxx hadn't been able to believe his good fortune.

"It's this full-moons business occurring on a Seventh-Day," he muttered now, into his ale.

Flynn's eyes rolled and he shook his head. "How fares Tishan?" he asked.

Knoxx began nodding. "As enchanting and beguiling as ever, at least so far as Myron Tulan is concerned. Rumor has it he's already seeking an engagement ring."

"Then it shouldn't be difficult for her to gain access to the Tulan ranch prior to the ball. Instruct her to get onto the property within the next couple of days and find the slave. He can then relay firsthand whatever information was in your message."

"Or I can slip onto the ranch and seek out the slave myself." While invisible, he meant, but didn't need to say.

"No," Flynn returned. "You'd have to reappear to speak to him, or otherwise risk scaring him silly, and we can't gamble on you being seen. Tishan will have a valid reason for being there, and if she happens to be observed speaking to the slave, she's quick enough to make up a reasonable excuse."

"Very well," Knoxx agreed sourly. While generally preferring to clean up his own messes, this wouldn't be the first time Tishan pulled his ass out of the fire, nor was it likely to be the last.

"When do you next see her?" Flynn went on.

"In the morning." As an added precaution, and in hopes of keeping the Justice officers as confused as possible, the three of them had all taken up at different inns in different parts of the city for the duration of the festival.

"Good," Flynn nodded. "Fill her in, and have her report back to me as soon as possible. In person."

Knoxx hid a wince in his tankard, drinking deeply. "So where do we stand on the rest of things?" he asked a moment later, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

"Good. The Thieves from Sekasortia aim to begin a city-wide riot to distract the Justice officers here in Tyrell, an act that shouldn't appear too suspicious in light of what occurred just last night. No doubt it will simply be seen as the result of more rowdy revelers, and by the time anyone realizes differently, we'll be long gone. I've given all other Thieves free rein to loot the city to further add to the mayhem. If all goes well, the entirety of Tyrell will be utter chaos for most of the night, leaving very little chance of reinforcements being deployed to the Tulan ranch or pursuing us back to Corbit's Canyon."

The mage grinned, imagining the scene. A scheme such as this was Flynn's specialty, and there remained little question he'd be recorded as one of the best Thieves' commanders in all of history.

"And the road?" Knoxx asked next.

Flynn began nodding. "The Thieves from Beavihm and I have worked that out as well. We don't anticipate any problems we won't be ready for."

Knoxx began to feel the familiar stirrings of giddy anticipation that preceded all such large-scale heists. It was a feeling he craved, loved, lived for. Only his Magic provided him a similar rush, and he therefore considered his life perfect for allowing him a profession that indulged both. Not for a moment had he ever regretted choosing Thieves as his Secondary, no matter the exile it had cost him. Knoxx loved his life exactly as it was.

"Sounds as though we have everything in place," he said now.

"Almost," Flynn agreed. "Once Tishan learns how many Justice officers have been commissioned for the ball, we can see to the final few details. And once she reports which mages will be present you can decide how to handle them, should matters come to that."

Knoxx nodded wordlessly. The mages were his responsibility, and depending on who they were and what powers they carried—although he could make a fairly good guess regarding the latter—he might have to find creative ways to incapacitate them. Many Thieves didn't think twice about murder, so long as they gained their prize, but Flynn didn't run that sort of crew. While murder occasionally resulted in matters of self-defense, Flynn tended to punish needless killings with death, a sentence he usually carried out himself and with little mercy.

With their present business now concluded, Flynn drained his tankard, got to his feet, and left the tavern.

Having no pressing matters to attend to elsewhere, Knoxx continued drinking his ale while glancing about. Several men were rolling bones at a corner table, growing louder with each toss. Others were engaged in an arm-wrestling tournament in the center of the room, and given the establishment's reputation the mage predicted a fight was likely to break out at any moment. Unconcerned, he turned back to his beverage contentedly.

Minutes later a man slipped noiselessly onto the stool Flynn had vacated. Knoxx glanced over reflexively, and then spit a mouthful of ale all over the countertop of the bar.

"Subtle, brother. Obviously, a low profile isn't part of your current agenda."

Knoxx grabbed a napkin and began mopping up his mess before the barkeep, a huge man who was now staring at him, decided to club him over the head.

"By the deepest Chasms of Fire, what are you doing here, Dev?" he said, still working to overcome his shock.

"I saw you on the street and followed you in. I thought it best to let you conclude your business with the Cejan before approaching."

Knoxx sighed impatiently. "I meant, what are you doing in Tyrell?"

Devlin Alvik grinned. Four years older than Knoxx, he shared the same yellow hair and blue eyes as his brother, and was just as lean, standing only a couple of inches shorter. Their features were somewhat similar, but the two would only be connected as brothers if standing next to each other—a rare occurrence, and one that hadn't happened in almost a year.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Devlin now replied. His smile remained while he said this, but no longer did it reach his eyes. Knoxx was instantly intrigued.

"Official business?" he ventured, signaling for more ale.

His brother displayed a brief flash of amusement. "Most definitely not official business."

The mage accepted his fresh tankard and sipped at the liquid within, pondering.

"I suppose I've no need to ask what brought you to Ardin's Pride," Devlin said then, reaching for his own tankard.

"Oh, we have a special surprise in store for all this year," Knoxx replied, grinning wickedly. "That said, will you still be around at the end of the week? If so, I should probably offer a warning."

"Regretfully, no," Devlin answered. "I've already pushed my absence too far, and need to start back to Aralexia. I planned on setting out tomorrow."

Knoxx was disappointed, but glad his brother wouldn't be a first-hand witness to the carnage the Thieves were set to unleash on the final day of the festival. He then proceeded to tell Devlin the full extent of what they were planning.

"Best you not be caught for this, little brother," Devlin laughed after hearing it all. "For it's questionable whether even my pleas for leniency would carry enough weight."

Knoxx shrugged, unconcerned. "Worst case scenario, we make off with nothing. But Flynn's plans never fail, so I don't expect it of this one."

"I almost wish I was staying. Although, while I'd have no trouble garnering an invitation to the ball, I'd then have to reveal myself for who I am, which isn't something I can risk."

Knoxx eyed his brother appraisingly. He would make one more attempt, and if Devlin still refused to answer, he'd let it drop. But he didn't like the sound of what he was hearing.

"Why would it be a risk?" he asked blandly. His brother's manner of dress had made it obvious he didn't want to be recognized, but there could be a thousand reasons for this.

There was a very long pause as Devlin seemed to collect his thoughts. Finally, he said, "It's best you know nothing of this. I shouldn't even be speaking to you now, for if this plays out wrong anyone even seen in my presence here will be in danger."

Knoxx's eyes narrowed worriedly. "What have you gotten yourself into? And how deeply?" His brother was sly, devious, and far too clever to let most even suspect his full capabilities. His role in Aralexia was a dance, and one which demanded he perform it without the slightest misstep. But intrigue was Devlin's game. Whatever cause had brought him to Tyrell, it sounded as though he was now swimming in waters much deeper than those he was accustomed to.

Devlin now looked indecisive over whether to say anything more. "I'm not in so far I couldn't yet turn back, but a diviner has laid clear my path," he finally revealed. "More specifically, a Savannon diviner."

Knoxx suddenly understood why his brother was in Tyrell. Although there were many Savannon diviners scattered about the realm, only here, and this very week, could he have found the opportunity to approach one with anonymity. The mage felt a chill go through him as he realized the lengths his brother had taken to keep his actions secret—and the likeliest reason why. The details were no longer important.

"I can't argue against the advice of a diviner," he said, taking his brother in with utter seriousness. "So I ask you—how can I help?"

Devlin exhaled heavily and turned his eyes away. He sat this way for several minutes, his expression lost to his own thoughts, and when at last he spoke his words were halting.

"Perhaps there is something. I can't see to it myself, for I dare not risk being away from Aralexia any longer."

"That leaves no problem," Knoxx returned instantly. "Tell me what you need done."

Devlin turned to him sharply, his look intense. "This cannot be taken lightly. Discovery would without question lead to our deaths, as well as the deaths of others. And I can reveal to you no details, at least not at this time."

"I understand." And he did, to an extent. Although it was he adorned in the medallions of Magic and Thieves, it was Devlin, with his Arts and Justice, who led the life under constant threat. No matter the true cause behind this, the mage didn't for a moment doubt the danger his brother warned of.

"Very well, then," Devlin said, nodding. "I need information on two men. I'm interested in their pasts as well as their present, and the more you can tell me of them the better. I want it all—appearances, personalities, Choice medallions. No detail is too small."

Knoxx shifted slightly on his stool. This wasn't the sort of task he'd been expecting. "I trust you have two particular men in mind?" he said.

Devlin ignored the quip. "I have only first names," he went on, now speaking very quietly, "which are Taleb and Nathon. They both wear War Birth medallions and act as slaves to Lord Ean Oslund."

Knoxx was now more confused than ever, unable to figure why his brother would be this interested in a couple of slaves—and why this interest was so very dangerous. But he also knew better than to question any further, and simply nodded.

"They're presently ignorant of any curiosity toward them, and must remain so," Devlin went on, stressing the importance of this with a firm tone.

"I'll have to find a way to infiltrate the Oslund vineyard," Knoxx mused quietly. He was well aware of the estate, being a lover of the fine wine the Oslunds brewed and sold all around the world.

Devlin glanced over at his brother's Secondary. "It would likely be best to conceal that when you do."

The mage scowled but nodded. He wore his Thieves medallion proudly, but in some situations it was best kept hidden. No chance would the Oslunds—or any other highborn family—let a known thief onto their lands. Mages, on the other hand, were an entirely different matter.

"Does this information need to be gathered in a timely fashion?" he then inquired.

Devlin pondered briefly. "It's not entirely urgent, but I fear too long a delay now this path has begun revealing itself. Also is the question of how you'll deliver the information once you have it—for I would trust neither messengers nor birds with this." He paused. "I presume your guild intends to appear in Aralexia for the King's Challenge, as usual?"

Knoxx nodded. "We never miss it." The games of the King's Challenge were the biggest gambling event of the year, and generally the only opportunity the brothers had to see each other.

"All right," Devlin said, "it looks as though the information will have to hold until then. You bringing it to me personally will be the only safe way."

Knoxx liked the plan. It also gave him almost five weeks to gather the intelligence his brother was requesting—plenty of time to figure out his strategies and execute them.

"You can tell no one of your actions, Knoxx," Devlin went on. "Lest you endanger them."

Knoxx didn't think taking some time from the guild and leaving Corbit's Canyon was going to be a problem unless Flynn needed him for a job, but even if so, he now had five weeks to play with and would simply work around it. He foresaw no trouble getting to the Oslund vineyard, although he'd have to think carefully about how to handle matters once he arrived. Two men adorned in War Birth medallions wasn't a situation to take lightly; if he wasn't careful in avoiding their suspicion, they'd probably kill him without thinking twice. The mage withheld a sigh.

Devlin was watching him. "Are you certain of this, brother?"

Knoxx looked back at him squarely. "I'm certain." He also had a thousand questions he was dying to ask, but kept them stifled. Not only would Devlin refuse to answer, but he presumed knowing the full truth of this matter would scare him silly.

The brothers finished their drinks and then left The Giggling Hyena, staggering their departure in case any curious eyes were watching.
Chapter 9

By Thirteenth-hour on the final day of Ardin's Pride, the Tulan ball was in full swing. The guests had the run of the estate's entire ground floor, although most were congregating in the ballroom, its tiles shining in flashes of gold and white across the expansive floor. A well-renowned musical troupe performed, encouraging many to dance, while others lingered by the food tables, sampling the succulent dishes as they gossiped and intrigued.

Tishan stood alone near the wide, double doors leading to the bricked patio. Soon, the mages would perform their fire-show out there above the lawns, but at present, only a few couples strolled the lamp-lit paths. But that was Knoxx's territory to watch over, leaving Tishan to oversee matters in the ballroom.

She withheld a sigh as Myron Tulan blew her a kiss from across the room, plastering on a smile as she waggled her fingers in reply. He wasn't really such a terrible man, she'd determined, but the snobbery he displayed over his noble status eased any guilt she might've felt over the situation. Thankfully, his role as host demanded that he spend much of his time mingling with his guests, but he did rush back to her side every chance he got, bringing her wine or cakes or sugared fruit. She'd be very glad once this night was over and she was free of him; rumor had it he was planning on presenting her with an engagement ring this very evening.

It had been but a simple thing to catch his eye. Flynn had worried her Thieves Birth medallion might cause him to keep his distance, but Knoxx had understood when she'd said it wouldn't prove a problem. This was because Knoxx was the only person alive who knew her Secondary was Magic, as well as how this choice had gifted her. It was unlawful, punishable by death even, not to display one's Birth medallion; Tishan therefore wore hers prominently this evening, resting at the base of her throat on its silver chain, although the information it revealed no longer boasted Thieves. To any eye that looked, it now claimed the Birth Patron of Love. Her Magic was only of an illusory nature, but it provided great aid to one born to Thieves.

She now turned her attention back to scanning the room. Most guests were the predictable highborn rabble, though there were a few oddities.

A young diviner sat at a table in the corner, conducting readings with her augury stones and fortune ball. She looked vaguely familiar, but Tishan couldn't place her. At another time, she might've been interested in pursuing her own reading, but that would have to wait for another opportunity.

A troupe of performers littered the far end of the ballroom, singing, dancing, and tumbling to the music they created. Tishan found them enjoyable, and overheard from other guests that they'd been the ones to open the festival this year. What made their appearance odd was they'd apparently brought their own security; two men stood by at the base of the stage, both wearing swords as well as turquoise arm bands marking them as slaves. Tishan supposed they could possibly belong to the Tulans, but she was certain they'd banned all their own slaves from the ball. Besides, the affair hardly required the extra security with twenty Justice officers roaming about.

The presence of the Justice officers was potentially problematic. Both she and Knoxx had faces well-known to Justice, and if either was recognized disaster would likely follow. Flynn had moved forward on the assumption that those patrolling the Tulan ball were low-ranking officers, delegated to this silly task which wasn't expected to see trouble, or to men too lazy to take real crime-fighting seriously. In either case, it was questionable whether any of them would be observant enough to spot a face they weren't expecting to see in such a setting. So far, Tishan had garnered many a lustful glance, but none of overt suspicion. She could only hope Knoxx was faring as well, although his own risk was low as he'd be remaining invisible for most if not all of the evening.

After a short while, an announcement instructed everyone to begin moving outside to the tables on the patio, as the mages were soon to perform their show. About to start for the doors, Tishan paused when she then felt a slight squeeze on her arm. This was Knoxx, relaying all was so far running smoothly, and that he'd now be making his way back outside to Flynn.

Tishan gave no acknowledgement whatsoever of his presence, and a moment later, knew he had gone. Resuming her path to the doors, she then felt a hand at her back and was unsurprised to note the presence of Myron.

She took him in with a smile. "Would your guests be amenable to relinquishing you for the fire-show?" she asked, slipping her arm through his. "I was so looking forward to us watching together." Mostly because she needed to keep a strict eye on his whereabouts—the next hour was going to be crucial, determining the ultimate success or failure of their venture.

Myron was practically tripping over his own feet while leading her to their seats at the head table. "Of course my dear, of course!" he enthused. "In fact, I've now gotten much of the requisite mingling out of the way, so with luck I'm yours for the remainder of the night." He smiled.

Perfect, she thought, settling herself gracefully into the chair he held out for her. Glancing about, she then deemed herself in prime position. Surrounded by Tulans, she'd know immediately if any manner of alarm was raised, and have the perfect opportunity to take advantage of their distraction. She idly plucked a deep purple cherry from the bowl before her and popped it into her mouth.

The mages were some distance away, out upon the lawns. By this time, she knew much of them, although if matters fell unfavorably they'd be Knoxx's problem to deal with; she had her own task to see to.

The first mage, Villian, was a heavy-set man of about forty years. His hair and beard were a shaggy brown, and his present mood appeared jovial. According to Knoxx he was a good-natured fellow, although his power tended to give one pause. Villian was a pyromancer.

The other mage was a woman who looked approximately Tishan's own age of twenty-one years. Her hair was so pale it appeared almost white in the moonlight, falling about her robes of shimmering silver. Her name was Synna, and her power, like Villian's, wasn't one to take lightly. She was a waterdancer, able to manipulate and control vast amounts of water, such as what resided in the small lake tucked into the south-eastern corner of the grounds.

According to Knoxx, the pairing of pyromancer and waterdancer was common when it came to performances such as fire-shows, but he'd been very surprised to learn the identities of these two. Evidently, this sort of task was far beneath the both of them, and he'd been left to wonder what they were doing in Tyrell in the first place. He'd found the entire matter extremely suspicious.

This suspicion had in turn given Flynn pause. The Tulans and Justice officers were one thing, but throwing in a couple powerful mages possibly harboring their own agenda seemed very risky. He'd finally decided to proceed only after Knoxx assured him that he could handle the pair if he must—although how Knoxx proposed to do this exactly Tishan didn't know, and was somewhat curious to see.

Villian and Synna began the fire-show just minutes later. Starting with only the flame of a small candle, Villian's conjurings swept upward and exploded in the night sky overhead, taking on a near-terrifying life of their own. There were krakens, trolls, and chimeras, all monstrous and flaming as they lunged and swooped above the crowd, and then came a massive fire dragon, chased and challenged into battle by Synna's own water dragon, its form pulled from the nearby lake.

The Tulans and their guests were transfixed, some of the women shrieking with terror as the beasts roared past, others simply clasping onto the arms of their men in excitement. Tishan herself had never before witnessed a fire-show, but now understood all the fuss made over them. Spellbound, she was forced to constantly remind herself not to lose focus.

If nothing else, the success of the mages' work assured one thing—it was unlikely anyone on the property would be paying the least bit of attention to anything but the creations in the sky. Certainly none to the west field, where Flynn and Knoxx would now be liberating the Tulans of one of the two things they held most dear. Tishan herself would be making a play for the other, once the time was right.

Whatever reason had truly brought Villian and Synna to the Tulan ranch this night, their proficiency was doing the Thieves a mighty favor, and Tishan wondered if they might be so lucky as to have no notice taken of their work until they were safely away. Unlikely, she then decided. For there was nothing the Tulans loved more than their fortune—which meant there was nothing they kept more protected than that which funded it. Their racehorses, of course.

At present, Flynn and Knoxx would be disabling any bodies set to watch over the Tulan's prize herd. This likely wasn't proving a difficult task, given the fiery distractions in the sky as well as Knoxx's ability to remain visibly undetected. Once Flynn was on his way with the horses, Knoxx would then return to the ballroom to ensure Tishan had no trouble making her own escape. For if Flynn and Knoxx's actions didn't raise a quick alarm, hers most certainly would.

Sitting there now, surrounded by Tulans and watching the spectacle above, Tishan fought to stifle a wicked smile. No doubt thinking himself safe from retaliation this past year, Lord Beran Tulan was soon to realize just how severely he'd erred by offending Flynn and his entire network of Thieves.

The fire-show ended without incident, meaning so far, no one yet had any idea what was transpiring in the west field. Rising to follow the others back into the ballroom, Tishan then paused as she noted something worrying. Villian and Synna, their presentation complete, now appeared to be heading in the one direction she didn't wish to see them go. Their steps were casual, unhurried, yet something about their movements concerned her.

Leaping forward, she grabbed hold of Myron's hands while adopting a look of breathless excitement. "That was brilliant!" she gushed, even as he blinked in surprise at her sudden enthusiasm. "I must speak to the mages and tell them how much I loved their performance!"

"Certainly," he replied, appearing pleased.

Her eyes darted past him, and she let out a cry of disappointment. "Oh—but they're leaving!"

As she'd hoped, this had the desired effect. Myron sprung forward, waving his arm. "Mages!" he cried, hurrying forth onto the lawns. "Mages, could you wait but a moment?"

Tishan moved quickly after him. She saw Villian and Synna had both paused and turned back at Myron's call, and while their expressions were bland, Tishan was certain she'd glimpsed the faintest flicker of irritation pass over Synna's features.

Now what are the two of you up to?

Whatever it was, it would have to wait.

She pranced over to the mages in a show of excitement and spent the next several minutes telling them how wonderful they were and how their performance was the most incredible thing she'd ever seen. Myron appeared to think nothing of her words, smiling and nodding when appropriate to second her claims, but it was clear both Villian and Synna thought her a silly, empty-headed highborn who had nothing better to do with her time than attend parties and balls.

Tishan kept on until she began repeating herself, unable to devise new and interesting ways to appear a dullard. The mages remained polite but were beginning to look irritated. Myron, apparently, was simply growing bored.

"All right my dear, why don't we let the mages see to their needs now, after all their wonderful efforts?" he broke in while taking her arm.

Villian and Synna almost managed to disguise their relief at the interruption.

"Lord Tulan," Villian then said with a nod. A moment later he and Synna were gone, turning and stepping away to vanish quickly into the darkened grounds.

Tishan thought furiously.

"But where are they going?" she asked. "Surely they'd fancy joining us for the remainder of the ball?"

Myron began leading her back toward the patio. "Unfortunately, no," he said. "They informed me days ago that they'd need to depart immediately after their performance. Evidently they have urgent business to attend to back on Venaris Sheea."

Venaris Sheea was the mage's isle, positioned just off the western coast of Dhanen'Mar. And Tishan doubted very much that any urgent business there was the real reason for Villian and Synna's hasty departure. She was intrigued, but more so worried for Knoxx and Flynn. Unfortunately, she'd also done all she could to help them.

Back in the ballroom, the musical troupe had again taken up, and Tishan found herself pulled onto the dance floor by Myron. She managed to remember most of the steps, no easy feat as she was now tensely anticipating the sound of an alarm at any moment. It was part of the plan to presume discovery at this time, so she began growing nervous when no such circumstance arose, the minutes stretching on and on.

But she also had a job to do, a second target to acquire to ensure the Tulans felt the full weight of Flynn's vengeance this night. And she saw the perfect opening to accomplish the task as the music then slowed and Lord Beran glided his wife out onto the floor for an intimate dance.

Tishan moved mechanically in Myron's embrace as her mind raced. Did she dare do this, here and now? Her skills were good, but were they this good? She'd been counting on confusion and panic to have overtaken the guests by this time, a result of Flynn's discovered thievery, but with calm continuing to prevail she was unsure about making so bold a move. However, this might be her only chance.

She swayed to the music and tilted a look up at Myron. "I see your parents have joined us on the floor," she observed blandly.

He glanced over, smiling and nodding when he saw them. "It's so good to see mother up and about. You know her health has been ailing."

Tishan withheld a snort. Myron's mother was a lazy, conceited woman whose recent "ailments" were nothing more than attempts to keep the family's attention on her. Or so Tishan had overheard a few of the Tulan slaves claiming.

"Perhaps," she began, smiling sweetly, "you'd have a care to dance with her? I'd have no objection, as it would allow me some moments with your father. You know how I hope to gain his favor."

Myron beamed at her thoughtfulness. "You've nothing to worry over, my heart, for he is already as enchanted with you as I am. But it would make for a pleasant gesture, certainly." He swung them nearer his parents.

Moments later Tishan found herself held loosely in Lord Beran's arms, making slow steps to the music as he guided them about the floor. Myron and his mother swayed nearby. The dance floor itself was busy but not crowded, so if her timing was off there was a good chance she'd be seen and caught.

"I hope you realize I cannot possibly allow my son to marry you," Lord Beran said suddenly, twirling her.

She swung back to him and met his gaze. "My lord?" she replied, feigning concern.

"While you're no doubt a charming young lady, I know nothing of your family name," he explained, keeping perfect time.

Tishan fought off her amusement. Had she given her true family name, known only by Knoxx, he most certainly would have recognized it. As it was, she'd made one up, telling Myron she'd come from Dhanen'Mar's mountainous eastern region.

"But my lord, I love your son so very much," she said now, deciding to play out the conversation to ensure Lord Beran's distraction. Tears welled rapidly into her large, hazel eyes as she held his gaze.

He sighed, still flawlessly keeping to the beat. "Of course you do, for he's a Tulan after all. But you must realize his lineage demands a mate of much nobler stock than you. I've no objections if you want to keep on as his amusement for a time, or as his mistress once a more appropriate bride can be found. Such a position will garner you many fine gifts as well a certain level of prestige, certainly. But I'm afraid you must discourage any ideas he has of marrying you."

Tishan was now inwardly battling the urge to punch this man, her hand, held loosely in his, reflexively trying to curl into a fist. Her eyes, however, leaked out a few more tears as she stared back at him with mounting distress.

"This will break his heart, my lord!" she insisted, as he released her so she could twirl again.

"For a time perhaps, but he'll come to accept it," Lord Beran told her firmly. "Now, you must get yourself together and not cause a scene. Doing so would only stain you as the baseborn you are."

Tishan managed a brave nod as she turned back into him, her hand sweeping ever so gently at his waist, across the walnut-sized diamond he wore affixed to his belted waistband. The Tulan diamond had been in his family for scores of generations, passed down through the heads of the clan and worn only on occasions meant to impress. It was now in Tishan's hand, having come free from its setting easily as she'd been relentlessly practicing with a replica all week and knew precisely where its release springs lay.

"I will do as you say, my lord," she sniffled, making a show of pulling herself together even as the diamond vanished into a hidden pocket of her dress, designed specifically for this purpose.

Lord Beran grasped both her hands and lowered her into a slight dip as he nodded. "It's for the best. And worry not, for so long as you play the matter out smartly, you'll be well cared for."

Tishan smiled, again wishing to cause him physical harm. Instead, they finished out the dance gracefully as well as wordlessly, then joined in the applause regaling the musicians for their efforts.

She leaned in so Lord Beran would hear her over the sound of the applause. "I fear I need a moment or two to properly collect myself. Would you be so kind as to inform your son that I will return to him shortly?"

"Of course," he said.

Tishan turned and started for the patio doors. Her heart was now racing furiously, but she managed to keep her steps unhurried, even smiling and nodding to the other guests as she moved past. She was nearly to the doors when a piercing, shrill blast began, cutting through the musicians' song and causing them to abruptly fall silent.

"Someone's stealing the horses!" a voice bellowed, followed by the appearance of a disheveled stable-hand as he raced through the patio doors.

Tishan froze, her eyes darting about as noise broke out all over the ballroom, not the least of which Lord Beran's furious yelling. She likely had just moments before he further noted his missing diamond, provided someone else didn't point it out to him first. She needed to find a clear path from here now. Her only other option was to put the entirety of her trust in Knoxx, and she made this decision quickly.

"All right, everyone calm down and remain where you are," one of the Justice officers commanded, pulling free his sword and making way toward the doors leading outside. "We will handle this."

"You'd better!" Lord Beran screamed back at him, storming forward.

Tishan gave a quick, forlorn look to the freedom lying just steps away. Then she spun, pointing dramatically to Lord Beran as he continued his furious approach. "Your diamond, my lord!" she exclaimed. "It's gone!"
Chapter 10

Before setting a single foot on the Tulan ranch, Flynn spent much time in the woods flanking the only road leading to and from the property. Here, he and twenty-some Thieves from the Traveler's home city of Beavihm had performed a final run-through of what they were expecting to soon occur, and how they aimed to turn events to their advantage.

From the trees, they observed the many carriages coming forth and rolling past, heading farther up the gravel road and through the wooden gates surrounding the Tulan estate. Four Justice officers were posted there, fastidiously checking invitations to ensure only those who belonged gained entrance to the property. A few would-be crashers were roughly turned away, one of them receiving a few hits when he continued mouthing off to the officers. Observing the activity, Flynn determined the Tulans didn't appear to be taking any chances with their safety this night, although it was probably just a show for those they were attempting to impress. It was unlikely the Tulans were anticipating any real threat, which was all the better for Flynn and his crew.

Once darkness fell he prepared for his own entry. The moons, both white and green, were sitting at slightly less than three-quarters full, although much of their light was lost in the thick branches of the forest banking both sides of the road. He therefore all but disappeared, with his dark clothing and brown skin, when he lay down at the edge of the laneway. He closed his eyes and waited, soon feeling the vibrations of the next-approaching carriage just before he heard it rumbling toward him.

As expected, the driver proceeded on without taking any notice of him. Flynn waited for the horses to pass by, then rolled, aiming himself between the giant, spindly wheels. Timing demanded that his movements be swift and sure as well as perfect, and a moment later he was successfully clinging to the undercarriage, rolling along toward the gates of the Tulan estate.

There was only a brief pause as the Justice officers looked over the invitation held by the carriage's occupants, evidently finding no cause for suspicion. They then rolled forward again and followed what appeared to be a long, crescent-shaped laneway leading to the front doors of the estate home. By this time Flynn's muscles were beginning to cramp, but he held on, waiting for the opportunity to scurry to safety.

Those in the carriage seemed to take an obscene amount of time to exit, and Flynn silently cursed them as he hung there, waiting. A woman's voice was going on about a loose stitch in her dress, debating whether or not she should return to wherever it was she dwelt to change. The man accompanying her then stated that if she did, she'd be going alone, which appeared to put an end to the discussion. Relieved, Flynn turned his head and watched their feet start away toward the massive dwelling approximately fifty paces distant.

The driver rambled back up into his seat and, with a jerk, they were off again. They didn't go far; rounding onto a small field before a barn painted dark brown, the driver eased the team to a stop, set the brake, jumped down, and then hurried off to whereabouts unknown. Flynn let himself drop to the ground as soon as the man's footsteps had retreated, and remained there for a minute or two, just breathing deeply.

Finally he flipped onto his stomach and pulled himself to the edge of his cover. Looking out, he could see parked carriages all about him, lined up two or three deep before the barn. He began rolling outward, staying beneath them as he headed toward the structure.

Arriving at the end of the line, he cautiously pushed to his feet and looked about. The barn lay directly before him, illuminated from within and throwing shadows into the night. Voices carried faintly from inside, belonging to numerous stable-hands as they proceeded to come and go, carrying buckets of water to the carriage horses. A couple of them took a disinterested notice of Flynn, likely presuming him a driver, while others failed to even glance his way.

Flynn turned his attention north-east, seeing the estate home sitting atop a slight elevation and lit brilliantly against the darkness of night. He held this position for several minutes, knowing Knoxx would be watching for his arrival so he could relay to Tishan their commander had made it onto the grounds. Flynn proceed to strike the steel and flint he'd taken from his pocket, creating sparks but no flames, the signal Knoxx was anticipating.

Finally he turned away, stowing the items back into his pocket. To the west lay darkness, illuminated dimly by the light of the two moons, but Flynn already knew the precise details of this area. A huge, grassy field stretched a quarter league, eventually leading to a gold-colored bricked barn. It was here Beran Tulan's herd of eight prized stallions and mares—all champion racehorses—would be stabled and most likely heavily guarded.

Warhorses were also bred here, and had their own field farther north. But it was the racers Lord Beran truly loved, for between their winnings and services as stud, these were the creatures that provided his highest revenue. It was therefore these Flynn aimed to take from him.

He melted into the shadows and started west, easily scaling the wooden fence rungs enclosing the grazing field. Keeping an eye out for sentries as he jogged across the sea of green grass, he saw none, and figured any such men would likely be stationed about the barn where the horses were kept.

The barn came into view quickly, well-lit and shining like a beacon once he topped a small knoll. He slowed his pace and approached cautiously.

Two men quickly became visible to his sight. One stood before the open barn doors, doing nothing but staring out into the night, while the other performed a sweep of the barn's perimeter. Both were armed with swords. Flynn figured there might be a final guard within, along with any number of stable-hands.

He hunkered down into the cool grass approximately a hundred paces distant, lying flat on his stomach while keeping his eyes trained on the men ahead. They all needed to be incapacitated, but he'd wait for Knoxx before advancing to that stage of the plan. Finesse would be key here, not brute force.

He didn't have to wait long. As the guard walking the perimeter rounded a corner and disappeared behind the barn, Flynn saw the second man pitch to the ground without a sound.

He was up and running in an instant. "I'll get the other. You head inside," he hissed quietly while racing past the inert form of the guard, who now displayed a bloody wound across his forehead.

"Certainly," Knoxx's disembodied voice came back.

Flynn followed the same route taken by the second guard, allowing him the opportunity to come up behind the man as he skirted noiselessly around the side of the barn. Sighting him ahead, it didn't appear the guard had yet sensed anything suspicious for his sword remained sheathed, his gait casual as he continued along the barn's outer back wall.

Flynn picked up speed and bore down, coming to a full-out run before leaping and bringing his elbow crashing down atop the man's skull. The guard gave a startled grunt, then proceeded to slide bonelessly to the ground before coming to lie face-down and unmoving. Flynn deprived him of his sword, throwing it out into the field, and then swept along the remainder of the barn wall before swinging back to the front, dragging the unconscious man along with him. He could hear nothing from within the building but for some faint whickers, a good sign, and after slowing to a creep he dropped his burden and risked a glance inside.

The interior of the barn was well-lit. Not far past its threshold lay the sprawled body of a third guard, a huge, bleeding lump protruding from the side of his head. Farther in, and just before the row of stalls housing the best horseflesh in Dhanen'Mar, a stable-hand lay in a similar position. Two more boys of approximately fourteen years stood staring at the inert bodies with mouths agape; they clearly had no idea what had just happened, and just as clearly needed to be handled before they regained their wits enough to send up an alarm.

Flynn charged through the barn door and straight at one of the boys. The other uttered a slight cry just as a mighty yet invisible blow took him in the back of his head, sending him to the ground. The remaining stable-hand stood frozen in shock as Flynn closed in, offering no resistance as the Thieves' commander's fist took him square in the jaw. He too dropped, motionless and breathing deeply.

Knoxx reappeared at once, looking winded. Becoming invisible caused him strain, growing more severe the longer he remained in this state. He'd now use their time in the barn to rest and replenish his reserves, for his work this night remained far from over.

Flynn took in the long, metal branding iron now visible in the mage's hand. "I wondered what you were using," he remarked off-handedly, before rounding back to collect the unconscious body of the guard he'd left outside. Since it wouldn't do to be discovered at this stage of the plan, concealing all evidence inside the barn and securing its doors was now their wisest move. At least they'd have warning if anyone happened along.

"It did the job," Knoxx panted in reply, leaning against the nearest stall door. The horse within, a chestnut-colored stallion, came forth and snorted at him.

They spent the next several minutes tying the hands and feet of the unconscious guards and stable-hands, an added precaution should they awaken too soon. Flynn then moved to the tack wall and began pulling down bridles. "Get started," he directed, tossing one to the mage. They had eight horses to bridle and very little time to do it.

The horses themselves proved to be of little help, displaying much the same arrogant attitude as their masters, and by the time he'd secured his second Knoxx was violently cursing the animals for their stubbornness.

"You would think they'd be grateful, escaping the likes of the Tulans," the mage muttered, still wrestling with the same chestnut.

Flynn began on his third horse. "You'd think," he agreed. "Now, try to hurry it up. We're far behind schedule as it is."

"I'm trying. By the way, have I ever told you how much I hate horses?"

"You can walk back to Corbit's Canyon, then," Flynn returned.

Knoxx grumbled, finally falling silent as he managed to secure the chestnut.

By Flynn's estimation, it took them nearly thirty minutes to bridle all eight horses. Praise Katrien, the Patron of Thieves, that they didn't need to saddle them all as well. Taking the longest length of rope he could find, he next began threading it through the bridles, ensuring all horses were connected in a line. Taking a step back after completing the task, it was then the shrillest of whinnies began to erupt, followed by what could only be the sound of enraged hooves striking a stall door. He quickly determined the noise had come from a darkened corner of the barn, more specifically a row of stalls he'd presumed vacant.

Frowning, Flynn looked back and again counted the horses now all strung together by rope. Eight. Glancing over at Knoxx, he saw the mage suffering a similar confusion.

"All reports told eight racehorses," Knoxx insisted. "Perhaps there was a new acquisition?"

Flynn shrugged and began walking toward the barn's darkened corner, grabbing a lamp to light his way. Another loud thunk of hooves hitting wood came to him as he moved, and he peered curiously into the stalls. He then nearly dropped the lamp.

"What is it?" Knoxx called, still back with the horses.

Flynn forced movement into his jaw and tongue. "You're not going to believe this."

"Are you sure?" Knoxx returned, his shuffling footsteps now coming forward. "You'd be amazed at what I'll believe."

Raising his eyebrows, Flynn stepped to the side and gave a wordless wave toward the stalls.

Knoxx came to a pause, looked in, and stared. "Oh my," he said.

Oh my, indeed, Flynn thought. In the stall directly before him was a pegasus. And it wasn't alone, with two more of its kind inhabiting the stalls next to it.

"I think I know why the mages are here," Knoxx then breathed, his tone suddenly ominous.

Flynn understood the remark at once. The fire-show had provided them an excuse to get onto the grounds, but these creatures were unquestionably the true purpose behind Villian and Synna's presence here. Just as certain was the presumption that anything standing in their way of reacquiring them would not prove long for this world.

The pegasus directly before him was a silvery-white color, its mane thick and gray. In the stall to its left stood a tall dapple. The last, and the one responsible for all the kicking, Flynn now saw, was a glossy brown color with a bronze mane and tail. Its wings were brown edged in white, and folded against the confines of its stall. It seemed to be staring at him with interest.

"By the deepest Chasms of Fire, what were they thinking?" Knoxx exploded, still gawking at the mighty beasts.

Flynn didn't know, but the Tulans were in for some serious trouble if their crime became known. Pegasi were extremely rare, residing only on the mages' isle of Venaris Sheea where they were watched over and protected by the mages, the last known herd to exist in all the world. How these three had come to be taken and imprisoned by the Tulans Flynn couldn't fathom, but his best guess saw them being auctioned on the underground markets, sold for a price that was near-incomprehensible.

Illegal trading of these creatures, were he caught, would land Beran Tulan in jail for many years, no matter how high his noble standing or how generous his bribes. And that was only if the mages didn't kill him first, for those born to Magic had their own rules when it came to the matter of Justice.

"Villian and Synna must've not been certain they were here," Knoxx reasoned now, looking to Flynn. "Chances are they agreed to the fire-show to gain an opportunity to investigate the grounds. Otherwise, Beran Tulan would already be dead."

Flynn tended to agree. In general, the mages had absolutely no sense of humor when it came to the protection of the rare species they kept on their island, a fact he knew from Knoxx himself. Furthermore, the pegasi were their crowning jewel, meaning this night was probably about to get quite interesting.

"We'd better leave," Knoxx stated firmly as he began to retreat. "I don't want to be caught anywhere near these things."

Flynn hesitated, staring into the eyes of the bronze pegasus. "What if the mages get caught up? Or simply don't find them?" he said, tentatively reaching out to stroke the beast's muzzle. "We overlooked them easily enough."

Knoxx's upper lip started curling into a grimace, likely suspecting his commander's intentions. "What are you proposing?" he asked cautiously.

Flynn reached down and began sliding the locks back on the stalls.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Knoxx warned.

Flynn ignored him and completed the action, then stepped back and watched as the white and the dapple pushed from their stalls, their wings stretching and flapping as they pranced forward. The bronze regarded his open stall door, looked at Flynn, and snorted.

"Come now, you're free," he coaxed, holding the stall door wide.

The bronze snorted again and slammed a front hoof into the ground.

"These creatures aren't stupid Flynn, he'll figure it out," Knoxx said, watching anxiously. "Now, need I remind you we'd best move along?"

Knoxx was right. Already behind schedule, they definitely didn't have time for this.

"Grab the lead," Flynn instructed.

The white and dappled pegasi were now trotting all about the barn, flapping their wings and emitting loud whinnies of excitement. The bronze held to his stall and snorted again.

Knoxx grabbed the reins of the lead horse and began stepping toward the barn doors. Flynn started to follow, his senses swiftly coming to high alert. Not only did he now need to implement his escape, but Knoxx still had to return to Tishan and ensure she made it off the grounds with her own prize, the famed Tulan diamond. They'd spent far too much time here, much longer than planned.

Knoxx had nearly reached the doors when they suddenly burst inward, shattering the thick wooden slats meant to secure them. Flynn wasn't sure if he was relieved or terrified to see not Tulan guards standing in the sudden opening, but rather two enraged mages.

They all regarded each other in silence for a long moment. Knoxx was the first to recover, blurting, "We're here for the horses! Only the horses!"

The female mage, Synna, took a few steps forward while responding.

"Knoxx," she said, eyeing him disdainfully. "Please tell me that even you would not be stupid enough to have mired yourself in this."

"We're only here to steal the horses!" Knoxx repeated, his voice raised in alarm.

"He tells no lie," Flynn spoke up, coming to stand beside him. "Rest assured that neither of us would be stupid enough to have any involvement in this."

Villian, the male, was suddenly chuckling. "It appears Lord Tulan is destined to have a very troubling evening."

"Should we let him live," Synna murmured.

"I would rather leave him to the humiliation he is soon to face," Villian went on, still amused. "To have his prize racehorses vanish upon the very night of his ball—genius, Master Fajen. Genius."

Flynn nodded back, still uncertain.

"Let us collect what we have come for, Synna," Villian said, walking forward to approach the white pegasus, "and leave these men to their own business. Knoxx," he added, nodding to the man as he passed by.

Synna was not so polite, glaring at Knoxx as she stormed past him toward the dapple.

Apparently Knoxx was now reasonably sure he and Flynn weren't going to be killed, or at least not by these two, for he then said, "I've missed you too, Synna," before shooting her a wicked grin.

She didn't reply, pulling herself onto the dapple's back with a fixed expression.

"Where is the third?" Villian then asked, scanning the interior of the barn.

"Still in his stall," Flynn answered, stepping back and gesturing.

Villian frowned, glancing to the darkened corner of the barn. "Master Fajen," he then began delicately, "you didn't happen to release them from their stalls, did you? Personally, I mean."

Flynn paused, looked to Knoxx whose expression was blank, and then shrugged. "Sure," he said. "We figured you'd come for them, but I thought to release them all the same, to ensure their escape from the Tulans."

Villian sighed.

"Fool!" Synna hissed, rounding on Flynn. She then turned to spear Knoxx with her icy blue gaze. "How could you let him?"

It was clear Knoxx didn't comprehend the meaning of this any more than Flynn did. "Let him what?" he asked.

Synna's eyes rolled and her head shook with exasperation.

"Perhaps it would have been prudent for you to pay more attention to your studies during your time on Venaris Sheea," Villian interjected, looking to Knoxx.

Knoxx didn't reply, his expression turning haughty.

Villian focused back on Flynn. "That one is the herdmaster. It is therefore his responsibility to ensure the safety of all his herd. Because you were the one to free him, as well as the two mares, he now deems himself in debt to you."

Flynn frowned. "How so?"

"By his thinking, you have saved the lives of three pegasi. He will not leave you until he has repaid the debt, saving your own life the same number of times."

Glaring, Flynn turned to Knoxx. "How could you not know of this?" he demanded.

The mage shrugged and held up his hands. "I'm sure it won't be too long of an inconvenience," he said, eyes wide. "Your lifestyle being what it is, your life is constantly in danger."

"And how exactly is a winged horse going to save my life? And three times, no less?" Flynn sighed, then looked back to Villian. "Is there nothing you can do to break this?" As magnificent a creature as it was, he had no idea how a pegasus would fit into his life, nor how to care for one.

Villian was shaking his head. "I'm afraid not. You have no choice but to see this out, Master Fajen. We can only hope that he will fulfill his debt to you and return home to Venaris Sheea in a timely manner."

"Yes, let's all hope my life is put in danger numerous times, and before much time has passed," Flynn replied in a dry tone.

"I would suggest you take the greatest amount of care with him," Synna said, her dapple now stepping forward, its wings spread gloriously. "Or you will face the consequences."

"Master Fajen," Villian nodded as he rode past atop the white. "Knoxx."

Flynn watched the two mages step their mounts out past the barn doors and onto the grassy field beyond. Both beasts rapidly picked up speed, their strides becoming long and quick, before their wings took them up as they leapt into the air. It was only moments before the night swallowed them completely.

Resigned, and knowing he had no time to further explore the matter, Flynn turned toward the last occupied stall and whistled. The bronze at last emerged, his hooves clacking across the barn floor as he came to stand next to the one who'd liberated him. Flynn raised a hand to again stroke his muzzle. "Whatever am I going to do with you?" he sighed.

"I would suggest you figure that out later," Knoxx said, starting forward at a brisk pace. The rope stringing all the horses together was again in his hand, and the animals filed calmly behind. Flynn and the bronze followed, starting out across the field.

"The mage Synna certainly seemed to despise you," Flynn commented blandly a moment later.

"Not at all," Knoxx assured him, briefly turning back. "That's simply her way of showing affection."

Flynn snorted, but dropped the matter. When it came to the subject of women, Knoxx loved to both brag and embellish.

Approximately halfway across the field, Flynn glanced upward, calculating the time. "We've been too long. You need to get to Tishan."

Knoxx looked back through the darkness. "What about the gates?"

"I've got a plan to handle the gates. Just be sure she makes it out safely."

"All right." Knoxx tossed him the rope and then abruptly vanished from sight. Flynn could just discern the retreating sound of his footfalls as he sped off.

He kept on leading the horses—and the pegasus—to the very edge of the western field. It then took him several minutes to locate a gate, a couple hundred paces to the south. Opening it, he looked about, giving his position careful consideration.

Once he left this field it would only be a matter of moments before he and the horses were spotted, and since the only way off the property was by way of the main gates, it was imperative he get his prizes to it as quickly as possible. As far as getting through the gates, he was completely relying on the fact that, due to the frequent traffic coming to and from the estate all evening, they presently remained open. He therefore only had to worry about the guards, although if his plan worked, they wouldn't be much of a problem at all.

But the presence of the pegasus wasn't something he'd factored into his scheme.

He turned, finding the beast at his shoulder, and rose a hand to its mane. "So how would you feel about letting me ride you?" he asked quietly. Villian and Synna hadn't appeared to have any trouble with the pegasi mares, but the very thought of mounting one of these creatures seemed disrespectful.

The bronze, however, quickly resolved all conflict. Bending his front leg, he lowered himself slightly and stretched back his wing, giving Flynn clear passage to draw himself up and onto his back.

He climbed up smoothly, taking only a moment to orient himself. There seemed no difference to this than riding a common horse, but for the position of his legs, which he tucked just behind the base of its wings.

"All right, then," he said, wrapping the rope more securely about his hand, "I hope you can run."

He dug his heels into the pegasus and it leapt forward. The following racehorses did likewise, coming to speed in only a few quick strides. The pegasus maintained the lead, his momentum furious as he pounded across the ground.

They'd just passed the sea of parked wagons when the first cry went up; as Flynn anticipated, he and his spoils had been spotted. An incredibly loud, shrill blast then rent the air, followed by a shout that they were heading for the gates.

The herd was closing on them alarmingly fast. Rounding past the gravel laneway leading to the estate, Flynn gained a clear view of the gates now only a short distance ahead. As he'd assumed, they lay open, although two of the four officers were now racing frantically to close them. The remaining two appeared stupefied, staring at his frenzied approach, although it was uncertain whether the sheer audacity of his plan or the pegasus was responsible for their incredulity.

Flynn knew he had precious few moments before those gates slammed shut, foiling any chance of a successful escape. He slowed the pegasus slightly and then released the rope, knowing it would now pull loose and allow the beasts to separate. The racehorses, quickly realizing their freedom, charged past him in a frenzy.

One of the officers scrambling to close the gates looked back to see the herd now bearing down on him, and he let out a startled shout. The other hastened to remove himself from the path of the stampeding horses. The remaining pair retreated to safety.

Flynn watched as all eight racehorses cleared the gateway. Now they would scatter into the outlying woods, where the Thieves of Beavihm were waiting to collect them. The Thieves had further felled a large tree across the roadway, preventing any of the Tulan's guests from leaving in their carriages, an act meant to create further mayhem within the grounds.

Now closing on the gates himself, Flynn spotted one of the officers raising a crossbow in his direction. He quickly deduced the man was unlikely to get off a fatal shot, but braced for some level of impact.

Then all thoughts of danger vanished, a sudden lurch indicating the pegasus had also seen the threat; for now he was leaping, his glorious wings unfurling and flapping furiously, carrying them upward into the safety of the night sky.
Chapter 11

Knoxx was rather worried as he raced across the field, leaving Flynn behind with the horses and pegasus. It wasn't Flynn he was particularly concerned about, however, but more so Tishan and himself. Having already spent hours in an invisible state, simply re-taking this form had required a significant effort, not a good sign considering what still lay ahead. If he actually managed to get them off the property alive and un-apprehended, he vowed to let himself sleep for at least a week; given his current level of exhaustion, he was going to need it.

Once fully across the field, he hurtled the fence and set his sights on the estate house. The shrill blast of an alarm just minutes later informed him Flynn had now been spotted, an event he'd been anticipating.

Closing in on his destination, he raced around the side of the house, seeking the expansive, bricked patio lying behind. He expected to find Tishan lurking somewhere between, but caught no sight of her. Already he could hear the uproar spilling forth from the ballroom, and hoped she'd at least used the confusion and excitement to successfully snatch the Tulans' prized diamond. If not, he could now easily do so himself, although this would require extra time they really didn't have.

He saw the first Justice officer as he drew upon the patio. The man had freed his sword and was leading four of his counterparts from the house with a determined stride. Knoxx ignored them and dashed headlong into the ballroom just in time to hear Tishan's cry alerting everyone to the fact of Beran Tulan's missing diamond. Knoxx instantly understood why she had done this, where it would lead, and how completely she was depending on him being somewhere in this room.

Lord Beran began screaming in rage, demanding of the remaining officers that all his guests be held and searched. His face was red and quickly turning purple, scanning all those around him with an accusing glare. "I demand blood for this!" he bellowed.

Tishan was only steps from the patio doors, and Knoxx sidled up next to her soundlessly. He gently gave her arm a squeeze to alert her to his presence, and then carefully reached into the secret pocket of her dress and grasped the diamond. It vanished from sight at his touch, adding only slightly to his strain since it was not a large object—well, large for a diamond perhaps, but not so much in the grand scheme of things.

It was an action he'd evidently taken just in time.

"Her!" Lord Beran suddenly screamed, his arm outstretched and pointing toward Tishan. "Apart from my own wife, only she was near enough to have taken it!"

Tishan's face took on the expected mask of horror and astonishment. "My lord, I would never!" she exclaimed.

"Search her!" Lord Beran raged to the Justice officers. "Search her now!"

Myron Tulan had by this time pushed his way through the crowd to stand defiantly before Tishan. "Don't be ridiculous, father! Of course she wouldn't have taken it! It's an embarrassment you think this possible, much less that you'd accuse her here in this public fashion!"

"You fool!" Lord Beran returned venomously. "No doubt she's been after the diamond this entire time! Only to have you hand her the perfect opportunity to take it!"

Knoxx silently applauded Lord Beran's deductive skills, even while wishing he'd be around to see the man's reaction when he discovered it was Flynn pulling the strings behind it all.

"Not another step!" Myron was now shouting to the Justice officers closing in on Tishan.

"Search her!" Lord Beran screamed again.

Tishan pushed past Myron and said, "There's no need for such arguing, my lords. Of course, I would be happy to permit a search."

"Will that satisfy you, father?" Myron spat. "She's perfectly willing to prove her innocence."

Lord Beran said nothing, glaring intensely.

Knoxx jumped back from Tishan just as the Justice officers converged. He imagined her temper spiking as they proceeded to pat her down, giving little thought to her modesty, but she held her tongue and kept to a blank expression. One of the officers discovered the secret pocket in her dress, but at finding it empty, he—rather amazingly—said nothing of it. Observing this, Knoxx was forced to determine that Flynn's earlier assessment of these men was accurate; these officers clearly weren't the cleverest the Legion had to offer.

The sounds of panic and confusion had by this time faded to silence within the ballroom, with most having formed a curious crowd about the scene now playing out. Knoxx was forced to stay vigilant to avoid contact with any of the guests, although he still received and delivered a few inadvertent nudges.

"Nothing, my lord," one of the officers then announced, as he and his counterparts stepped away from Tishan and turned back to Lord Beran.

"Did I not tell you?" Myron demanded. "I think an apology is in order, father."

"An apology?" Beran sneered incredulously. "To this little harlot? Never! Besides, this proves nothing! She's likely just hidden it somewhere, with hopes to return and collect it after our suspicion of her has passed!"

It appeared Myron's temper had reached its limit. Taking three lunging steps forward, he sent a furious punch into his father's face.

The crowd about them gasped as one as Lord Beran teetered on his heels, struggling to regain his balance. Finding it, he emitted a snarl before springing back at his son, taking him to the ground in an outraged tackle. The two men rolled over the floor, shouting and struggling as their fists flew.

The guests now appeared stunned. The Justice officers looked uncertain of the behavior, and seemed to be debating the merits of interfering. Knoxx was doing his best to keep his amusement harnessed, his lips clamped together to prevent his laughter from escaping; it was hardly the first time Tishan had been the cause of a fist-fight, but so far as he knew, never before had the event involved a father and son. Continuing to watch the brawling Tulans, he was then hit with sudden inspiration.

Without hesitation, he threw his invisible self into a crush of nearby guests, using all his weight for maximum damage and effectively knocking into numerous bodies before crashing to the floor. Several women shrieked or squealed. Several men gave angry outbursts. And some, as Knoxx had been hoping, retaliated instantly, pushing, shoving, or even punching back at anyone they suspected might've been responsible.

Knoxx managed to scurry to his feet and retreat from the fray just moments before it erupted into a full-scale riot. In addition to fists, food was soon sailing through the air as well, adding a somewhat disgusting element to the fight. Looking about, he noted the ballroom was now lost to complete pandemonium.

He turned and began making his way back to Tishan. She was trying to stay clear of the fighting, which meant she remained in character; Tishan was tall and thin, her frame a deceptive truth to any who'd taken a hit from her. Knoxx knew from personal experience that she could deliver some serious hurt when she wanted to.

She took a slice of custard pie in the shoulder just as Knoxx reached her. "Time to go," he shouted, unworried at being overheard through the uproar. She gave no reply but to hold out her arm, and he took it quickly, starting them toward the patio doors. Still several steps from freedom, he then felt her halt, and turned back to see two Justice officers closing in.

"I'm afraid we can't allow you to leave, miss," one was saying. "No one's going anywhere until we locate that diamond. Particularly you."

Knoxx was somewhat astounded by the fact that the officers remained concerned about the diamond in the face of the brawl now going on all about them. And what of the racehorses? This single-mindedness was good news for Flynn, but bad news for Tishan.

She'd now donned a terrified look. "But you must allow me to leave!" she insisted hysterically. "This violence is frightening me!"

"Just stay here!" one of the officers commanded. "We'll have everything under control in a few minutes."

Knoxx doubted it, as people were now breaking the chairs and tables apart and using them for weapons. He was honestly amazed at this behavior, having no idea his strategy to incite a cover of chaos would've worked so well.

"I'll remain with her to ensure she stays put," one of the officers was now saying to his counterpart. "You go help subdue the crowd."

The officer given this instruction nodded curtly and then spun on his heel, stepping straight into the flying punch of a man who'd apparently anticipated his movements perfectly. The officer took the hit to his jaw and fell to the floor, knocked completely senseless.

The remaining officer's mouth fell open in shock. "How dare you?" he screamed at the one responsible for the assault. "We are officers of Justice!"

Knoxx didn't recognize the man who'd thrown the punch, and judging by his look he most likely hailed from the country of Jennen. His Birth medallion was Chaos, his Secondary inverted. And he responded to the officer's outburst by sending his fist into the side of the man's head.

Knoxx barely recalled the fact that he was not to be noticed at any costs before blurting out an exclamation of surprise. Tishan, however, simply glanced down at the prone, unconscious bodies of the officers before looking back to the Jennite.

"My thanks," she told him.

He nodded at her once, then spun and vanished back into the melee without a word.

"Now that was just completely and utterly bizarre," she then murmured, watching him go.

"Maybe not," Knoxx replied. "He was wearing a Chaos medallion."

She shrugged. "A consideration for another time, perhaps."

She was right. Knoxx again took hold of her arm and resumed steering them toward the patio. They made it clear of the ballroom this time, and out into the warm summer air, but there still remained far too many witnesses about. Some of the men were trying to pull the women from the fray and out onto the lawns, while others escaping the carnage bolted here for safety.

Glancing about, Knoxx failed to notice in time the near-hysterical young woman who appeared to be fighting to make her way back inside the ballroom. She slammed into his unseen form at full-force, bouncing off him and crashing to the ground. Knoxx almost fell himself, releasing his hold on Tishan and barely maintaining his balance. The woman who'd hit him was now slowly climbing back to her feet, looking dazed as well as bewildered. He found her face vaguely familiar, but couldn't immediately place her.

And then a man of about Knoxx's own age was helping her up, a turquoise slave-band fixed about his left arm. "You can't go back in there, Madi," he was insisting.

Madi? It took him a moment, but then he realized why that name sounded familiar. The bungled messages, of course. The note he'd received had been addressed to one named Madi, a woman who apparently enjoyed throwing rubbish at Justice officers. He was marveling over the coincidence of this when their next words nearly stupefied him.

"Oliveah's still in there, Taleb! She could get hurt!"

"Oliveah will be fine. Nathon's with her, and he'll bring her out safely, I promise you."

Knoxx froze, staring blindly as the two retreated back onto the lawns.

Taleb? Nathon?

Had he truly heard those names correctly? Were these actually the men his brother had charged him to seek out? It seemed more than likely, given Taleb's slave-band. Quickly he reasoned at least one Oslund must be present here tonight, and evidently one named Oliveah. A woman who appeared to be friends with Madi, the very person who'd mistakenly received his message, a message containing information about tonight's heist. He further recalled one named Oliveah had sent Madi's message to her in the first place.

His mind spun as it attempted to make all these connections. Eventually, he recalled where he was and gave a start as he came back to his senses. Tishan! Frantically he looked about, fighting off panic.

Finally he saw her. Unable to locate him visually, she'd walked out onto the lawns where there was far less people, probably hoping he would spot her. Doing so, he lunged forward, berating himself for the wasted time.

But could he simply dismiss all those seemingly random connections he'd just uncovered? No, he could not, no more than any other self-respecting Dhan'Marian could've. But best he wait until they reached safety before thinking on them further.

He closed in on Tishan and clamped a hand onto her shoulder. "Sorry. Got caught up."

Relief touched her features at the sound of his voice. "I know. I saw the diviner hit you, but lost you after that. Are you all right?"

Knoxx didn't answer. The diviner, she'd said. Madi. And then he realized why the woman had looked familiar to him.

"We've crossed paths with her before, haven't we?" he murmured.

"At The Rejoicing Rooster, the morning we arrived in Tyrell," Tishan nodded. "It took me a while to remember, not placing her until I saw her run into you. Why?"

Knoxx would've now been willing to bet that the tall young woman with Madi during that encounter had been Oliveah Oslund. He was also quite certain that had he asked, his brother would've told him that the diviner he'd sought for advice here in Tyrell was Madi Savannon.

Destiny was clearly at work here. The question was why.

"Knoxx?" Tishan was now hissing at his silence.

Again he had to strive to clear his thoughts. "We'll make it as far as we can as we are," he said, leading her around the side of the estate house. It was their plan to walk straight out the gates, but to accomplish this successfully he'd first need to affect his Magic over her, also rendering her invisible. Exuding his power over another person wasn't easy, and typically Knoxx couldn't endure the burden for long; moreover, and given his current strain, it was now a real concern whether he'd be able to affect her at all.

Tishan had evidently reached a similar conclusion. "Are you sure you have the strength?" she asked as they rounded away from the building. The gates were now in view, as was the mighty ruckus occurring about them. Knoxx presumed this was the aftermath of Flynn's successful escape.

"Of course," he then answered her. "However, once we're both invisible, running might not be a bad idea."

Tishan knew him well enough to take his answer for what it was. They would have a minute, maybe two, before his power drained completely and left them vulnerable to sight. But it would have to be enough.

Several Justice officers as well as many Tulan guards now swarmed before the gates, which remained open, and it was only logical to presume others had followed after Flynn, pursuing him and the racehorses into the woods beyond. Knoxx wasn't concerned they'd be caught, although he and Tishan would have to be extremely careful once his Magic ran dry.

They crossed approximately half the distance before Knoxx deemed it a danger to draw any nearer with Tishan still visible. "Ready?" he asked, gathering himself.

She simply nodded in reply. This wouldn't be the first time Knoxx's power had manipulated her into invisibility.

With his hand still upon her shoulder, he drew deep from his reserves and began sending his Magic into her. Her experience of the sensation would be much like an invading and spreading tingling, similar to an arm or leg that had fallen asleep. Knoxx strained, slowly sending the power into each of her limbs, and watching as she began fading from sight.

He hit the end of his reserves a minute later, his exhaustion nearly sending him to his knees. Fighting it, he focused on Tishan and saw her as but a shadow; looking down, he then observed himself in a similar form. Unfortunately, it was the best he could do, and knew every moment would now see them appearing more and more solid until he was drained completely.

"We have to hurry," he managed. Careful to keep contact, he ran his hand down her arm and laced his fingers through hers for added security. If she were to fall from his touch now, she'd reappear instantly.

"Let's go," she replied, taking the lead and tugging him forward.

Foregoing silence for the sake of expediency, they ran for the gates with all the speed Knoxx could muster, their footfalls sounding out at every step. Thankfully, there was so much commotion going on that any noise they made went entirely unnoticed. Knoxx had to force every step, his body feeling on the very verge of collapse.

He guessed they appeared as nothing more than a shadowy blur as they ran into the thick of officers and Tulan guards, side-stepping and weaving about them. They cleared the gates and kept on for the woods, but Knoxx knew he was in serious trouble when his body began to shake uncontrollably. Having not yet reached the cover of the trees, he had no choice but to stubbornly hold on, leeching the final wisps of his Magic as Tishan all but dragged him onward.

Two steps into the woods, the well of his power ran dry. Fully visible, Knoxx pitched forward and collapsed, panting heavily and fighting unconsciousness. Tishan's worried face appeared over him as she crouched down.

"We can't stop here," she whispered furiously. "There's officers and guards all around us."

Knoxx chose not to care, but only for a moment. "Help me up," he rasped, holding out his arm.

She hauled him to his feet and steadied him when he swayed. Then she smacked him across the face. "Pull yourself together! We're nearly free!"

He managed a grin, even while trying to gather every bit of strength left in his body. "One day, Tishan," he mumbled, focusing on her, "you're going to make some unlucky man extremely miserable."

"Don't count on it," she snorted. "Now, are you ready?"

"Go," he said, staying on his feet only by sheer force of will.

She again took his hand and began pulling him through the trees. He knew they were making too much noise, but it couldn't be helped; he was tripping and swaying at nearly every step, with Tishan doing all she could just to keep him upright and moving.

Knoxx couldn't say how long this went on, or how he was managing to stay upright as they thrashed their way through the forest. He was dizzy and his vision was blurring when he finally realized they were no longer moving. Blinking, he saw he remained standing, but only by leaning heavily on Tishan. She was talking to someone, asking about Flynn, and Knoxx forced himself to focus.

"Got away free and clear," the man was telling her. "Flew over us on a winged horse, if you can believe it! He didn't say anything to us about any winged horse."

Tishan frowned while looking to Knoxx. "Winged horse?"

"There were some...pegasi...in the barn," he managed. "One kept with him." He now recognized the man before them as one of the Thieves from Beavihm.

"The mage won't make it any farther," Tishan was now saying. "We need a horse."

The thief whistled and another man emerged from the surrounding trees, leading a Tulan-bred racehorse by the reins. Knoxx hazily recognized it as the chestnut.

"Keep to the woods, and be sure to avoid going anywhere near Tyrell. We'll remain here to stall any who might try to follow," the thief grinned as he handed over the reins.

Knoxx somehow managed to climb atop the horse, feeling many hands helping him. Tishan mounted up behind him, her arms keeping him in place as she dug in her heels and started them deeper into the woods.

"Rest now, Knoxx," she said.

"All right," he mumbled, letting unconsciousness take him at last.
Chapter 12

The Tulan ball had begun innocently enough.

Oliveah, along with twelve members of her troupe including Madi who'd been requested to perform readings, had been commissioned to act as the night's entertainment. Oliveah thought it a perfect way to end this year's Ardin's Pride festival, and she'd been looking forward to the event all week long. And at first, everything had gone exactly as anticipated.

Her sister Navalee and brother Deakin had accepted an invitation from Lord Guerin Reif to accompany him and several members of his family to a highly-regarded play this evening, leaving Taleb and Nathon to their own devices. Both had expressed interest in seeing Oliveah perform at the ball, and she'd had little trouble gaining their entrance despite their slave status. Claiming they were present to act as the troupe's security, no one had voiced any objection.

She and Reavis, to great acclaim, performed all their songs now made famous by the opening ceremonies. During numbers they weren't needed they walked about, mingling with the guests and sampling the sumptuous foods laid out on numerous tables at the far end of the ballroom. Things only started to become strange once everyone began gathering outside for the mages' fire-show.

"He's here! I saw him!" Madi exclaimed to Oliveah as she, Taleb, and Nathon took seats at one of the tables on the patio.

"Who's here?" Oliveah asked, sipping her wine. The night air was warm, smelling of grass and wildflowers, while just the faintest of breezes stirred her light-brown tresses. It was a perfect summer evening.

"The Jennite!" Madi insisted. "The one from the jail!"

Oliveah turned slightly to lock gazes with Taleb. After their evening with the Reifs a half-week earlier, he'd taken her aside and explained the situation with Madi and the Jennite, as well as his concerns regarding the matter. He'd then urged her to question Madi over whether she'd divulged to the Jennite the name of their inn, which Oliveah discovered she had.

Madi, predictably, remained blind to the potential danger of this, as was simply her nature. For all the darkness she found in her readings, she somehow managed to cling to a painfully naïve attitude, and while this was just one of the many reasons why Oliveah loved her so, it did cause her some exasperation from time to time.

Reporting to Taleb that Madi had in fact told the Jennite the name of their inn, he and Nathon proceeded to take up shifts outside their door, standing sentry each night to ensure no harm came to them. Madi thought their caution ridiculous, and so far, she'd been proven correct; there had been absolutely no sign of the Jennite throughout the rest of the week. At least, not until now.

Madi was presently peering over her shoulder, gazing at the farthest table. "He looks to be with that woman, the one with the feathered hat," she observed.

Oliveah again looked to Taleb, and he smiled back at her reassuringly. He would make it his business to see Madi kept her distance from the Jennite for the remainder of the night.

Despite herself, however, she was curious about this man, and followed Madi's line of sight to the absurd, pink feathered hat worn by the Jennite's escort. He was quite easy to identify; broad-shouldered and dark-haired, Oliveah agreed with Madi's assessment of his good looks, but deemed his appeal to be in a dangerous sort of fashion. Only a certain type of woman would be drawn to this sort of man, and Oliveah was not one of them. She was incredibly surprised to learn Madi was. Adding to her astonishment was the fact of his Chaos Birth medallion, for Chaos was something Madi had put a great deal of effort into avoiding for most of her life. Oliveah was then left to wonder if she knew her friend nearly as well as she thought she did.

The fire-show began just moments later, providing no more opportunity to dwell on such matters. Mesmerized, Oliveah watched as the great flames leapt and thrashed about the night sky, gasping as the water-conjurings rose to meet and challenge them. It wasn't her first fire-show, but after only a few minutes she deemed it by far the best she'd yet witnessed.

The two mages kept on for more than a half-hour. The guests remained breathless with excitement as they got to their feet to return to the ballroom afterward, and Oliveah hurried away from the others to find Reavis. She was secure in knowing Taleb would be escorting Madi back to her table, and discouraging any detours she might attempt to make along the way.

Reavis was evidently taking advantage of his renown, flirting with several noblewomen at their table. Spotting Oliveah's approach, he excused himself and quickly moved to join her, and they started across the ballroom while commenting on the excellence of the fire-show.

After re-taking the stage, they first played three fast numbers, encouraging the guests to move back onto the dance floor, and then, by request, slowed it down to a ballad. They'd just finished this song, segueing into a fast ditty, when a piercing alarm blasted out from somewhere on the ranch. Startled, Oliveah cut off mid-note, followed by the abrupt silence of the musicians behind her.

A man in the dress of a stable-hand was now running into the ballroom through the patio doors, shouting that someone was stealing the horses.

Lord Beran Tulan immediately began yelling.

Oliveah crouched and was about to jump to the floor when Nathon suddenly appeared before her.

"Stay on the stage, Oliveah," he told her. "This may get ugly and I want you clear of it."

She obliged, swinging out her legs to sit upon the edge of the stage. Reavis dropped down next to her, and Nathon kept his position on the floor just before them. Looking about for Madi, Oliveah spied her over at her table, watching the shouted exchange now unfolding between Lord Beran and his son regarding the missing family diamond. Taleb stood next to the diviner, also observing the spectacle.

Lord Beran appeared to be accusing his son's lady friend of stealing his gem. The woman in question, Oliveah noted, was absolutely stunning, resplendent in a pink, off-the-shoulder satin gown trimmed in dark blue. Her hair was a golden cascade of loose waves, and her face so fair she almost made Madi look plain in comparison. She was now submitting to a search.

"A silver says she took it," Reavis said, grinning.

"You're on," Oliveah told him.

The Justice officers searching the woman seemed to come up empty. Oliveah was therefore confused—as well as shocked—when Lord Beran and his son began fist-fighting just a moment later.

Reavis hooted with laughter at the display. "And here I was, thinking the nobles didn't know how to host a proper party!"

Oliveah rolled her eyes and pushed to her feet. Standing upright on the stage, she had a perfectly clear view of events when, just moments later, complete and utter bedlam erupted throughout the ballroom. Eyes wide, she stared into the sudden violence with shock.

"Oliveah!"

Blinking, she tore her gaze from the tumult at the sound of Nathon's voice; he was standing just below, still on the floor, but now reaching up for her. She stepped into his grip, and he lowered her quickly to the floor, his hands about her waist. She then spun back and called to Reavis.

"Are you coming?" she demanded, gesturing.

He seemed to consider briefly, then shook his head. "I'll stay and make sure the rest of the troupe gets out all right."

Oliveah interpreted this to mean he wanted to stay and fight.

"Very well, but you can find someone else to spring you from jail should you get arrested," she told him.

Reavis grinned, then stepped back to confer with the remaining members of their troupe now huddled together and staring outward, taking obvious stock of the situation.

Looking back, Oliveah watched Nathon draw his sword. His free hand reached out and clasped hers, and as they started forward he instructed her not to let go of him.

"Don't you think you're being paranoid?" she asked, eyeing his sword.

A random man chose that moment to hurtle himself from the crowd, brandishing what appeared to be a table leg. He was screaming incoherently and swinging at anything that moved.

Nathon took two steps forward and brought the hilt of his sword down atop the man's skull, dropping him without a sound. Wordlessly, he then turned back to shoot her a pointed look.

Oliveah kept any further comments to herself as they began making their way across the ballroom, their goal being the patio doors. Their progress was mostly dependent on large amounts of pushing and shoving, although Nathon was forced to more overt violence on more than one occasion. He was careful not to inflict any serious wounds, she saw, but even so, none were given the chance to take more than a single run at him.

Approximately midway to their destination, Oliveah caught a fleeting glimpse of the Jennite who'd so caught Madi's interest. Evidently his recent incarceration still had him feeling sore toward Justice officers, for he was currently knocking one's head against a wall. Wincing, she quickly turned her eyes away.

Finally coming to the patio doors, Oliveah assessed she'd been assaulted by nothing worse than a thrown bowl of garnish, which had landed in her stomach area. Her dress was no doubt ruined, but she deemed this a small price to pay as the situation in the ballroom only appeared to be growing more fierce. She still couldn't quite believe this was happening—not here, and during what should've been a most civilized affair. She presumed Madi would come up with some explanation, citing the position of the stars or the direction of the breeze crossed with the season and the hour and the day. Oliveah occasionally found her explanations hard to swallow, but had seen enough over the years not to doubt anything her friend divined.

The patio outside, as well as the expansive lawns beyond, were awash with people. Most appeared to be women, pulled from the melee by some of the more chivalrous of men, but others were only carrying on the fight here.

Oliveah gazed about incredulously. "This is without doubt one of the strangest scenes I've ever witnessed," she said to Nathon, wide-eyed.

He didn't respond, continuing to scan the grounds with narrowed eyes. She knew he looked for Taleb and Madi, and added her own efforts to the task. There was no doubt in her mind Taleb had gotten her friend out safely—thanks to the luck that had placed him at her side before the fighting even began. She supposed she owed the Jennite for that much, at least.

"There." Nathon was suddenly moving alongside the estate house, pulling her along after him.

Oliveah hurried to keep pace, seeing the shadowy figures of Taleb and Madi waiting near the corner of the building. She observed Taleb's eyes giving her a quick once-over, pausing briefly at the bright yellow stain on her dress, before looking to Nathon.

"We should be able to pass through the gates, but I heard someone say the road was blocked," he reported. "Apparently there's a downed tree lying across the laneway."

"Then we'll leave the carriage," Nathon responded. "Stay with them. I'll get the horses."

Taleb nodded, and Nathon sprinted away into the darkness.

"Are you all right, Oliveah?" Madi then asked, stepping near. "Taleb and I were lucky, positioned so near the doors, but you were caught clear across the room."

"I'm fine," Oliveah replied. "Just very confused over why this is happening."

"The Tulan horses and diamond were stolen tonight. I would expect a certain level of chaos," Taleb offered.

Oliveah shook her head. "Perhaps from the Tulans, but there was no reason for all the guests to go mad as well!"

Madi was now fretting. "I don't understand it either. All signs this morning were auguries, not omens. I had no warning of this."

Taleb shrugged at her. "Perhaps that just means no one will be seriously hurt. Which would be a miracle, given the look of things."

Madi pondered this, but failed to look convinced. "Perhaps," she finally allowed. And then, "Of course, Chaos can rarely be foreseen or predicted. For certain this situation was somehow influenced by it."

"Understandable if this were a Tenth-Day," Taleb replied. "But it's Fifteenth. Meaning this affair will likely gain a body count."

Fifteenth-days were the dominion of Cristiana, the Patron of Death. Consequently, Taleb was probably correct; little question Cristiana would be taking a generous bounty here tonight.

"I'm going to draw up some charts once we return to the inn," Madi was saying. "Certainly I'll be able to discern some cause or reason for this."

Oliveah would be interested to hear if she found one, but at the present moment this wasn't her concern. She was now extremely worried for her troupe-mates, particularly Reavis, who'd obviously underestimated the ferocity of the situation when he'd opted to stay behind. She then noted Taleb watching her.

"Would you like me to go back and find him?" he asked.

Staring back, she considered his offer for only a brief moment before shaking her head. If she sent him back into that fray and anything dire befell him, she would never forgive herself. Reavis, at least, had chosen to stay behind. But she wouldn't rest until she knew he'd made it safely from the grounds, as well as her other troupe-mates. She was furious for not making them all depart with her.

Madi was now staring up into the sky, scrutinizing the position of the moons. She was muttering quietly to herself as she did this.

Oliveah turned and gave another long look to the chaos they were leaving behind. People continued to spill forth from the patio doors, some seeking release, others to continue the fight outside. Many appeared injured.

This is madness.

The sound of fast-approaching hoof-beats announced Nathon's return just moments later. Madi mounted up behind him, and Oliveah and Taleb took the second horse. Both men approached the gates with their swords drawn, obviously anticipating trouble. They found none, however—besides some Tulan guards, only a single Justice officer remained there, and while he gave a half-hearted attempt to keep them from leaving, clearly he had larger concerns. Apparently the Tulans' eight prized racehorses had torn through these very gates just a short while earlier, followed by a host of pursuers. This officer didn't even seem aware of the missing diamond.

Oliveah ultimately determined that the Tulans—as well as the Justice officers—had one colossal mess to deal with and sort through this night.

They came upon the felled tree blocking the road not long after passing through the gates. It was an obvious attempt to block the progress of any departing carriages, although she wasn't certain what those responsible were hoping to accomplish with this. Her party had no trouble passing by on their horses, simply stepping around the obstruction by moving several paces into the surrounding woods.

Taleb and Nathon continued to stay vigilant, but their efforts proved unnecessary. Although Oliveah would've sworn they were at times being watched, they failed to encounter another soul until they began drawing nearer to Tyrell. It was by this time nearly midnight, with Fifteenth-day giving itself over to First, the day of Justice.

"Do you smell something burning?" Madi suddenly asked.

Oliveah sniffed—and found that she did indeed smell smoke.

"Yes," Taleb and Nathon then said together before she could respond.

A band of three suddenly appeared before them, riding in their direction. The man in their lead slowed his mount when he saw them, giving his arm a wave.

"If you head for Tyrell, you'd best turn back," he called, drawing in at a trot.

"Why?" Nathon demanded.

"Riot," he answered. "I don't know how it began, but the streets are awash with looters, as well as vandals destroying everything in their path. The south end is actually aflame. The Justice officers are horribly outnumbered and have lost all sense of order. So I caution you again, friends—stay clear of Tyrell."

Oliveah's heart was now pounding in fear. Her sister and brother were in the city.

She wasn't the only one alarmed. Seeing the look now passing between Taleb and Nathon, it was obvious both deeply regretted not separating so one could've stayed with Navalee and Deakin tonight—after all, her siblings' safety while in Tyrell was solely their responsibility.

Nathon was now thanking the man for his warning and waving his small party along. Oliveah leaned forward and hissed at Taleb. "We have to go! Now!"

He looked back at her. "What makes you think I'd allow you anywhere near the city right now?"

"You don't know Tyrell as I do! If the two of you go alone you'll only become lost," she insisted. When he didn't reply, she went on. "I'm hoping they stayed with the Reifs—if their party made it back to Reif Manor, there's little cause for worry. But they might've headed back to the inn, or could even be trapped at the theatre, depending on when this all began. And if that's the case, you're going to need me."

Taleb still failed to reply.

Furiously, she spun to look back. "Nathon, stay here with Madi," she ordered. "Taleb and I are going to find Navalee and Deakin."

To her extreme irritation, Nathon said nothing to this either, appearing to ignore her completely as he again locked eyes with Taleb.

"Be careful, Oliveah!" Madi exclaimed, her eyes wide.

"I will," she promised, despite not yet being certain if she was, in fact, going anywhere. Nathon and Taleb were evidently still deciding the matter, and slaves or not, when it came to the question of her safety her commands meant nothing.

Finally Taleb turned to her. "All right, we'll ride on and look for them. But if it's too dangerous, I'm bringing you back."

"Fine," she replied in a clipped tone.

He continued to eye her another moment, but then swung back and dug in his heels.

She tried to prepare herself for anything as they approached Tyrell at a gallop. Even still, the sight now taking shape before them was nothing short of shocking.

The city gates, typically manned by a dozen Justice officers, lay open and deserted. Noise from the ruckus within drifted outward, sounding violent and savage. Furthermore, and as they'd been warned, the city was smoking, with thick plumes of black swirling up into the night from Tyrell's southern end. Oliveah found this particularly worrying as the theatre distinct lay in this area, precisely where Navalee and Deakin had planned on being tonight.

They passed through the gates as Taleb slowed the horse to a walk, and then halted completely as they took in the main road. Shops lining both sides showed broken windows and kicked-in doors, as well as numerous looters racing from one to the next. A few fist-fights could be seen, although plundering was the clear activity of choice. Oliveah thought of Madi's family's shop, The Seeing Eye, and wondered if it too was suffering this fate; most likely, she then decided, as it didn't appear any establishment had been spared.

Staring about wordlessly, she was left feeling horrified, not only because this had happened in Tyrell but during the week of Ardin's Pride. It was an incomprehensible stain upon what had always been her favorite time of year.

"Where first?" Taleb was now asking, pulling her thoughts and gaze from the heart-breaking carnage.

"Reif Manor," she answered, hoping her voice didn't reveal her agony. "Do you remember the way?"

"Yes." He said nothing else as he turned their mount, making way for the affluent, northern end of the city.

They saw much of the same destruction as they passed through Tyrell's streets. While occasional spots of violence were glimpsed, they seemed to consist of random pairs of men raining blows on each other, rather than the city-wide brawl they'd been expecting. Oliveah was forced to wonder if this brawl hadn't already occurred, leaving just the scores of looters who seemed to be everywhere. Tyrell was being gutted from the inside out.

Finally she closed her eyes, resting her head against Taleb's back as she fought off her tears. How could this have happened to the beautiful, glorious home city of the Arts?

They arrived at Reif Manor completely unscathed. While a few along the way had made to approach them, they'd ultimately backed off of their own volition at sight of Taleb's drawn sword.

The iron gates surrounding Reif Manor were closed, but the two guards standing inside recognized Oliveah and quickly moved to grant her entrance. Taleb took their horse straight up to the house, where she jumped to the ground and rushed inside.

"Navalee!" she yelled, seeing no one in the expansive entranceway. "Deakin!"

Lord Guerin himself responded to her calls, appearing from around a corner at the end of the corridor. He was alone.

"Where are they?" she demanded, as Taleb came to stand behind her.

"Oliveah, thank all the Patrons you're safe," Lord Guerin said, stopping before her.

"Where are my brother and sister?" she issued furiously.

"Navalee is here," he said. "I'm afraid we encountered some violence on our way back from the theatre, and while uninjured, she remains upset. I gave her wine and a quiet place to rest, and my niece Mila is sitting with her now."

"And Deakin?" Oliveah asked with alarm.

Lord Guerin briefly looked to Taleb before answering. "I'm afraid we lost him somewhere in the streets, along with Sabian, one of my kin. I've since sent twenty guards out to search, but we still await their return." He then paused, noting her instant panic. "Try to remain calm, Oliveah. Your brother is a clever young man, as is Sabian. They've likely just found a place to hide and wait out the tumult."

While a reasonable assumption, it did little to calm her. Clever or not, her brother was only thirteen years old, and accustomed to a quiet life on their family vineyard. Regardless of whether he'd managed to find an adequate hiding place, she imagined he must be terrified.

"Where did you last have sight of him?" she demanded quickly.

"Near the corner of Thistle and Bluewood," Lord Guerin told her.

She winced, knowing this as one of the busiest intersections in the city. "Let's go," she then shot to Taleb, spinning back to the door. Lord Guerin said something else then, but she failed to hear, racing outside and leaping onto the horse.

Taleb was only a step behind. "Which way?" he asked, taking hold of the reins.

She relayed the simplest directions, feeling his own worry as they started off. Deakin idolized both Taleb and Nathon, and the two in turn regarded him as they would their own younger brother. If anything had happened to him, neither man would ever forgive himself.

The excitement in the city seemed to be slowly dying off, with only a handful of looters now within sight. She didn't even want to consider the horrifying circumstances of hours earlier, nor try to imagine what had possibly begun it all.

The corner of Thistle and Bluewood was deserted when they reached it, and near to the southern end which was still violently aflame. Indeed, all manner of activity still appeared to be unfolding in that area, and she could only pray her brother had the sense to stay clear of it.

She began yelling his name. At first, Taleb looked as though he meant to stop her, but a minute later joined his voice to hers. Guiding the horse into an expanding circle about the intersection of Thistle and Bluewood, they paced the outlying blocks, shouting until both were hoarse.

No one they encountered paid them much attention, too busy pillaging or just slinking about in the shadows. They came across a few bodies lying in the streets, and Oliveah desperately found herself hoping these people were merely unconscious rather than dead. Fearful of discovering otherwise, she avoided looking at any of them too closely.

They kept on for nearly an hour, finding no sign of Deakin or the yellow-haired Reif he was last seen with. Oliveah refused to give up, urging Taleb to keep to their expanding perimeter. He wouldn't go any farther south, where the flames still burned, but obediently moved wherever else she directed.

"Do you want to check back with the Reifs?" he finally asked as the night yawned past Second-hour. "It's possible he's made his own way back by now."

"Not yet," she replied stubbornly.

They continued on.

When they finally found them, the moment seemed, to Oliveah at least, incredibly surreal. With their shouting having faded some time ago, their voices reduced to croaky whispers, it was in silence they rounded from one block to the next and saw both Deakin and Sabian standing there on the corner, almost as if waiting for them. Oliveah blinked quickly, at first thinking her exhaustion was causing her to hallucinate. But then her brother was calling to her, and racing to meet their horse.

"Oliveah! What are you doing out here in the streets?" he—rather incredibly—accused.

She dropped to the ground, rapidly assessed that he appeared unhurt, and then embraced him fiercely, feeling her relief shudder through her. "What do you think I'm doing?" she returned, wanting to sound gruff but failing. "We've been looking for you!"

Deakin didn't appear the least bit traumatized over whatever he'd witnessed throughout the night. In fact, his cheeks were flushed with excitement, his eyes alight and gleaming in the darkness.

"Where have you been all this time?" Taleb then demanded, looking to Sabian Reif.

The man gazed back at him, his face oddly expressionless. Oliveah had met this Reif on a couple previous occasions, and knew full well what was said about him. It was whispered he spoke to ghosts.

"Worry not, Taleb Okin," Sabian said now, staring at the one he addressed. "The boy came to no harm this night."

Taleb seemed uneasy as he looked back. Oliveah didn't blame him—Sabian tended to make most people's skin crawl, although this had everything to do with his reputation and nothing to do with his appearance, which was utterly ordinary. Personally, she'd always done her best not to judge him for his unique, albeit dark, talent, and they'd exchanged kind words in the past.

He now looked to her. "I fear something unfortunate might've befallen him had we remained with my uncle and the others."

Oliveah felt herself frown. "What are you saying—that you deliberately separated him from the rest of the group?" She exchanged a quick, baffled look with Taleb.

Sabian blinked slowly, still staring at her, before responding. "You know who I am, Oliveah," he replied. "So you shouldn't have any trouble believing me when I say this evening would've resulted much differently—and much less fortunately—had I not acted as I did. Trust this information came from a reliable authority."

She blinked quickly, startled.

Is he saying Deakin would have died? Did his ghosts tell him this?

Speechless, she could do nothing but gaze back at him, even while distantly hearing her brother excitedly inform Taleb of all he'd seen this night.

"Sabian always knew just when to leave a hiding place, right before the danger appeared," he was saying. "And we had a perfect view of a band of Thieves stealing the statue of Ardin from the fountain in the Circle!" the boy enthused.

Oliveah's eyes were still locked with Sabian's as her mind worked to process all she was hearing. Could this be true? Had Sabian's ghosts led them about the city this night, deliberately keeping them from harm?

In the end, she finally decided it didn't matter; all that did was the result.

"Thank you," she told Sabian Reif.

Part 2

Homecoming

Chapter 13

As his horse crested a low rise in the roadway, Baiel Maves looked ahead and spied the great, steadfast walls of Lutarre Keep looming in the distance, shrouded in the mist and shadows of dawn's pale light. The keep was home to the warlords, men who'd been born to War or to those who had chosen it, and a place where any man, woman or child blessed in this dominion could find welcome and acceptance. Lutarre Keep was where men—and historically, some women—came to learn how to fight and kill. It was where babies born to War were often abandoned, either given in tribute to the warlords' cause or left by parents fearful of their child's Patron.

Popular opinion held to the belief that is was the warlords, not Justice, who were ultimately responsible for the safety of the realm, a fact not wholly untrue. For while law-breaking and crime-punishing fell under the dominion of Justice, it was the warlords who were called upon to quell any civil unrests or confront potential threats rising beyond Dhanen'Mar's borders. They did not take orders from the king and pledged to him no fealty, instead considering any matter that invited their interference and taking action only if they determined doing so was in the best interests of the country. Many times throughout history they'd denied the wishes of their reigning king, disagreeing with his aims for one reason or another, although only once had a king been foolish enough to send his royal army against them in retaliation. His army was annihilated, the king beheaded, and no Dhan'Marian king in the last three hundred years had dared a similar action again.

In current times, no one sought trouble with the warlords. Many, however, sought them for another reason: Acceptance.

It was not uncommon for those born to Death, ostracized by much of society, to make their way to Lutarre Keep and pledge War as their Secondary. Still, War and Death weren't the only medallions seen within, other common dominions being Justice, Destiny, Healing, and Love. All were welcomed so long as their Choice Patron was War, with those not showing a propensity for the sword making themselves useful in a variety of other ways that aided the general care-taking of the keep and its inhabitants.

Only two Patrons barred one's admission, even if combined with a War medallion. Neither Chaos nor Revenge was permitted within the walls, and for reasons more or less obvious; both were simply too dangerous an influence to have about the warlords. While Chaos was an enemy to their strict and disciplined ways, Revenge presented a motive far too petty to serve any of their needs. This exclusivity pained them, but they'd learned through experience to remain steadfast with this rule.

Baiel Maves wore a War Birth medallion and had now called Lutarre Keep home for the past nine years. Only a season from his nineteenth birthing-day, he'd yet to choose a Secondary, a decision he'd now been contemplating nearly four years. His hesitation stemmed from uncertainty over which Patron's blessing he wished to invoke, although the main cause was that he was entirely satisfied with his life as it was and feared any choice would only bring unwanted change. Fortunately, one could take as long as they wished to choose their Secondary, so his current lack of direction rarely plagued his thoughts.

The topic was on his mind now though, as he watched the encompassing walls of Lutarre Keep grow more defined with each step of his horse. Mostly by choice he'd rarely left the keep these past nine years, but upon encouragement from his captain had recently agreed to take some time away, indulging in the opportunity to explore other areas of Dhanen'Mar. He'd departed the third week of spring, it was now the second of summer, and after nearly six weeks he'd become extremely anxious to return home.

Born in one of the small mountain villages to the north, he remembered little of his origins, of his life before the tragedy that had separated him from his family. He'd been six when the Jennite raiders had appeared, coming across the border to attack and plunder the village, and he recalled those men killing his parents by sword point after their futile efforts to protect him and his sister. Of Reagan, he remembered little. He knew she was two years older than he, and that they shared the same deep red hair that was such a rarity here in Dhanen'Mar, but any further details eluded him no matter how hard he struggled. All other details but for one, for certainly he'd never forgotten her Birth Patron Rizea, she who presided over the dominion of Revenge.

He was forced to presume Reagan had been taken and sold into slavery, just as he was. If so, his deepest hope was that she'd landed with a master far more generous that his, a man who'd worked him to the bone night and day in his potato fields and whipped him for any reason that caught his fancy. Knowing he couldn't possibly survive his entire slave-term of ten years, Baiel had quickly began plotting his escape. Its execution took him nearly three years. He was nine when he finally managed to vanish from the farm, racing away into the night with a specific destination held firmly in mind.

It took him almost two seasons—twelve weeks—to make his way from the north, crossing nearly the entire country to reach the southern lands where the warlords dwelt. Caution saw him traveling by night, and keeping wary of any Justice officers who would've hauled him back to his master or returned him to the slave market. And while he did have a few close calls, being discovered and pursued but not caught, he made it into the warmth of the south relatively unscathed.

It was with utter clarity he remembered presenting himself at the gates of Lutarre Keep that day. Half-starved and painfully thin, with wooden slats strapped to his feet in place of the shoes that had been stolen while he slept, he'd walked straight up the roadway to the gatehouse, shoulders back and head held high.

"I'm an orphan," he'd said to the men there, his silver War Birth medallion resting on its chain at the base of his throat.

"Not anymore," one of the warlords had replied, moving to unlatch the gates.

Before asking so much as his name, he was given food, a warm bed in the bunkhouse, and two sets of clothing, including boots. Laying his head down to rest that first night, the feeling was as clear as it was unmistakable—he was home.

A few days later a sword had been put into his hand for the first time, and much to his surprise, the weapon immediately took on the feel of being an extension of himself. His natural skill impressed the warlords, and he spent the next several years practicing relentlessly under their tutelage. By the time he was thirteen it was clear Gaiden Rojek, the warlords' captain, was grooming him to one day take over his own position, and at fifteen, Baiel passed all the requisite trials and officially joined their ranks.

Now three years later, he was indisputably known to have the quickest sword of any man in the keep. There were none he could not disarm, including Captain Rojek, a talent that caused many of his brethren to speculate he must've been blessed with the talent of Stahl himself, the very Patron of War.

Baiel spent little time pondering the truth of his prowess; it was simply a part of him, and rarely bore thinking about. What he was certain to acknowledge and appreciate, each and every day, was the family he'd found here and become a part of. The warlords were as brothers to each other, and those they trained much like sons. For those who dwelt in the keep but weren't swordsmen, such as the forgers, smiths, bakers and scullions, they were as cousins within the large, extended family, whose members all held to the common goal of a pleasant life. Those who lived within Lutarre Keep were kind, generous, and endlessly helpful to one another, whether a warlord or a simple gardener. Every life here mattered, had a purpose, and was respected. Baiel couldn't imagine ever living anywhere else.

Particularly not now, after having spent the past six weeks traveling about Dhanen'Mar.

He'd initially agreed to the departure for one reason and one reason only; although more than twelve years had passed, he still harbored hope of one day finding his sister. If Reagan had indeed been sold into the slave market as he had, her decade of service should've been over two years earlier, now leaving her a free woman. Unfortunately, he had no clues to help determine where she might've settled since, and had therefore taken to simply passing through as many towns and cities as possible while on his travels.

He'd discovered not so much as a whisper of her presence. Not a single person he questioned found the description of a twenty year old woman with blazing red hair familiar. No one claimed to remember ever hearing the name Reagan Maves.

As a result, Baiel could no longer dismiss the fear that she'd not survived the raid, perhaps killed just minutes after their parents. He also had no way of discovering this truth. All he could do was hope, and keep his ears open for any words that might hold a clue to her whereabouts. If she was still alive, it was a further possibility she'd opted to leave Dhanen'Mar, although he doubted it. The reality of her Birth Patron all but proved otherwise.

Born to Revenge, if she'd survived it was all but certain she'd now be seeking vengeance on the Jennite raiders who'd massacred their village and shattered their family. Baiel was horrified by the very idea, for not only was this action likely to get Reagan killed, but as a warlord, he'd been trained to reject all negative emotions such as revenge, greed, and pride, as they only worked to corrupt one's objectives. The reality of Reagan's sole motivation being revenge was a truth he found very difficult to wrap his mind around, although this wasn't to say his own memories of the Jennite raiders didn't bother him, or occasionally haunt his dreams. But he had seen to the matter his own way.

Only days after his arrival nine years earlier, he'd informed the warlords of the circumstances, explaining the events that had led him to their keep. Disgusted by the lack of action put forth by King DeSiva to halt this years-long treachery, fifty warlords had then ridden out to put an immediate stop to the butchery. Many of the raiders escaped them by crossing the border back into Jennen, but others did not. And while the warlords questioned these men over Reagan's possible whereabouts, no trace of her had ever been found.

In his mind, Baiel feared the worst. But in his heart, hope remained.

During the fifth week of his travels he'd come to Tyrell, Dhanen'Mar's home city of the Arts. Having recently learned of the thousands of people who journeyed there every year to celebrate the festival of Ardin's Pride, he'd been hoping luck would perhaps steer him into Reagan's path. Once arrived, he'd even tried making an appointment with a diviner in hopes she could confirm whether or not his sister still lived, but unfortunately this woman had been booked solid for the entire festival. Disappointed but not discouraged, he'd spent the remainder of the week searching every female face to cross his path, to no avail.

The final night of Ardin's Pride had then brought some unexpected circumstances, namely a city-wide brawl resulting in the looting and destruction of much of Tyrell. Disgusted to encounter such a scene, Baiel had fought his way from the city and never looked back.

The home city of the Arts now lay twelve days behind him, and he'd used the time since to contemplate all he'd seen and experienced these past weeks. Most particularly, how life across Dhanen'Mar differed from the environment he was accustomed to in Lutarre Keep. In the end he was led to wonder if the keep functioned as smoothly as it did because all inhabitants shared a common Patron, eventually concluding that this was indeed the likeliest reason.

His recent observations further left him considering the fifteen Patrons of the world, and to seeking insight that would lead him toward his Secondary. But here he'd failed, continuing to feel no connection at all to any of the choices before him. The majority of warlords chose Death, most others Justice, but Baiel didn't feel either was the correct Secondary for him. Destiny carried a certain allure, he had to admit, but still did not invoke the certainty he sought.

Finally, he'd simply decided the answer would come to him when it was meant to; in the meantime, he'd leave the matter in Fate's hands and trust to its designs not to steer him wrong.

Now nearing the gates of Lutarre Keep, he slowed his horse as the massive iron portcullis began to rise, its thick chains rattling to disrupt the quiet of the morning. He rode on through, drinking in the familiar sights and sounds of the community within.

Dhanen'Mar's home city of War was a small, self-contained environment, with its main laneway beginning at the gates and ending at the castle where all warlords dwelt, some with their wives and children. All wives carried a medallion of War, whether by birth or choice, but children born to all dominions were welcome until their fifteenth year. At that time, they could then either pledge a Secondary of War and remain in the keep, or depart the only home they'd ever known and make their way elsewhere in Dhanen'Mar. Not surprisingly, the majority selected the former option.

The north end of the keep held the bunkhouses where the warlords-in-training lived, whereas the south held shops, eateries, and a couple of smithies in addition to a small residential neighborhood. The temple of Stahl, presided over by its three resident clergymen, lay directly at the heart of the keep, and it was here Baiel headed first.

Dismounting before the temple steps, he wasn't surprised when Qyn, a twelve year old trainee he'd now spent several years instructing, hurried forth to take his reins. Prior to his departure Qyn had requested permission to accompany him and act as his squire, but Baiel hadn't wished to disrupt his training and issued a denial.

"I must've been gone much longer than a mere six weeks," he said now, looking down at the boy, "for it seems you've grown a full half-pace in my absence."

Qyn beamed. "Do you truly think so?"

"No question," Baiel told him. "I had to look twice to be certain it was you."

"It's been awfully dull here in your absence, Sir Maves," the boy then said, before shooting him a hopeful look. "Will you be taking up our training again soon?"

"I'll see you in the practice field at dawn," Baiel promised.

Qyn smiled broadly and gave a nod. "Dawn then," he enthused, before turning to lead the horse away toward the stables.

Baiel watched him go, thinking. Like a multitude of others in the keep, Qyn had been left outside the gates while only days old, just one of the many abandoned babies the warlords took in every year. These children generally fell into two categories.

The first were those given as respectful tributes to the warlords' cause, easily identified by way of their Birth medallions; inscribed with the child's full name, their presence at the keep was a point of pride to their families, the information an obvious invitation to one day seek out their origins should they so choose. But others, like Qyn, arrived with no such information, their medallions blank but for the word War scrawled upon its front and Stahl across its back, a clear sign of their families wanting nothing more to do with them. The naming of these babies was therefore given to the wet nurses who cared for them, and all given the surname of the current warlord captain. Consequently, Qyn Rojek was now the boy's full name, made official only days after his arrival.

The warlords received anywhere from fifty to a hundred abandoned babies every year. Roughly half were left nameless as Qyn was, but all things considered, they were not the unlucky ones.

Like those born to Death and Thieves, it wasn't an uncommon practice in Dhanen'Mar to leave babies born to War in fields or forests to die. Occasionally, these poor souls would be found by kind-hearted citizens and brought to Lutarre Keep, but all warlords were pained to know how many more must surely die, abandoned and undiscovered. The situation had recently prompted Captain Rojek to suggest the strategy of paying a small fee for any War-born child brought to the keep, although the idea wasn't without flaw.

While the money was certain to sway many into selling their babies to the warlords rather than abandoning them to death, it would further present the threat of newborns being snatched by kidnappers and passed off as their own upon delivery to the warlords. Given the seriousness of this concern, no decision had been reached prior to Baiel's departure six weeks earlier, and he was now very curious to learn if any determination had since been made.

Once Qyn had fallen from sight, he turned and started up the temple steps. Entering, he then paused to gratefully drink in the familiar scents and sights.

The color of War was red, and as such, the interior of the temple was decorated entirely in this hue. Wooden pews lined either side of the aisle leading down to the great stone effigy of Stahl, as he held aloft his sword and shield and rode his stone horse into battle. After glancing about to affirm the temple was otherwise deserted and he wouldn't be disrupting anyone's worship, Baiel approached the effigy and knelt before it.

He first offered thanks for being born and blessed in the dominion of War, followed by a request for wisdom so that he could serve and protect Dhanen'Mar to the best of his abilities. Next, he prayed for Stahl to grant protection over all children of War, so they would be born to families who would love and keep them or to those who'd deliver them safely to Lutarre Keep.

Ending his prayer, Baiel rose slowly back to his feet, noting the presence of one of the temple's resident clergymen now posed at the far wall and observing him silently. Baiel was well-acquainted with Brother Jord and thought highly of him, the two having indulged in countless discussions over the years.

"It pleases me to welcome you safely home, Baiel," the clergyman said now, starting toward him.

"I admit, my return comes as a relief," he replied. "Not a day passed that I didn't long for the keep, and all those within it."

Brother Jord was a tall, extremely thin man of approximately fifty years, with a face only a mother could truly love—or perhaps not, depending on his personal history. Baiel had never worked up the nerve to ask if he'd come to the keep willingly or been abandoned here, although either way it didn't truly matter, not to him or any other resident. The mind of Brother Jord was incredibly sharp when it came to the matter of discerning the troubles of others, and quick to provide wise and generous council. He loved all those born to War and all who'd chosen it, striving to aid these men and women in whatever ways they required. While the warlords no doubt proved the strength of the keep, Brother Jord was without question its heart.

He was now casting a curious glance to Baiel's throat. "I was expecting you to return with a Secondary," he said.

Baiel withheld a sigh. "Yes, and I imagine the captain expects the same. But the choice wasn't clear, so I deemed the venture ill-timed."

The clergyman began nodding in agreement. "As Dhan'Marians, we must honor our instincts above all else. Undoubtedly, you made the correct decision."

Having already reached a similar conclusion, it was nonetheless reassuring to hear Brother Jord reinforce his own view of the matter, and Baiel replied with a respectful nod.

"If not for your skill with a blade," the clergyman then went on with a grin, "I would hope this implied you were destined to join our ranks here in the temple."

Baiel glanced briefly to Brother Jord's War Birth medallion, resting alone at the base of his throat. For a clergyman or clergywoman, this was typical; those who comprised the clergy were typically the only persons never to select a Secondary, an effort to avoid influencing their devotion to their Birth Patron. Occasionally one would choose to double their fortune, making their Birth and Choice Patrons the same, but since this risked madness it was an unpopular decision and one rarely made.

"No doubt your destiny lies elsewhere," Brother Jord now added, still smiling faintly.

Baiel took a moment to consider before responding. "Yet you've received no relevant insights?" he ventured.

It was not uncommon for clergypersons—those of any and all Patrons—to receive what they referred to as "insights" in regard to those they counseled. These instances most often occurred during states of meditation, and in answer to a particular prayer or request for guidance. Once infused with the desired knowledge, the receiving clergyperson would then relay the information to the proper recipient, words accepted as having come from their Patron him-or-herself. Over the course of his service, Brother Jord had been the vessel chosen to relay several of these insights.

At present, however, he was shaking his head. "I regret not, but don't let this disturb you. One's path is always revealed in time."

Baiel shrugged. "I'm in no hurry to discover mine. It will unfold as Stahl deems fit, provided he has one for me."

"Of that there's little question," Brother Jord told him. "Now come, take refreshment with me and tell me of your travels. It's been years since I've left the keep, and would enjoy hearing of the world beyond."

Baiel gave a dry laugh. "You'll probably feel justified in remaining here once I tell you what occurred during the Ardin's Pride festival in Tyrell. The country outside our walls is a strange place, Brother."

The clergyman smirked as he turned to lead the way past the heavy red drapes and into the inner chamber beyond. "Of that, Baiel," his voice floated back with amusement, "I've no doubt."
Chapter 14

Every year, the week following the Ardin's Pride festival was one of vacation for all members of the Moriss Tipley Troupe, and like most of her troupe-mates, Madilaine Savannon had opted to return home for this time. Although for her, the term "home" could technically refer to either of her clan's main properties, located in two different cities of Dhanen'Mar and existing in addition to their many lesser holdings scattered all about the country. Like the majority of her fellow diviners, however, the latter property held this place in Madi's heart.

The first lay in Fortunia, the home city of Commerce. The Savannon males, all born to this Patron, more or less ruled this city under the leadership of Lord Eward, Madi's uncle and the family patriarch. Dwelling with them in Fortunia were their wives and children, as well as any number of cousins and other relations who'd journeyed from their own holdings to discuss business or other matters. It was rare for any less than two hundred Savannons to be housed in the city at any given time, with all lodged inside the tall structure of their House known as the Golden Towers.

The Savannon's second established seat in Dhanen'Mar was in Kohtala, the home city of Ehle, the Patron of Destiny. It was here the powerful females of the line dwelt, all born to Destiny and many of them powerful diviners. Their home was a great, towering spire known simply as the Spindle, and near its summit lay a long, open balcony where these women could stand and observe even the farthest reaches of Kohtala. The diviners presided over and protected their city, and the local populace loved them for it.

Madi's parents and brothers resided in Fortunia, but it was here in Kohtala she'd been raised, sent to her great-grandmother, aunts and cousins, once her gift began manifesting strongly enough to imply she carried the potential of a diviner. At age seven she'd made the move from Fortunia to Kohtala, living and training in the city of Destiny to eventually grow into the woman she'd now become.

On her eighteenth birthing-day she'd announced her intention to leave Kohtala and join a traveling troupe of some kind, as this would allow her the opportunity to offer her services to those living all across Dhanen'Mar. Her great-grandmother, as well as her favorite aunt Serena, had enthusiastically approved the idea; other members of her family had not, going so far as to take the matter to Eward in Fortunia. He agreed that a Savannon's talents were not to be put on display like cheap parlor trickery, or at least not for so low a cost as Madi would receive under such circumstances. Nearly the entire clan shared his view, and the affair grew extremely ugly.

Refusing to bend on the issue, Madi argued this was a course of action she felt inclined to take, and that it would be an insult to her Patron to deny such instincts. Eward countered by threatening her with an exile and disinheritance from the family. Madi's great-grandmother, Danetria Savannon, had then entered the fray.

At the time, Danetria had seen one hundred and two birthing-days and was a diviner of vast foreseeing power, reasons why she remained the one Savannon even Eward would not tangle with. And decreeing that Madi was to be free to see out her aims with no further threats or penalties, Eward—Danetria's grandson—had at last relented and sworn to adhere.

Madi hadn't seen her Uncle Eward since, choosing to spend any free time with her fellow diviners in Kohtala. The year before, her parents had journeyed from Fortunia to visit her here in the city of Destiny, but they'd yet to appear this week. She was disappointed but unsurprised. No doubt Eward had by this time gotten word of her arrest in Tyrell, and was devising ways to deal with her. She thought her parents' absence was likely his doing.

At present she stood upon the balcony near the Spindle's point, fifteen stories above the city. It was Thirteenth-day but quickly closing upon Fourteenth, a shift from Love to Magic. The night air was warm and carried a strong breeze from the coastline to the west, its rocky beach easily seen beneath the light of the waxing white moon. Staring out across the city, Madi continued to ponder the message she'd received from her troupe-master, Moriss Tipley, just a few hours earlier.

Typically, she'd now be preparing to depart Kohtala, starting out toward whichever city Moriss had selected for his performers to reconvene in. This year, however, it appeared the entire troupe had been granted an extra week of vacation, a direct result of what had occurred the final night of the Ardin's Pride festival, both in Tyrell and at the Tulan ranch.

Reavis had made it from the melee at the ranch relatively unscathed, but a couple of their troupe-mates hadn't been as lucky. One of the tumblers had broken an ankle while trying to get herself free of the fight, and one of the musicians an arm.

The situation in Tyrell had brought even worse results. A dancer had been raped, a flute player beaten so badly he remained in a comatose state even now, and a storyteller deprived of his very tongue. Stunned to read these details, Madi could only be thankful none of her troupe-mates had been killed.

In his message, Moriss went on to explain that he was presently en route to Coeo, the home city of Healing, with all injured persons. It was his hope they would all be treated and mended fully, although Madi entertained some doubt in regard to the storyteller's severed tongue. Even Healers had their limits.

But Moriss's concern for his performers was evident, and it was a relief to know all were in his capable hands, being brought to those with the skills to help them. He would send another note to confirm this, his message had gone on to explain, but if all went well in Coeo he then planned for all troupe members to convene upon First-day of summer's fourth week. Reading this, Madi quickly realized this would leave only two weeks before they needed to appear in Aralexia for the King's Challenge, for unlike some other troupe-masters, Moriss never allowed them to miss this most popular event.

Thousands traveled to the royal city to witness and gamble upon the combat, providing a lucrative opportunity for all his performers, and Madi knew she'd be in for another busy week. Normally this would suit her just fine, as the savagery of the Challenge failed to appeal to her and she much preferred giving readings to watching the duels, but this year would be different, and already she felt anxious.

Despite repeated efforts, she'd ultimately been unable to divine any explanation for the brutal events occurring the final day of Ardin's Pride. Events, she now knew, that had claimed a total of nineteen lives, including four Justice officers—three in Tyrell and one at the Tulan ranch—and one member of the Tulan clan. Her lack of answers left her frustrated as well as paranoid, and just this morning she'd finally appealed to her great-grandmother Danetria for help. Danetria had complied and consulted her fortune cards, but her conclusions only deepened Madi's confusion and led to more questions.

"I see many elements at work here," Danetria had murmured, studying the cards. "I see Destiny and Thieves, Revenge, War and Death. But above all I see Magic, and I see Chaos."

Madi fought off a grimace—Chaos, the one element she deemed her enemy, the one with the power to cloud and obscure any divination with its touch. The one she was meant to embrace but instead only ran from. Its very existence haunted her.

"I don't understand," she'd said.

"Nor do I," Danetria admitted, her slight frown nearly lost within the lines of her ancient face. "But there is one thing I can tell you, and with all certainty; whatever happened in Tyrell was the result of a great convergence of persons and events. Destiny held the reins, but was infiltrated and corrupted before making its true purpose known. Many paths crossed that were meant to, while other connections were missed, and some unplanned. Whatever Ehle's ultimate intentions in Tyrell," she continued worriedly, "they were not fully realized."

Madi was horrified. "How can we correct this?"

Danetria shook her head. "We can do nothing. The madness has passed; Destiny is once again in Ehle's hands."

"Only until Chaos corrupts it again!" she exclaimed, aghast.

"Not just Chaos, Madi," Danetria warned, tapping a gnarled finger on the fortune card dead center of all those before her. "Magic lies at the root of this, not Chaos. It was present, yes, but not the greater cause."

"How could Magic be responsible? A spell?" she questioned with a frown.

Danetria again studied the cards. "These are too unclear. Run and fetch my fortune ball."

Madi leapt to carry out the command, even while trying to contain her surprise. Typically, once one's chosen method of divination offered up no further clues, one didn't seek answers from another. Doing so was considered an insult to their Patron Ehle, who allowed her diviners to see only what she permitted.

Danetria, however, evidently gleaned enough from her cards to risk Ehle's wrath by attempting another reading with a different divining tool. This forced Madi to several worrying conclusions, the most obvious being Danetria must've seen something very concerning indeed.

She'd sat silently by for an interminably long time as her great-grandmother then stared into the depths of her glass fortune ball. In time, Danetria's own unease became more and more evident, leaving Madi to hope that whatever the truth, it wasn't a burden her great-grandmother would choose to shoulder alone.

Danetria's expression was unsettled when she finally blinked and sat back, her hand reaching for a silken cloth to throw over the ball and conceal whatever sights might still be lurking within. Her breathing was quick and shallow.

Madi remained silent, waiting. Inquiries would do her no good; her great-grandmother would either speak and reveal her observations of her own volition, or else wave her from the room. Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long for the verdict.

"Listen to me," Danetria began, reaching across the table for Madi's hand and enclosing it in a firm grip.

Madi found the touch strangely disconcerting. "What did you see?" she asked intently.

"More than I am capable of understanding at this time," Danetria told her, shaking her head. "But there's something I can be certain of, and it's that whatever Destiny began in Tyrell, its aims will be fulfilled in Aralexia at the time of the King's Challenge. And you are a part of it, Madi. Your gifts...they will be needed."

Madi felt her eyes widen, but her great-grandmother went on before she could speak.

"Regretfully, this is why I cannot warn you away from Aralexia. For I also saw a great danger lying in wait for you there, one you will not survive if you don't remain careful and ever observant to the signs."

Swallowing over the sudden dryness in her throat, Madi managed to ask, "What is the danger?"

Danetria was quiet a long moment. "You mustn't read for the king, Madi," she'd then replied, looking back unwaveringly.

Gazing upon the city of Destiny as she stood atop the Spindle's long, stone balcony, these were the words now echoing through her mind, a relentless loop she couldn't seem to silence.

You mustn't read for the king, Madi.

A more terrifying statement would've been difficult to imagine.

Should King DeSiva command her to read for him, there would be no way around it; to refuse would mean death. Yet Danetria warned her acceptance would also mean death, presumably due to whatever this reading would reveal. A king's secrets—the very idea made her shudder, and she wanted no part of it.

Of course, the most logical counter-step to this quandary was to simply avoid the city of Aralexia, official seat of the king as well as Dhanen'Mar's home city of Justice. But the fortune ball had intimated her presence was necessary, her talents meant to aid those in need of her services. And on this note, Danetria had revealed a few further points of interest.

First and foremost, she'd instructed Madi to stay near Oliveah, for apparently she too was embroiled in this matter and would in some fashion lay clear Madi's own path. Suspicious at mention of Oliveah and her connection to whatever was transpiring, Madi had then mentioned what she'd glimpsed of Taleb, and well as what Sabian Reif had said of him during their brief conversation at Reif Manor.

"That one carries a weighty destiny," Sabian had said, looking to the man in question. "Born of blood and alive only for the purpose of death."

Horrorstruck, Madi had asked him to explain himself.

"Not this day," he'd replied. "But my ghosts know things of that one even you'd have difficulty believing, diviner. Once the time has come and I am needed, you'll know where to find me."

The exchange had been chilling, particularly as Madi had yet to discover anything unfavorable whatsoever about Taleb, discounting her visions which seemed to coincide with Sabian's warnings. But she'd been very careful with her words later that evening when Oliveah had asked her opinion of him, as well as when she'd spoken her thoughts on Nathon. For he too had produced a glimmer of insight, one much less worrying but similarly unclear.

Madi's suspicions regarding the whole affair had only deepened when her great-grandmother then refused to speak about Taleb at all, saying only neither Madi nor Oliveah had any reason to fear him and that he did indeed have a part in Destiny's plans. As did Nathon, evidently, but Danetria would speak nothing more about him either.

Her great-grandmother's next advisement was to stay alert for any unlikely allies, namely Thieves. Madi had accepted this with a nod and a shrug, knowing there'd be plenty of Thieves in Aralexia at the time of the King's Challenge. She figured she'd probably have her purse cut a few times, but would make every effort to be friendly to any and all she encountered.

Danetria's final words of warning had then proven the most shocking, literally causing Madi's jaw to drop.

"The man you know as Lendiv Vakli," her great-grandmother instructed with utter seriousness. "When next you meet, you must trust to his every word. More lives than yours will depend on it."

Madi was dumbfounded. Another connection to Oliveah—and to Taleb. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it all meant, or where it might lead, although it did leave her with one final question. It was something that had been bothering her since Danetria's mention of Chaos, and she inquired as to whether one wearing this Birth medallion could be responsible for the influence seen in the cards and fortune ball.

Danetria had shaken her head. "A single Birth medallion would not account for it. The force of Chaos I viewed was much greater than only that."

Madi was relieved to hear this, as she didn't want to believe the Jennite who'd defended her in jail was responsible for what had occurred. Her strange attraction to him—a fact she'd not fully realized until after she'd departed his presence—perplexed her, although not because of his foreign status or even the air of danger she sensed about him. It was his Birth medallion she had issue with. Chaos, again, Chaos; it seemed she could never escape it. This was also why she'd taken Taleb's advice at the Tulan ball and kept clear of him, deciding then and there to completely remove Rydin Kale from her mind. This effort had proven successful until this morning, her thoughts of him triggered anew by her great-grandmother's mention of Chaos.

Furthermore, by this time Madi had scrutinized many of the bizarre events she and Oliveah experienced in Tyrell during the week of Ardin's Pride, and come to some fascinating conclusions.

The message she'd erroneously received from the street urchin, for example. Reading it while standing outside The Seeing Eye, she clearly recalled smelling smoke; how this directly connected to the result was still a mystery, but The Seeing Eye had burned to the ground during the riot. Mercifully, her cousins Mika and Haile had made it from the city unharmed, both now in Fortunia with Uncle Eward.

Also interesting was how this message specifically identified two mages, Villian and Synna, names that had meant nothing to her at the time but those she now knew as the pair who'd performed the fire-show at the Tulan ball. Additionally there was mention of the twenty Justice officers meant to be present, and given the fact of the Tulans' stolen diamond and horses she had no choice but to conclude this information must've been meant for the Thieves responsible for the heist. She further wondered if these Thieves, whoever they were, were planning to make an appearance in Aralexia the final week of summer.

The matter of her arrest continued to plague her as well, primarily because she still had no memory of her actions leading up to it. Hearing Reavis's reiteration of the event, she'd been appalled at herself. Inebriated or not, she simply couldn't believe she'd behaved in such a manner.

But these matters were now all minor concerns, overshadowed by the much more pressing question of how she was going to survive the fifteen days of the King's Challenge. She was tempted to address her fears to Oliveah in a letter, but finally convinced herself to wait until they'd reconvened with their troupe. This would still give them two weeks to formulate some sort of plan, she assured herself, as they weren't due in Aralexia until summer's final week.

Plenty of time, she thought silently, even while staring down into the city she loved more than any other, its streets quiet and still and nearly aglow in the luminous starlight. Madi then glanced at the moons and was surprised to note it was already past Second-hour; she'd been out here for hours. She decided she'd best now head to bed, although it remained questionable whether she'd actually find any sleep this night. She turned away with a sigh, starting toward the doors leading into the Spindle.

Catching slight movement in the corner of her eye, she paused and then turned, her gaze finding the small figure resting on the balcony's ledge perhaps a dozen paces distant. Its shape was that of a bird, but any further details were lost to darkness and shadow. Commonly-known harbingers in Dhan'Marian lore, the presence of birds foretold a wide variety of events, both well and ill, simply based on its species, behavior, or actions. Watching this one, Madi was suddenly certain that such a harbinger had come to her now.

Soundless, she slowly stepped closer. Could this be the sign she'd been praying for? An insight into how she could survive upcoming events in Aralexia?

She paused again, now only a few feet from the bird, when it suddenly unfurled and began flapping its wings. Still perched upon the ledge, it let loose a piercing screech.

It was an owl.

Madi's eyes widened in horror. Of all birds, owls were known as the unluckiest of all omens, their very presence a warning of death.

I'm going to die in Aralexia, she thought, just before movement exploded all around her.

A multitude of owls, screeching, flapping, and swooping, were now appearing from over the balcony's ledge. Shrieking, she swung her arms as they encircled her, some nipping at her hair and dress while others beat their wings about her shoulders and face. There were twenty, fifty, a hundred, the largest parliament she'd ever seen, their cries and screeches deafening as she struggled blindly toward the doors.

A talon struck her face, and she immediately felt blood begin to flow. Another was biting into her finger, and she screamed in panic, swinging her arms at the creatures. Her fists connected with several feathery bodies as she strove to keep pushing for the doors, her vision dizzy and obscured.

At last she felt her arm strike the door, and her hand scrambled for the handle. Sobbing, she tumbled into the safety of the Spindle, slamming the doors closed behind her. Her entire body was trembling and her breath hitching raggedly as she then turned disbelieving eyes to the large glass windows.

For the love of Ehle, what in the world just happened?

But the view beyond provided no answer. Gaze widening in horror, she saw the balcony was empty.

Chapter 15

Corbit's Canyon was the home city of Katrien, the Patron of Thieves. The city's history, including its very name, was a well-known story throughout the world, and one all Thieves loved to pridefully recount. Few listeners tried to deny it was a fantastic tale, regardless of their personal view of Thieves.

Corbit Perl was a native Dhan'Marian born four hundred and fifty years earlier. His Birth Patron was Thieves, as was his Secondary, and after escaping the threat of madness this choice risked he'd found himself blessed with a double-fortune of Thieves' luck and skill. Consequently, he soon became known throughout the world as one of the best of his trade ever to live.

His most infamous heist was the very canyon itself. At the time, the land belonged to a lord born to Harvest, and used to keep his herds of sheep, cattle, and goats. Hiring a few rogue mages to create a barrier spell that would bar the entry of anyone without a Thieves medallion, Corbit Perl claimed it all, including the lord's prosperous herds of animals.

Afterward, it was quickly decided that the canyon, now named after its usurper, was to become the new home city of Thieves. Thousands flocked there, finding it a sanctuary that the officers of Justice could not penetrate. Within Corbit's Canyon all Thieves found safety, including those who journeyed from distant lands and countries in seek of its protection.

With this action, Corbit Perl's reputation as one of the world's greatest Thieves was forever secured. A more negative effect was how he'd then found himself unable to leave the purloined canyon, as Justice officers observed it night and day, awaiting their chance to arrest him for his crime of pilfering it. They never received their opportunity, for Corbit wisely remained within, now in command of Dhanen'Mar's entire Thieves' network. When he died fifteen years later, passing peacefully in his sleep at just forty years old, he arose to become the new Patron of Thieves.

His ascension wasn't entirely unexpected, as all Patrons were once mortal. The men and women selected to attain these positions were those of an exclusive lot, individuals who'd either risked madness by doubling their fortune or those who'd chosen no Secondary at all, being part of the clergy or else too young to have yet made this choice. Cristiana, the current Patron of Death, was an example of the latter, a girl of only six when called by her predecessor. Left to mystery was only the length of time each Patron opted to hold their station.

Some presided over their dominions for centuries, such as Zalis, the present-day Patron of Healing. Others reigned only years before calling forth their replacement. Most commonly, however, a Patron served several decades. Corbit himself remained the Patron of Thieves for more than a century before finally selecting his heir, his soul then moving on to places unknown now his duty to the world was fulfilled. Katrien, the current Patron of Thieves, had been in service approximately fifty years.

But regardless of how many Patrons came to follow him, Corbit Perl would never be forgotten; not only did his infamous canyon still retain his name, but also the spells barring anyone without a Thieves medallion. Because of this, Flynn Fajen presently had little cause to worry, secure in the knowledge that even if they were aiming to arrest him for his schemes in Tyrell, Justice could not reach him here.

He was currently sitting in the common room of the Thieves' clubhouse, which in reality was a sprawling, three-story mansion. A typical setting for all sorts of business meetings, at the moment he was alone, the couches and chairs surrounding him empty as he sat in silent contemplation. The past several days had brought in numerous reports and much information, the majority of it far from pleasing.

The Tulan affair, while technically a success in regard to the heist itself, had resulted in colossal disaster. The tumult begun by Knoxx and meant only as a distraction had grown so fierce that four people had been killed, to say nothing of the scores who'd been injured. Several arrests had consequently been made, including that of Lord Beran Tulan for the murder of his own son. Evidently, his fight with Myron had grown so savage he'd lost complete control of himself and beaten his son to death with a chair. Flynn hadn't yet revealed this to Tishan, but was expecting her arrival at the clubhouse at any moment. He remained unsure of her reaction.

Matters at the Tulan ranch had not proved the worst of the evening, however.

The riot he'd instructed the Thieves of Sekasortia to incite in the streets of Tyrell had claimed a much higher body count as well as countless injuries, leaving a total of fifteen dead. Additionally, much of the city now lay in ruin, burned and looted and utterly destroyed, leaving many of Tyrell's citizens homeless or without the businesses that had provided their livelihoods. Flynn still couldn't understand how it had all gone so horribly wrong.

By way of the bronze pegasus who refused to leave him, he'd flown to Sekasortia just yesterday to meet with and receive a first-hand report from those who'd begun the riot in Tyrell's streets. He'd found these Thieves no less shocked and horrified over their unexpected success, and just as mystified. Claiming it had taken almost no effort at all to begin the tumult, they'd been caught off guard by the rapidity of the spreading violence and weren't even responsible for most of the looting, having high-tailed it from the city as soon as matters began falling out of control.

Finding no cause to blame or punish them for simply following his orders, Flynn left Sekasortia and started back to Corbit's Canyon in a daze of confusion.

None of this made the slightest amount of sense. He'd planned dozens if not hundreds of similar capers in his twenty-seven years of life, with none ever resulting as unexpectedly—or devastatingly—as this. Had the entire populace of Tyrell gone mad that night? Perhaps if the event had occurred upon a Tenth-day, one of Chaos, he could believe it, but this had been Fifteenth, governed by Death. He then wondered if the body count would've been lower had the Tulans not picked the final day of the festival to hold their ball. In need of answers but uncertain of where to find them, Flynn returned to Corbit's Canyon in a bitter mood.

Knoxx had been waiting for him with even more unfavorable news. Apparently Tyrell's Justice officers had now deduced the Thieves' involvement in inciting the riot, and blamed them entirely for the loss of three of their number as well as the additional twelve persons. Consequently, all Thieves had henceforth been banned from the city of the Arts, under threat of execution. Furthermore, this decree didn't only stand for the week of Ardin's Pride, but for all time, meaning Tyrell was officially off the map as far as all Thieves were concerned.

Interestingly, however, it appeared Justice hadn't yet uncovered the identities of those directly responsible for the Tulan thefts. Flynn found this remarkable, particularly as several men at the gates had witnessed his escape, and due to his brown skin he was hard to mistake. He could explain it only by presuming the darkness had kept him concealed, or perhaps the guards had been so distracted by the pegasus that they'd paid him little mind.

In any case, he'd still need to keep his ear tuned to any talk of the affair, because if warrants were issued in his name he would have no choice but to remain in Corbit's Canyon for some time. Such an occurrence would be unfortunate as well as inconvenient, for the biggest gambling event of the year was set to commence the final week of summer and Flynn wouldn't be pleased with having to miss it. The Thieves managed the entirety of this gambling every year, earning themselves a generous income as thousands placed their bets on the combatants of the King's Challenge games in Aralexia.

On the other hand, he now further mused, the setting of the event might possibly work in his favor, for as it happened his majesty King Redgar DeSiva personally found Flynn amusing. This was a result of the action that had seen him exiled from Ceja, and something which could feasibly grant him a pardon should the king feel so inclined. Particularly if talk of his majesty's own love of gambling was true.

Ultimately though, the rumors of King DeSiva's deepening madness made Flynn hesitant to predict the man's possible reactions, and he decided his wisest move was to simply remain in Corbit's Canyon until learning one way or the other if he was being sought by the law.

Tishan was thus far also in the clear. Unrecognized by any of the Justice officers present at the Tulan ball, it seemed all had simply assumed she'd left Tyrell in grief after the death of Myron, most likely returning to the mountains where she'd claimed to have been born. Not having used her real name with the Tulans, it was unlikely she would ever be properly identified, especially since Thieves were no longer permitted in the area.

As for Knoxx, his involvement would likely remain forever unknown; besides the mages Villian and Synna, none at the ball had caught so much as a glimpse of him. Even so, Flynn still aimed to play it safe, and upon his order neither Tishan nor Knoxx would be leaving the canyon until the final week of the season. It just wasn't worth the risk.

The eight racehorses they'd stolen were presently stabled in the clubhouse barn, delivered by the Thieves of Beavihm. Since selling them in Dhanen'Mar wasn't an option, Flynn had reached out to some contacts across the sea in the country of Balsh, and a price had been agreed upon. In just a few days' time the horses would be taken to the coast, then boarded and shipped to their new home where Flynn knew they'd be exquisitely cared for.

The diamond was a somewhat larger problem.

Besides kings themselves, few could hope to afford the gem as it was, leaving Flynn with little choice but to cut it down into numerous stones. Unfortunately, a further difficulty was that gem-cutters of fair proficiency weren't common, and he was still trying to track one down. His intention was to have the diamond broken into six pieces, and then placed in settings of gold and silver to be sold in Aralexia during the week of the King's Challenge. Finding buyers in this particular setting wouldn't be difficult, even within the home city of Justice.

As it presently stood, the diamond rested in all its glory atop the mantle in Flynn's bedchamber. He rarely gave it a second glance.

Yet another concern requiring his recent attention was the pegasus. Along with the Tulan racehorses it was also being kept in the clubhouse stable, but Flynn otherwise had absolutely no idea what to do with the animal. Knowing he was stuck with it until it saved his life no less than three times—and uncertain if their escape from the Tulan ranch counted, as the crossbow bolt hadn't been guaranteed to actually kill him—he'd devised a scheme in an effort to fool the beast.

A few days earlier, he'd directed one of his Thieves to "attack" him with a knife in full view of the pegasus. Expecting the animal to intervene with hooves and perhaps teeth, he'd warned his feigned assaulter to be ready for such a move, but the beast had only eyed the scuffle before snorting in disgust and swinging his head away.

Puzzled, Flynn attempted the same tactic with a different thief the following day, only to receive identical results. This time, however, Knoxx had happened along and lent some clarity to the matter.

"He's a pegasus, Flynn, you can't just hope to fool him," the mage chortled, apparently finding much humor in the situation. "These animals are heart-readers, the reason why they're nearly impossible to capture or deceive—a truth which still makes me curious to know how the Tulans got their hands on them in the first place."

Flynn had then coolly asked if there was any other pertinent information he should be made aware of.

"Nothing else comes to mind," Knoxx shrugged back at him.

Flynn proceeded to then give him a severe ass-chewing for not sharing this tidbit earlier, an act which resulted in the mage not being seen anywhere near the clubhouse for the following two days. Truly, Flynn loved Knoxx like a brother, but sometimes he just didn't think.

In light of the mage's revelation, however, Flynn had no choice but to accept the pegasus and embrace the situation fully. Already he'd given thought to schemes that might benefit from the beast's presence, as well as chosen a name for him. To all at the clubhouse, the pegasus was now known as Caelis.

Caelis appeared to be adapting to life here in Corbit's Canyon smoothly enough, but Flynn suspected he was bored silly. With respect to this, the Thieves' commander made an effort to take to the skies for at least an hour each day, a chore he was coming to love more and more; there really was no comparing the sensation of soaring through the sky with a breathtaking, bird's-eye view of the lands below. With resignation, Flynn suspected he'd soon be much too attached to the pegasus, and would, once the time came, be heartbroken to see him go.

All things considered, the commander of Dhanen'Mar's Thieves Guild presently had much to occupy his mind, and he looked up expectantly as the sound of footsteps finally reached his ears. Tishan and Knoxx rounded into the common room a moment later, her with a typical expressionless gaze while the mage appeared uncharacteristically preoccupied.

"Have a seat," Flynn told them, nodding to the empty couch opposite him. He then waited in silence as they complied, carefully contemplating his next words. Evidently noting his seriousness, neither Tishan nor Knoxx spoke, but both now looked curious over why he'd summoned them.

"You're aware of the fatalities at the Tulan ranch the night we pulled our heist," he began.

They nodded. When this information had initially been revealed they'd shared in Flynn's astonishment, but whether either of them felt any guilt over their involvement, the Thieves' commander had yet to determine. Truthfully, he was still trying to sort out if he was at all culpable for the situation. Certainly the actions of his Thieves had set things in motion, but were they the true bearers of responsibility here? They hadn't put weapons into those people's hands and urged them to kill each other, after all. Still, it was a question Flynn continued to wrestle with.

"You said four were killed at the ranch," Knoxx now said leadingly into the silence.

Flynn looked back at him, then turned his gaze onto Tishan. "Myron Tulan was one of them," he revealed. "His father has been arrested for the crime."

Tishan's expression remained unchanged, her hazel eyes simply staring back at him, but Flynn knew this meant little; she was, without question, one of the most difficult people to read he'd ever encountered. Knoxx, however, could typically offer a fair guess as to her thoughts, and so it was to him Flynn looked now.

The mage appeared pensive.

"We really should make an effort to discover the deeper truth of that night, Flynn," he said. "As it stands, events simply don't make sense."

While true there were times Knoxx didn't quite use his head as well as he should, he could also be rather clever when the situation called for it. His response, therefore, had been delivered on the expectation that Flynn not only understand what he was intimating, but that he respond accordingly.

The Thieves' commander began nodding. "I agree, and am considering contacting a diviner to get to the bottom of this mess. Although whatever the truth, none could argue that the Tulans selected a most unfavorable day to hold their ball."

Flynn and Knoxx then exchanged the swiftest of glances as they waited for Tishan to speak, both hoping her response would now answer the question of whether she felt any guilt over Myron Tulan's death. Instead, she issued a reply completely unexpected.

"I think Magic somehow had a hand in this," she told them matter-of-factly.

Flynn gave a blink of surprise, thinking that, once again, Tishan had thrown them clear off course.

"What makes you say that?" Knoxx asked, turning to her with a frown.

She paused a long moment, then said, "I'm not sure."

Flynn again looked to Knoxx, this time in question. While not Dhan'Marian himself, after four years of living amongst them he knew how sacredly they held their instincts, a fact which in turn made him wonder how much weight he should now be giving Tishan's speculation.

"Magic is your domain, Knoxx," he then said. "Can you shed any light on this?"

The mage sank back into the couch, exhaling loudly. "I admit, I hadn't considered the possibility. But it's feasible."

Flynn frowned. "Explain."

"Well," Knoxx began, his brows lifting slightly, "certainly spells exist that could've brought forth such circumstances."

"Villian and Synna?" Flynn guessed. "Perhaps they unleashed something prior to finding the pegasi, in hopes of aiding their escape?"

"No," Knoxx denied instantly, shaking his head. "I should've been clearer; if a mage is responsible, he or she is a rogue."

"Were you aware of any other mages upon the premises?" Flynn questioned.

Knoxx shook his head again.

Tishan turned to him. "What if Magic was the Secondary?"

A quick look passed between the two, one Flynn couldn't decipher. Then Knoxx was nodding.

"Certainly," the mage said. "Particularly if influenced by Chaos."

"The Jennite wore a Chaos Birth medallion," Tishan said.

"Jennite?" Flynn repeated, then listened as Knoxx relayed the rather bizarre scenario of how this Jennite had helped Tishan—and, unknowingly, himself—escape the clutches of a couple Justice officers.

"That was strange," Flynn murmured, thinking. "But was this man's Secondary Magic?"

Knoxx shrugged. "He had it turned inward. Could've been anything." He paused briefly. "A combination of Chaos and Magic is extremely rare, as such dominions don't mix well."

"No rarer than Magic and Thieves," Flynn pointedly replied.

Knoxx acknowledged this with a nod. "True."

"So, do we believe this is what happened?" Tishan cut in, glancing from one to the other.

Flynn took her in, finally receiving the answer to his earlier pondering—yes, she did feel guilty about Myron's death, the reason why she was so anxious to discover the responsible party. If there was a responsible party, besides themselves. In all honesty, Flynn really didn't know whether he could believe this magical theory.

"It's a possibility," Knoxx was now stressing cautiously to Tishan, while in all likelihood sharing Flynn's line of thought.

"So how can we discover the truth for certain?" she pressed.

"I don't know," Flynn replied. "No one wearing Thieves can even approach Tyrell now, and I fail to see how else we might gain clues to the Jennite's identity."

Her response was a silent stare.

"But if what we suspect is true," he went on, "there's a chance Justice will reach the same conclusion and hunt him down themselves."

She grimaced. "You think to leave this to Justice? To those imbeciles?" When Flynn didn't reply she went on. "Why not let Knoxx go? So long as he remains invisible inside Tyrell, he won't be in any danger."

To Flynn's great surprise, the mage immediately began nodding at the suggestion. Apparently he was very determined indeed to dispel Tishan's guilt about Myron.

"It wouldn't be much trouble," Knoxx enthused. "Tyrell's only a four-day ride, so I can make it there and back in a week."

Flynn regarded the mage with narrowing eyes, finding his abundant willingness suspicious. "I thought we decided to be cautious and remain in the canyon for the duration of the summer," he said, still staring at the mage discerningly. "The officers in Tyrell will lynch you if you're discovered there, and most will know you by sight since you wore your Secondary outward all throughout the festival."

Knoxx gave a shrug. "Then I won't let them see me."

Flynn sat back, thinking. He was nearly certain the mage was hiding something, but had no idea what it was. Consequently, was it not for Tishan and his desire to alleviate her guilt, Knoxx wouldn't be going anywhere.

Withholding an annoyed sigh, he turned to regard the other man. "One week, Knoxx," he said, eyes again narrowed. "From tomorrow's dawn you have precisely one week to reach Tyrell, find out everything you can about this Jennite, and then return to the canyon. If you're so much as an hour late, I will hand you over to the law myself."

Knoxx nodded quickly, but Flynn further observed what seemed a flash of relief in his eyes. Whatever the mage was up to, the Thieves' commander surmised, he evidently had to leave Corbit's Canyon to do it.
Chapter 16

Knoxx set out at sunrise the following day, feeling rotten for having used Tishan's guilt as his excuse to escape, but primarily just relieved to have pulled off a successful exit. Confined to the canyon for the entire summer at Flynn's order, this would be his only chance to fulfill the task his brother had charged him with two weeks earlier in Tyrell.

Getting past Flynn hadn't been easy, and Knoxx was almost certain the Thieves' commander suspected he was up to something. Had it been his choice he would've confided the truth of the matter to both Flynn and Tishan, but with respect to Devlin's warning he'd kept his tongue, not wanting to endanger them. Even so, being forced to hold his silence was irritating, as this had now become a hideously complicated affair.

First and foremost, he'd now had time to piece together all the bizarre connections he'd stumbled across the night of the Tulan ball. The most glaring was that he'd actually spoken to Oliveah Oslund outside The Rejoicing Rooster the morning he'd arrived in Tyrell, and she'd blatantly taken notice of his Secondary of Thieves at the time. In turn, this meant she'd most certainly recognize him if he were to suddenly appear at her family's vineyard, and would know him for what he was even if his Secondary was inverted. Consequently, there was no chance of him receiving permission to enter the property, no matter how creative a story he attempted to weave.

To complicate matters further, the Oslund vineyard sat upon Tyrell's outskirts but was still considered within the city limits. Due to the newly-instituted decree made by local Justice, this meant Knoxx could now lawfully be hanged for even approaching it. Or at least, if he was seen approaching it. He spent the entire first day of his journey intermittently sending prayers of thanks to Eris, the Patron of Magic, for having gifted him with the power of invisibility.

The distance between Corbit's Canyon and Tyrell was approximately four days on horseback, but Knoxx rode hard and made it in just over three to arrive on Fifth-day, ruled by Harmony. His plan was to now enter the city of the Arts and find some information on the Jennite quickly, leaving him the remainder of the week to spy on the Oslunds. Unfortunately, he was going to waste a lot of time going back and forth from Tyrell so he could reappear, rest, and sleep where it was safe, but unless he wanted to risk being hanged this couldn't be helped. Barely recovered from the taxing events of the Tulan ball, he knew he was in for an exhausting week.

Ensuring his Choice medallion was flipped to conceal its now deadly truth, Knoxx paid a farmer just beyond Tyrell's limits to care for his horse for the next several days before continuing on foot.

He made certain to fade into invisibility well before reaching Tyrell, a decision he deemed wise after considering the official signpost hung next to the road, meant to welcome all travelers to the home city of the Arts. Justice's decree, written elegantly upon a long scroll, had been nailed to the signpost, warning all Thieves that to enter here meant death. In addition, a citizen had added some thick black paint beneath the scroll, letters spelling out "May all Thieves Burn in the Deepest Chasms of Fire".

Taking this in, Knoxx proceeded to stare at the bold declaration for some time, feeling dumbfounded. Given the death and destruction unleashed on the final night of the festival he had no trouble understanding the populace's fury; what he still couldn't comprehend was how the situation had grown so completely out of control. He was therefore inclined to side with Tishan on the matter, suspecting there'd been outside influences not yet identified. He thought the Jennite theory held possibility, but planned on keeping an open mind. It was entirely possible the answer they sought had nothing whatsoever to do with the man wearing the Chaos Birth medallion.

In the interest of keeping as silent as possible, Knoxx removed his boots and stashed them behind a tree before continuing into the city. He then quickly determined his feet were going to be in rough shape by the conclusion of the week.

Since he and Tishan hadn't returned to Tyrell after successfully escaping the Tulan ranch, this was to be his first sight of Tyrell since its ravaging. Wandering silently through its streets, he observed the ruin the once beautiful city of the Arts had become.

The southern district had burned almost entirely to the ground. The city's center streets as well as its west end appeared to have taken the brunt of the looting and vandalism, littered with broken glass which he had to be mindful not to step on. The residential area to the north was mostly untouched, but the eastern streets a disaster. Evidently, someone had manipulated the underground system of wells that fed water into the city and completely flooded the streets. Much of the east side therefore remained a swamp, covered over in water and floating debris.

As for the citizens, it appeared they'd been of two minds over how to deal with the disaster. Many had decided to stay, rebuild, and continue their lives here, now seen salvaging through their shops and homes or working to repair any inflicted damage. Others, or so Knoxx overheard, had simply packed up their families and left, hoping to find better fortune elsewhere. And as far as the latter group was concerned, he couldn't fault them for deserting; Tyrell was an eyesore.

He continued wandering the streets for roughly two hours, until twilight began tainting the western sky purple. He then made his way back to the city limits, not shedding his invisibility until reaching a safe distance into the countryside. Lacking any semblance of an appetite, and determined to find some answers the following day, he lay down on the grass to sleep.

But Sixth-day, ruled by Revenge, brought no better luck. He spent the morning once again walking the streets of Tyrell, listening to the conversations of the city-folk as they worked to restore their homes and businesses. He did glean there was much murderous hatred now harbored here for Thieves, but heard no mention of any other theories that might explain the disaster.

With exhaustion setting in, he headed back to his make-shift campsite just outside Tyrell, ate some bread and cheese for lunch, and then napped for two hours to regain his strength.

The remainder of the afternoon as well as the early evening was spent shadowing the city's Justice officers. He was disturbed to discover that, like Tyrell's citizens, these men and women were entertaining no possibilities but that Thieves were entirely responsible for the situation, with many hoping one would prove bold enough to enter so they'd have an excuse to hang him or her.

Tomorrow, Knoxx decided as he lay down to rest that night, he would investigate the Tulan ranch. Perhaps his luck would be more favorable there.

Seventh-day was governed by Ehle, the Patron of Destiny, and he awoke at dawn with a near-desperate hope that she'd throw him some good fortune this day. Aside from alleviating Tishan's guilt over Myron Tulan's death, the reputation of all Dhan'Marian Thieves now depended on him finding some sort of answer. Furthermore, he was quickly running out of time. He'd intended to give himself several days to spy on the Oslunds, gathering as much information about the slaves Taleb and Nathon as possible, but for this to happen he would need to start for the vineyard soon.

Grinding his teeth together in frustration, he prepared and ate a hurried breakfast before vanishing from sight and starting off in the direction of the Tulan ranch.

Uncertain of what he should expect to find there, upon his arrival he was surprised to discover a fair amount of activity occurring all about the estate. After passing silently through the gates, which conveniently lay open, he immediately caught sight of several Justice officers standing up by the main house, speaking with an animated Risane Tulan. Knoxx hurried forward, aiming to eavesdrop.

"Of course I mourn for my brother," Lady Risane was furiously insisting to the officers, "but you can't truly believe my father was responsible!"

"My lady, there were countless witnesses to the act," one of the officers responded cautiously. "I'm afraid your lord father's guilt is therefore without doubt."

Knoxx had now reached their party, and drew to a pause behind one of the officers as Risane Tulan's face erupted in rage.

"While it's true he struck the blows, he is not responsible for Myron's death!" she insisted, her voice growing more shrill with every word. "I must insist you release him!"

The officers glanced at each other, collectively looking as though they wished to run from the conversation.

"My lady," one of them began carefully, "we've been through this countless times already. I'm afraid there's simply no proof to this alternative...theory...you've put before us, meaning your father's arrest must hold."

"It's not a theory!" she screamed, fists clenched into balls at her sides. "Yes, my father's always been known to have a temper, but he loved Myron, and never would've caused him deliberate harm. Not to his only son! I'm telling you, there was Magic at work here!"

The officers all sighed, glancing away, but Risane Tulan now had Knoxx's strict attention. He listened intently as she went on.

"Two mages were in attendance that night, need I remind you again?" she raged. "Villian and Synna were their names, and the situation is somehow their doing, I'm certain of it!"

One of the officers shook his head. "You offer suspects but no motive. Why would these mages have done this? To what possible gain?"

At this Lady Risane fell silent, and Knoxx immediately understood why. It was because of the missing pegasi.

Now knowing Villian and Synna's true purpose here had been the pegasi and not the fire-show, Risane seemed to believe the mages had unleashed some sort of spell over the ball's attendees in an act of revenge. Unable to divulge her family's possession of the pegasi, however, she could speak nothing of her suspected motive.

All in all, Knoxx deemed it a fair theory. It was wrong, of course, but Risane wouldn't know enough about Magic to realize why. Indeed, had Villian and Synna been looking for revenge, they would've simply killed Beran Tulan and been on their way—an act Synna had expressed interest in, only to be thwarted by Villian's authority. But to cast a spell that would've induced the sort of ruckus seen in the ballroom . . . none but a rogue would have dared it. The mages of Venaris Sheea had their own rules and laws, as well as their own persons to uphold them, and these men and women, born to Magic and backed by Justice, were not a party any mage wanted to tangle with.

But Risane's conclusion nevertheless led Knoxx somewhere interesting, for much like Tishan she believed Magic had been at play here. And while Lady Risane suspected it for the wrong reasons, she obviously believed it was the only explanation for her father's murderous rage.

A rogue mage, or one who wore Magic as their Secondary. Knoxx had no choice but to conclude one of these options held the answer, and he turned his attention back to the conversation still unfolding before him.

"If you're refusing to send an inquiry to Venaris Sheea, I'll do it myself," Risane Tulan was now haughtily informing the Justice officers.

The threat was a bluff. Knoxx knew this because there wasn't any chance a Tulan would be so bold as to contact Venaris Sheea after stealing those pegasi. The officers, however, appeared to be taking the bait.

"All right Lady Tulan, there's no cause for that," one of them said now, raising a hand. "There are several officers in Aralexia with a Secondary of Magic, those fully capable of investigating these sorts of situations. We'll send word to the city and request one be deployed to Tyrell immediately." He paused briefly as Risane began nodding in victory. "But should this individual's conclusions fail to coincide with your own," he then continued, "you'll have no choice but to accept them. The death of your brother will not remain unpunished, whether or not your father is determined the true culprit."

"He won't be," she responded with complete confidence. "I assure you, it's the mages Villian and Synna who need to be punished."

None of the officers looked convinced, nor anxious for this to be proved true. Dealing with the mages of Venaris Sheea was always a tricky business, and something Justice tried to avoid at all costs.

After declaring she'd now be anxiously awaiting the arrival of the officer sent from Aralexia, Risane turned and marched toward the estate house, entering and slamming the door behind her.

Knoxx then amused himself for the next several minutes by listening to the continued conversation of the Justice officers, talk that mainly consisted of referring to Lady Risane in all manner of vile and unflattering ways. Needless to say, she hadn't left them with a particularly endearing impression.

Stifling his mirth, Knoxx left the foul-mouthed officers behind and started across the grounds. After a brief but thorough investigation of the entire ranch, he found absolutely nothing of interest besides the fact that the Tulan warhorses, the family's only remaining prize now that their diamond, racehorses, and pegasi had all been stolen, were now guarded by no less than a hundred armed men.

Knoxx gave up and departed the grounds at late morning, figuring he'd already discovered all there was in the way of clues. It was enough though, for the Thieves now had a starting point should Flynn decide to pursue the matter further, and given the circumstances Knoxx thought he probably would.

Returning to his campsite just outside Tyrell's city limits, he reappeared and took a long nap. So far, resting between excursions had kept his exhaustion at bay, although whether he'd be able to continue this strategy was in question. It would mostly depend on the situation awaiting him at the Oslund vineyard.

He awoke at mid-afternoon, packed up his few belongings, and began circling about to the north. Having only a vague idea of where the Oslund grounds lay, he needed to ask someone for directions, and do so before entering Tyrell proper.

Luck was with him. After emerging from the woods, he met with a well-travelled road and spied a covered wagon trundling slowly along, heading in the direction of Tyrell. He ran after it, hailing the driver as he drew near.

The wagon eased to a stop and a gnarled face peered back from the driver's seat. Knoxx donned a smile and raised a hand in greeting, quickly taking in the driver's medallions of Travelers and Commerce. Most likely he was but a simple merchant bringing much-needed supplies to the city of the Arts, but because the wagon's contents were covered by a tarp Knoxx couldn't tell for sure.

The man was still peering at him, blatantly taking in his Birth medallion of Magic and looking wary to find his Secondary concealed.

"What do you want, mage?" he asked, his voice hoarse and brisk.

"Just some directions, friend," Knoxx replied smoothly, paused below the driver's seat and looking up. "I'm due at the Oslund vineyard in short time, but must've misplaced the directions given me."

Knoxx wasn't worried about revealing his true destination; since his face would never be seen at the vineyard, there wouldn't be any reason for anyone to ever inquire into his purpose there.

The merchant was now nodding, his suspicious look gone. "I know the Oslund lands well, for its lord often contracts my services for local shipments. You'll want to keep on this road, then turn east at the cross. Once there, only a blind man could miss it."

Since he would be invisible rather than blind, Knoxx felt the instructions were sound.

"Many thanks," he said, nodding and stepping back. "May fortune repay you for your kindness."

The merchant nodded in return, tightened his grip on the reins, and then slapped his team into motion. Knoxx hung back to give the man a generous lead before resuming his own steps.

He was soon dangerously near Tyrell's boundary. Glancing about and seeing no one, he promptly faded from sight, carrying on until he came to the crossroads the merchant had spoken of. Turning east, he immediately observed how only a blind man could now lose his way.

Situated on a nest of low, rolling hills, common in this part of the country, lay row upon row of squat, bushy grape vines, green in the vibrancy of summer and stretching farther than his eye could see. High, wire fencing surrounded the perimeter, a security most likely reinforced by guards from within, and one which left Knoxx wondering how he was going to slip inside unnoticed.

With the vineyard to his right, he continued on until coming to a thin laneway branching from the main road. Pausing, he followed it with his eyes, seeing it was barred at the crest of a low hill by a set of high wooden gates. He removed his boots, stowed them into his rucksack, and cautiously approached.

A large brass bell hung low for the convenience of those looking to announce their presence. Putting his eye to a crack in the wooden slats, he peered through, seeking any sign of movement. Detecting none, nor hearing any sounds of life from the opposite side, he concluded no guards presently loitered in the immediate area.

Knoxx stepped back and rang the bell.

Just moments later he heard the telltale movement of quickly approaching footsteps, and then a small window appeared as a wooden slat retracted back. A face looked out. "State your business!" it barked.

Knoxx remained still, smiling slightly.

The guard's face bulged into the opening the small window provided, his eyes moving back and forth to take in the empty laneway. "Strange," he finally muttered, turning away. The window closed with a snap as he moved the wooden slat back into place.

Knoxx waited until the sounds of his steps had retreated, and then rang the bell again.

Hurried footsteps, and the same guard's face appeared as he yanked opened the window. "Who's there?" he bellowed, eyes searching.

Knoxx again held perfectly still, now struggling with the urge to laugh.

Receiving no response, the guard slammed the window closed and retreated again, the sound of his steps furious as he stomped away.

Knoxx quickly checked to ensure his feet hadn't left any impressions in the laneway, and then rang the bell a third time.

A bellow of frustration arose in response.

Several minutes passed before he heard footsteps nearing again, no longer a single set, and the mage instantly numbed his amusement.

"Three times the bell's been rung, yet there's no one to be seen!" the guard was now insisting.

"Well, there's little wind today, so I'm thinking pranksters the likely culprit," another voice answered as the gates began rolling open.

"Certainly I'd favor pranksters over ghosts," the guard responded, his tone heavy with trepidation.

Two men now stood in the slight opening the gates provided. Both were carrying swords, and the taller of the two was stepping forward to scan the ground. He wore a turquoise slave-band about his upper left arm.

"Ghosts?" this man scoffed, his eyes moving over the ground at Knoxx's feet. "Do you truly believe in such nonsense?"

"It isn't nonsense, Nathon," the guard insisted, following. "Even diviners believe in the presence of those who've passed from the living realm."

Knoxx shot a brief but appraising look to the taller man, who'd just been identified as one of his targets.

"Well," Nathon said now, apparently finding nothing suspicious on the ground before him and turning to inspect a wider area, "even if they do exist, I'd like to think they have more important business than hovering about here, ringing our bell. That said, I'm still leaning toward pranksters."

Knoxx waited, breath held, for the two men to take a few more steps outward, now inspecting the edges of the laneway. Completely silent, the mage then glided forward and smoothly slipped through the opening in the gates.

He abruptly found himself upon the sprawling Oslund grounds. Directly before him, although hundreds of paces distant, was the family home, a three-story structure of stone that appeared as a small, elegant castle. It held a lone tower, where one assumed a view of the entire estate could be seen.

To both the east and west lay fields upon fields of grape vines. Workers appeared everywhere about the crops, some watering, some inspecting, and some doing the Patrons only knew what. Knoxx knew very little about crop-growing, and cared even less.

He moved forward, heading toward the castle. Already he'd reached the conclusion that coming and going from the grounds every time he needed to reappear and rest wasn't an option, so what he sought now was a safe place where he could lie low.

A dwelling this size must have at least a few unused rooms, he mused, eyeing the castle as he drew near. Provided he could sneak in and find one, his accommodations for the next several days would no longer be a concern. Unless he drained himself to the very brink of exhaustion, his invisibility would save him from any threat of discovery.

Continuing his approach, Knoxx spied a young slave girl of about ten closing in upon the castle's entrance, a bucket of berries clutched in her hand. Smiling to himself, he increased his pace and followed her inside.
Chapter 17

Oliveah was currently nestled in her favorite spot on her family's sprawling lands, awaiting sight of the dawn. Next to a large, leafy tree jutted a generous outcropping of earth, resting above a shallow valley and providing a spectacular view of much of the Oslund vineyard. It was a sight she'd missed greatly while traveling about Dhanen'Mar with her troupe.

It was thoughts of her troupe—at least in part—that had kept her awake much of the night, until finally she'd given up on sleep and come here, a place about a quarter-league distant from the main house. Just yesterday she'd received a second message from her troupe-master by way of carrier-crow, his first having arrived the week before to relay the terrible news of what had befallen three of her troupe-mates in the streets of Tyrell during the final night of Ardin's Pride. Adding this to the broken bones suffered during the brawl at the Tulan ranch, and none would argue that the Moriss Tipley Troupe had been dealt a mighty blow that night. She could only be grateful no one was killed.

Moriss's second letter had informed her he was currently still in Coeo, the home city of Healing, but all performers were now mended and restored to full health, and all ready to depart the following morning. Oliveah had been amazed to learn even the story-teller's severed tongue had somehow been healed, but overall she simply felt relieved. Furthermore, Moriss now expected all members of his troupe to reconvene on First-day of summer's fourth week, and with it now Ninth-day of third week, Oliveah was left with only a few days before having to depart. And a part of her truly didn't wish to go.

The past week and a half here at the vineyard had been wonderful, even more so than she'd anticipated. It had given her plenty of time to catch up with her mother and father, regaling them with countless tales of her journeys across Dhanen'Mar this past year; time to sit upon the banks of the nearby lake with her brother Deakin, their fishing poles often lying forgotten as they simply talked and talked; and there'd even been a short trip through a string of nearby towns with her sister Navalee, their only agenda being to shop. Thus far, it had been the most pleasant vacation she could've imagined, and she wasn't yet ready to see it end.

There had also been much time spent with Taleb and Nathon, although this was the one and only area to have marred the perfection of the past many days. The problem was that she still hadn't reached a conclusion about the two of them, finding the decision impossible. When she was with Nathon, she felt certain it was him she would choose. But then, when with Taleb, it was he she would imagine herself being with for the rest of her days. Finding herself in the presence of both of them at the same time just left her feeling confused as well as guilty, and she now made any excuse to avoid such situations. It wasn't fair to them, what she was doing, but acknowledging this didn't make the matter any clearer and instead only seemed to worsen it.

She knew they were both waiting on her. With their terms of slavery now only weeks from completion, it was clear both were now anticipating her verdict. And indeed, every time she'd approached either of them this past week, it seemed they'd been expecting something more from her conversation than what she'd offered. Obviously, they wanted an answer—any answer—and she imagined both must now be incredibly frustrated with her ongoing silence.

She'd been hoping for Madi to lay clear her path. In fact, after discovering both Nathon and Taleb had come to Tyrell to escort her sister and brother, Oliveah had been certain her indecision was about to come to an end, for who better to help her in such a task than a Savannon diviner? As it happened, however, Madi had only made the situation more perplexing.

Regarding Taleb, she'd foretold something interesting as well as worrying.

"He has a destiny, Oliveah, one that will take precedence over everything. So if you choose to put him first in your heart, do not expect the same consideration in return, for you won't receive it."

Oliveah was already aware of Taleb's intentions to leave the vineyard once free of his slave duties, as this was something he'd been very open about, knowing it was likely to affect her decision. She appreciated his candor but hadn't been bothered by his plans to journey south to Lutarre Keep, home of the warlords. In fact, since she planned on continuing with her troupe for another year or two, she figured this would be a perfect opportunity for him to discover whatever Destiny had in store for him before they eventually decided to settle, should she choose him.

What she'd never seriously considered was the possibility that Destiny did have such plans for him. Madi hadn't provided any details regarding his future—whether because she didn't have them or simply wouldn't reveal them, Oliveah didn't know—but she had made it extremely clear that whatever Taleb's role in the world, it would not be avoided.

The revelation left Oliveah confused and bewildered, as well as unspeakably frustrated over the fact that she knew nothing of what his future might hold. It also left her afraid, and what the diviner had next to say about Nathon hadn't made the situation any easier.

"He will give to you whatever you need of him, Oliveah—regardless of the consequences."

Although initially taken as encouragement in Nathon's favor, Oliveah was well aware of Madi's proclivity to phrase her words with the utmost deliberation when speaking of her divinations. Her pronouncement therefore took on a rather dark tone when Oliveah replayed it back through her mind.

In the days since she'd gained no further clarity on these insights, nor spoken a word of them to anyone, including Taleb or Nathon. She'd been tempted to bring the matter up with her parents the night before, as apparently they too had grown concerned over her lack of a decision and thus invited her to their private chambers in hopes of offering assistance. But although well-intentioned, they too had only made matters worse.

They'd begun the conversation by reassuring her they'd be happy to welcome either man into the family, an obvious fact since both were already more or less treated as such. Her parents then went on to remind her—as if she could've forgotten—that Nathon had already requested and been granted the official master-at-arms position, convenient should she soon wish to retire and begin a family. Evidently, her mother and father had also taken note of her hesitation to leave the vineyard and rejoin her troupe for another year of journeying across Dhanen'Mar.

On the other hand, they'd then gone on, if she did wish to continue with her musical career, certainly Taleb would be more than willing to accompany her, and further indulge in all the freedoms he'd been denied this past decade.

It was then Oliveah realized Taleb hadn't revealed his intentions to travel to the warlord's keep to her parents, and after thinking quickly, could find no likely answer as to why. Regardless, she respected his privacy on the matter and made no mention of it, although it was at this point she'd understood what her parents were trying to do. Rather than tackling the impossible decision of choosing one over the other, they were instead guiding her to focus on her own wants and desires, and by way of extension which of the two would make a better fit of them. A wise tactic certainly, but not one that would help her; for no matter her intentions, this was a decision she was determined be made with her heart, not her head. She simply couldn't allow it to unfold any other way.

Nevertheless, the conversation had raised an interesting point. If she chose Taleb, how could she ever return to the vineyard and face Nathon? Alternatively, if she decided to stay on the vineyard with Nathon, would she ever see Taleb again? She simply couldn't imagine either of them no longer being in her life.

At this thought, she'd finally commanded herself to stop being selfish and look at the matter from their perspective. Doing so made her cringe, and she wondered why they hadn't just given up on her entirely by this time; she certainly wouldn't have blamed them, and in any case, it seemed unlikely either would have trouble finding a woman willing to return their affection.

Sighing, she'd ultimately voiced none of this to her parents, simply thanking them for their counsel and promising to consider all they'd said. She'd departed the encounter trying to determine their own personal hopes, and could only shake her head ruefully at the conclusions she drew.

Her father, she was quite sure, would be leaning in Nathon's favor, and for obvious reasons. Nathon's love for the vineyard ran nearly as deep as his own, evidenced first by choosing Harvest and then by asking to stay on once free of his slave-term, more than proving his devotion to not only the lands but also the family. Moreover, choosing Nathon would result in bringing Oliveah back home, where the entire family would once again dwell under the same roof, which would no doubt please her father greatly.

Her mother, on the other hand, was more likely in favor of Taleb, a suspicion Oliveah had little trouble understanding. Also born to the Arts, Lyllyn had spent several years of her youth much as Oliveah was now, as a singer in one of the country's most prestigious troupes. In short time her name had become known in every corner of Dhanen'Mar, her talent and passion for the song nearly unparalleled, but she'd given it all up while still young, very near to Oliveah's age now, after meeting Ean and accepting his marriage proposal.

Oliveah was confident her mother had never regretted the decision of leaving her profession to marry and begin a family—rarely did she encounter a couple so in love as her parents—but often suspected she regretted the timing of it. One more year, maybe two, and perhaps she'd have grown weary of the performer's life, irritated at the constant travel and sight of new faces in every town and city. As it was, she would never know, and it seemed obvious from the way she listened to Oliveah's own tales that she did, at times, miss it greatly.

Lyllyn would want Oliveah to stay on as a performer until she grew to hate it, whether this took one more year or twenty. For only this way would she never have need to wonder—What if I'd stayed just one more year? Week? Day?—nor miss it, nor harbor any regrets. And Oliveah hadn't yet reached this point in her career.

But Taleb would be free—and, as far as Lyllyn incorrectly presumed, willing—to accompany her along her travels. By choosing him, Oliveah could enjoy all she loved of her profession, in addition to having her husband near. And were this fact, it would've indeed presented a tempting proposition.

But Oliveah already knew Taleb would not be willing to do this. Destiny was calling, and he fully intended to heed its voice, wherever it meant to lead.

Pulling free from these thoughts, Oliveah sighed and gazed out over the still-darkened lands below. To make the appointed meeting time with her troupe, she had only four more days here at the vineyard before needing to leave, four more days to make the decision that would affect the rest of her life. She both dreaded and longed for her departure.

The faintest rays of dawn were now beginning to pierce the darkness, and Oliveah's hand dropped down to the small, golden lyre at her side. Her beloved harp, a gift from her parents when she'd been accepted into her troupe seven years ago, had been smashed during the brawl at the Tulan ranch. Reavis claimed he'd risked life and limb to save it, but hadn't been able to get to it in time. Oliveah mourned its loss, but accepted it as a casualty of the madness of that night. Her father had promised to have a replacement for her before she left to rejoin her troupe.

If she even left at all. Truthfully, she was growing more and more convinced that if she did in fact choose Nathon, she wouldn't be departing this vineyard anytime soon.

The lyre had been her mother's, and given to her on her twelfth birthing-day. As familiar to her hands as her own skin, she mindlessly strummed it now, humming as the dawn began to break all about her.

It was a glorious sight. Common theory claimed that of all the world's countries Dhanen'Mar was gifted with the most beautiful sunrises, and as she watched it now Oliveah found no reason to doubt this. To shades of pinks and purples and yellows was the sky before her turning, the stars overhead fading into their daytime rest. It was enough to take one's breath away.

Spellbound, she barely registered the sound now coming to her ears, belatedly recognizing it as the flapping of wings just before catching sight of them. Initially she mistook them for owls and her breath caught in fear, but further scrutiny revealed not this most feared harbinger of death but rather a trio of ospreys. They were flying east, directly into the rays of the rising sun, an act which in and of itself was curious since the sole nearby lake lay to the north, the only close watery habitat the ospreys used for nesting. Staring after them, Oliveah then abruptly realized the augury now playing out before her.

Ospreys flying into dusk served as a warning against offending royalty, but their movement into the dawn indicated the opposite. The beholder of such a sight could now expect royal favor, the number of ospreys foretelling how many times this favor would be bestowed throughout their lifetime.

Oliveah stared after them, mesmerized. Royal favor? Three times, no less?

She couldn't even begin to imagine how this might come to pass, having glimpsed but never spoken with King DeSiva and his son Prince Luken. Her father, given his noble status, attended court in Aralexia once a year, however, and often claimed his majesty was becoming more nonsensical as time went by. Rumors of King DeSiva's deepening madness was common talk about Dhanen'Mar, particularly over recent years.

Confused yet excited by sight of the ospreys, Oliveah leapt to her feet, feeling an overwhelming urge to compose a letter to Madi. While an augury to aid her present dilemma would've been preferred, she was nonetheless intrigued by this one, and thought Madi could perhaps consult one of her divining tools and glean further details. Considering their troupe was set to be in the king's own city of Justice, Aralexia, the final week of summer, she couldn't help but wonder if there was some connection.

She thought it might also be prudent to mention a ghost now seemed to be haunting the Oslund vineyard. The eerie disturbances had begun two days earlier, beginning with the mysterious and repetitious ringing of the welcome bell before carrying on into the property. Several people claimed to have heard strange noises coming from the upper floors of the castle, but found nothing upon investigating their source. Oliveah wasn't certain if she believed the ghost theory, but figured she might as well mention it to Madi on the chance her friend could offer further insight.

Perhaps Sabian Reif would be a better person to ask, she then caught herself thinking. But she quickly turned her mind from this path, still finding the truth of Sabian very disquieting. No doubt he'd saved her brother's life that night in Tyrell, a truth she'd forever remain grateful for, but the how of it wasn't something she allowed herself to dwell on.

She bent to collect her lyre and oil lantern and then hurriedly retreated from the outcropping, starting back to the main house at a quick pace. She continued to ponder over the possible meaning of the ospreys as she went, debating if perhaps a musical performance before the king might explain it. It was entirely possible his majesty would request an audience with the troupe who'd opened the Ardin's Pride festival this year, a fact which just brought her back to her looming appearance in Aralexia. It left her feeling both nervous and excited to arrive in the home city of Justice at the end of the summer.

She was jogging by the time she neared the modest castle that was her family home, skirting along the north wall and heading toward the front when she rounded the corner and suddenly felt herself slam into something solid but unseen. With a startled shout she pitched to the ground, dropping both her lyre and her lantern as she landed forcefully on her backside. Stunned, she then simply sat there for a moment, looking around in bewilderment.

Blinking, she saw nothing to explain her fall. Even worse, both Taleb and Nathon, as well as her father, stood approximately ten paces away, all turned and watching her.

"Are you all right, Oliveah?" Nathon asked, as all three started toward her.

"I think so," she replied, shifting experimentally and feeling nothing amiss besides a possibly bruised backside.

Nathon reached her and bent to clasp her arm, pulling her up. "And here I'd always considered you graceful," he said, smiling slightly.

"This had nothing to do with grace, or my possible lack thereof," she told him, accepting the lyre Taleb retrieved from the ground and handed to her. With a quick glance, she determined it unharmed.

"Her clumsiness comes from her mother," her father said now, pausing before her with a grin. "The Patrons know I adore the woman, but she can scarcely get through a meal without breaking or dropping something."

"I believe Deakin has inherited that particular trait also," Taleb added dryly. "I hesitate to instruct him in swordplay even with wooden blades, too afraid he'll trip and impale himself."

All three were now chuckling, oblivious to Oliveah's steely-eyed gaze taking them in.

"If you're all about finished," she snapped, instantly wiping the smiles from their faces, "I didn't trip. I hit something."

Her statement appeared to perplex them, which she supposed was reasonable.

"We all saw you fall, Oliveah," her father finally replied, his look now serious. "There was nothing in your path. Surely you just slipped on the grass."

"I'm telling you, I ran into something," she insisted.

"Maybe it was the ghost," Taleb suggested with a grin.

Nathon groaned. "Don't you start with that nonsense," he warned. "I've received six reports of alleged disturbances, all credited to this ghost, over the past two days, and I don't want to hear any more. The very idea is ridiculous."

"Six?" Taleb repeated. "I've received eight."

Nathon rolled his eyes.

Ean Oslund took them both in. "Ghost or not, there's clearly some sort of disruption occurring about the grounds. Do either of you have any other theories?"

"Perhaps a vandal or thief has somehow gotten onto the property," Nathon said, his eyes narrowing. "I performed a perimeter sweep yesterday and found all as it should be, but perhaps I should take another look just to be certain."

Ean nodded. "The two of you can see to that now. In the meantime, I'll inform my children that there's to be no more wandering the grounds unescorted until this business is sorted out. That includes you, Oliveah," he added, looking to her.

She frowned but said nothing.

"I have another suggestion, should Nathon and I find no physical evidence of invasion," Taleb then said.

"Go ahead," Ean nodded.

"One of the Reifs, Sabian by name, is known to have the ability to see and speak with ghosts," he said. "You might consider extending a supper invitation to Lord Guerin and his nephew."

Ean continued nodding. "I'm actually aware of young Sabian and his—talents. A wise idea, Taleb. I will see to sending a crow to Guerin straight away."

Oliveah exchanged a silent glance with Taleb. Unlike Nathon, who'd had no first-hand experience with Sabian's gift, neither held any further doubts regarding the existence of ghosts. Whether one happened to be haunting the Oslund vineyard remained a matter of some debate, but at least they now had a plan to determine this answer.

"Report any findings to me immediately," her father was now instructing the two men. "Whether criminal or ghost, I want this resolved quickly." He then paused to give his head an exasperated shake. "Half the workers are already jumping at their own shadows, and the situation will only grow worse if we can't soon find an explanation. Not a word to anyone regarding Oliveah's . . . fall," he ordered.

Nathon and Taleb nodded and hurried off, and Oliveah looked after them for a long moment before turning back to her father.

"Which way are you leaning?" she asked bluntly. "Interloper or ghost?"

Ean gave a baffled shrug in reply. "Either theory seems possible. But no matter," he went on, turning and gesturing for her to follow him toward the castle, "for I'm certain that if Taleb and Nathon don't get to the truth of the matter today, Sabian Reif soon will."
Chapter 18

While it was true Nathon found the idea of a ghost haunting the vineyard ridiculous, this wasn't because he didn't necessarily believe in them. In fact, he thought it entirely possible such beings existed, lost souls remaining behind to haunt those who'd wronged them in life, or perhaps unwilling to depart without their true loves. What he was refusing to believe was that one had suddenly appeared in the vineyard with the sole intentions of proving itself a nuisance and scaring its inhabitants. It simply didn't make sense.

He was therefore very disappointed when his and Taleb's sweep turned up absolutely nothing out of sorts—no evidence that any of the fencing had been tampered with, nor the barbed wire strung along its atop, and it didn't look as though anyone had tried tunneling beneath much less been successful at it. They'd even gone to investigate the outer perimeter, finding no clues there either. The situation left Nathon extremely frustrated, but still unwilling to admit that the likely culprit was a ghost.

A further reason for his disbelief was because he had no idea how to protect the family from such a being, and admitting this, even to himself, struck a wound. How could he fight and defend from something he couldn't even see? Especially if this was the cause behind Oliveah's tumble earlier that day, a possibility he found alarming. For what was to stop this spirit from performing more similar behavior, perhaps at the top of a staircase next time? What could he possibly do to ward off such a scenario?

He and Taleb discussed it briefly before going to report their findings—or rather, their lack of them—to Lord Ean, and it was then Taleb revealed this had been his primary motive for suggesting the presence of Sabian Reif. If it was a ghost they were dealing with, he was hoping Sabian could somehow convince it to leave, or at least find out why it was here and what it wanted.

Nathon felt terrible having to report they'd found nothing to resolve this mystery. Keeping to his typical calm manner, Lord Ean simply nodded in response and stated that his letter to Lord Guerin Reif was already penned and had only to be flown off. He appeared fully confident of the fact that if his two masters-at-arms could find no evidence of a live culprit, there simply wasn't one to be found. He also agreed to their further advisement of organizing a small team to act as a night watch within the house during the sleeping hours, as none were willing to take any chances with the family's safety.

Afterward, Nathon decided to perform another sweep of the castle, particularly its upper floors. He was unable to shake the feeling that these disturbances were linked to a real, live person, despite having no way to explain how they might've gained entry to the vineyard or thus far remained undetected. So while Taleb went off to keep an eye on the castle's outer perimeter, Nathon started up the spiraling staircase of the north tower, figuring he'd begin at the top and work his way down.

At the tower's summit sat the eyrie of their fifteen messenger-crows, presided over by a young slave girl of eleven who had a special love and talent for caring for the birds. Presently in the act of feeding her charges, she glanced up and gave a violent start of surprise as Nathon crested the staircase, yelping as one of the birds then nipped her finger.

"Oh—hello Nathon," she said, putting her now-bleeding finger to her mouth. "I sent off the message to Lord Reif about twenty minutes ago, if that's what you've come to check on."

"Nervous, Bryn?" he teased while stepping closer. "Expecting the ghost, perhaps?"

She pulled her finger from her mouth and frowned at him. "It's not as though you make any noise to announce yourself. In fact, you're even stealthier than the ghost."

He paused next to her and matched her frown. "What makes you say that? Did you hear something?"

Nodding, she reached into the sack at her feet and then spilled another handful of dried corn into the crows' feed dish. "The air was so warm and beautiful, I decided to just sleep up here in the tower last night. I was awakened a little before First-hour, hearing footsteps on the stairs. They sounded as though they were rising, getting nearer to me."

"What did you do?"

"Well, I didn't immediately think anything of it, figuring someone was simply coming to send a late-night message. But then, just as I was getting to my feet, the footsteps reached the summit and I'm certain I heard . . . well, a curse. But there wasn't anyone there! I even ran to check the stairwell, but it was empty."

Nathon raised a hand and rubbed his forehead.

"I know how you feel about all this ghost business Nathon, but I swear it happened," Bryn insisted, staring up at him.

He nodded. "Have you told anyone else?"

"No. I went looking for you or Taleb earlier, but was told you were out inspecting the grounds."

"All right. Just keep this to yourself for now, and rest assured we're making every effort to uncover the truth." He started away, but then paused and turned back. "Did you hear the steps descend again, after the cursing?"

"No," she shook her head. "Only silence, after."

"Did the voice sound male or female?"

"Male. No question."

He nodded again before descending the tower steps, fitting these new pieces into the overall picture his mind was now striving to form.

Oliveah had insisted she'd run into something.

No one had seen this trespasser, but many had heard him—and it was definitely a him, according to Bryn.

There were no signs of anyone having gotten onto the property in any way but through the gates.

The bell.

Nathon suddenly realized what they were dealing with, and it wasn't a ghost—it was Magic.

He sought Oliveah out first, finding her in the sitting room of her suite with her sister Navalee. Both looked up in surprise at his sudden entrance.

"What is it, Nathon?" Oliveah asked, taking in his expression.

"There's someone on the grounds," he explained. "You two need to stay here until Taleb and I find him. I'm going to lock you in from the outside corridor."

"You're not speaking of the ghost are you?" Navalee replied with a frown. "For I wouldn't think a locked door would do much in the way of stopping it."

"It's not a ghost, it's a man, and until I determine his aims here I'm viewing this as a threat against all members of your family. I'll return to release you once he's been found and dealt with."

"Be careful, Nathon," Oliveah cautioned, staring after him worriedly.

He nodded and turned to go, using the ring of master keys he always carried to secure them within the suite.

After sending one of his guards out to collect Taleb, he next went in search of Lord Ean and discovered both the lord and lady of the house outside, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine in their bountiful gardens. Lady Lyllyn was expertly trimming the countless pink rose bushes encompassing the area, while her husband sat at a nearby table, sipping lemonade while making figures in his business ledger.

Nathon skidded to a halt before the table, looking about. "Where's Deakin?" he demanded.

Lord Ean looked up, noted his expression, and laid down his quill. "With Master Spart. He's been falling behind in his arithmetic so I arranged some extra lessons."

"What is it, Nathon?" Lady Lyllyn asked, setting aside her clippers and stepping closer.

Nathon took them both in. "We're not dealing with a ghost, but rather a mage. More specifically, one who wields the power of invisibility. I can't claim to know what he intends here, but must consider you all in danger until he is found."

"A mage?" Lady Lyllyn repeated with astonishment. "What business does a mage have with us?"

"That's precisely what I intend to discover," he replied. "Now come. Best we gather Deakin and see you all safely sequestered."

"Where are the girls?" Lord Ean demanded, rising to his feet.

"They're safe. I locked them in Oliveah's suite."

Leading them into the castle, Nathon first retrieved Deakin from his tutor before bringing all three to the lord and lady's private quarters. "I'm going to lock you in, just as I did with Oliveah and Navalee," he told them. "If you hear anyone outside this door besides Taleb or myself, I want you to sound the horn."

Lord Ean sent a glance over his shoulder, his gaze briefly settling on the mantle above the fireplace. It was nothing more than an old herding horn, used by generations of his ancestors when the Oslunds had kept cattle in addition to the vineyard, but as an important part of his family's history he'd given the object this place of honor in his sitting room. Old as it was, however, it could still make a mighty and ear-splitting call.

"Nathon," Lord Ean then said in a low tone, following him to the door. "How exactly do you plan on catching this mage? As you've said, he's invisible. Perhaps we should send for assistance from the Legion?"

Nathon looked back at him. "That's your decision to make, but I assure you Taleb and I are quite capable."

Lord Ean stared at him a moment, frowning, then said, "Kill him if you must, but better we have the chance to question him. I can't comprehend what we've done to attract the attention of a mage, but I'd certainly like to find out."

"Of course."

"Promise me you'll both be careful, Nathon," he went on warningly. "A cornered mage is nothing to take lightly."

"We will be," Nathon vowed, before closing the door and locking it from the corridor.

He descended two floors and made his way outside. Taleb was just jogging into view, coming from the west field where, he quickly relayed, he'd been investigating a report of either a stolen or misplaced dagger. The guard it belonged to claimed to have donned it that morning, only to discover it missing during his rounds. Since most were happy with their lives here in the vineyard, and stealing an offense punished by expulsion, Nathon was quickly led to the only logical conclusion.

"So he's armed himself," he remarked.

Taleb frowned. "Who?"

Nathon proceeded to outline what he'd deduced, as well as the measures he'd already taken to protect the family. Taleb was left staring at him in wonderment.

"A mage with invisibility powers?" he said in disbelief. "I wouldn't have pieced that together had I a year to do so."

"Perhaps that explains why I'm constantly foiling you at chess," Nathon replied.

"I won't argue with that," Taleb told him. "All right, so what do we know about mages?"

"Not much," Nathon admitted. "We've never had one here at the vineyard."

"Well," Taleb began, "the basics are informative enough. One born to Magic is granted a certain mage-power, their main ability, but further capable of spellcasting."

Nathon nodded. "It's the same for those who choose it, although their power is weaker." He paused to reflect briefly. "I imagine we're dealing with a mage-born. He must be powerful to have remained invisible all this time."

Taleb shook his head. "I doubt he has. He's probably been reappearing during the nighttime hours when everyone's asleep."

"So, if enough of his power is drained, he'll reappear, yes?"

"Yes. Why are you smiling?"

"Because I know how to flush him out."

Taleb looked interested. "Care to share?"

"Certainly. But first we need to evacuate the house, as well as most of the grounds. I want everyone—but for the Oslunds, of course, who will stay where they are—bunking down in the barns. All will remain there until we've found the mage. As for the guards," he went on, "I want all ten camped out before the gate, day and night until this is resolved."

Taleb began nodding. "You figure if he's forced to remain invisible long enough, and has no way to leave the grounds, his magic will eventually drain and reveal him."

"Yes."

"In theory, I suppose that may work," Taleb countered, "but I think you're forgetting how many places to hide this vineyard affords him. Particularly with everyone kept in the barns."

"Actually, that's for their own safety. I don't want anyone getting in our way and inadvertently becoming injured."

"Ah," Taleb began nodding in understanding. "We're going hunting, then."

"I don't care if it takes us a week. We're going to scour every inch of these lands, as many times as it takes, until we find him. With no way to escape, and his magic wearing thin, he won't be able to hide forever."

Taleb was still nodding. "And then we kill him?"

"We'll need to question him first. Lord Ean has no idea how he might've attracted the attention of a mage."

"You haven't whipped up a theory yet either?"

"No." This wasn't entirely true; he was contemplating a couple of ideas, but wanted more time to think them through before voicing them.

Taleb took on a pensive look. "None of the Oslunds have had any contact with mages of late, or else we'd have known about it. Except perhaps Oliveah. I think we should speak with her straight away."

Nathon immediately understood Taleb's concern, and found it similarly worrisome. Since Oliveah was the only Oslund whose recent actions they couldn't account for, it therefore seemed likely the mage had some connection to her. And if that were the case, she was his obvious target.

"I'll meet you up there as soon as I set the guard," he said.

Taleb nodded and hurried off, quickly disappearing into the castle. Nathon blew two shrill blasts on his whistle, calling all ten guards to him. He then spent the next several minutes apprising them of the circumstances and explaining what he required, being sure to include a warning that the mage now had a dagger in his possession. It was possible the desperation he'd soon be feeling would cause him to panic, and Nathon wanted his men ready for anything. He then dispatched two of the guards to begin the process of evacuating all workers, slaves, and household staff to the barns.

This business concluded, he entered back into the castle and started up to the third floor. He found Taleb in Oliveah's sitting room, sitting in the chair across from her and Navalee.

"I'm sorry Taleb," Oliveah was saying, "but I can't recall interacting with any mages of late. I don't see how this could have anything to do with me."

Taleb appeared frustrated as he glanced up at Nathon's entrance.

Nathon paused in the center of the room and took Oliveah in. "Are you certain you didn't cross paths with one during Ardin's Pride, perhaps? Certainly you must've interacted with hundreds of people that week."

Oliveah stared at him incredulously. "Hundreds if not thousands! You can't possibly expect me to remember them all!"

Nathon backed off, both figuratively and literally, at noting Oliveah's frustration, realizing it was aimed more at herself than at him and Taleb.

Taleb appeared to understand this as well, for he issued his next question in an easy and conversational tone. "Well, how about anyone else then? Any recent encounters or situations that struck you as odd, or made you feel peculiar?"

Oliveah raised her hands at him helplessly. "Odd or peculiar during Ardin's Pride? Are you serious? You were there, you know what it's like. The only oddness I would've noted that week would've been the lack of it!"

Her agitation had her near tears now, but Nathon pushed on with one final question. "Was there anyone you talked to about the vineyard?" he asked. "Any strangers, I mean."

She exhaled heavily, looking away.

"Take your time," he said, watching her. "Think on it."

As much as he was hoping for some sort of answer or clue, he wasn't truly expecting one. In fact, now he'd had more time to think, he saw only three possible reasons for a mage to be running about the grounds shrouded in invisibility. The first was that someone had hired this mage to murder one or all of the Oslunds; an unlikely scenario simply because he'd already had plenty of opportunity to carry this out but hadn't. Unless he was just waiting to do so at an appointed time, of course, which led to Nathon's second theory.

The Oslund vineyard was well-known throughout Dhanen'Mar, if not the world, so it wasn't so radical an idea to think one might try to take it by force. And certainly this would be an opportune time, what with King DeSiva's madness rumored to be more notable than ever. But if this was indeed the case, it seemed likely the mage had been sent to spy out their defenses, or perhaps murder Lord Ean once this other force was in position to attack.

Nathon's final theory made him grossly uncomfortable. It was possible Oliveah had gained an obsessed admirer, one born to Magic and here simply to spy on her for his own perverse pleasure. Should this turn out to be the case, the mage's death wouldn't be quick.

Oliveah was now turning back to them, her expression thoughtful. "Actually," she said, "I do remember a conversation that struck me as a little suspicious, at least initially. And I did speak to this man about the vineyard, for he said he'd been here as a guest not long ago."

Nathon and Taleb exchanged a quick glance of surprise.

"What man?" Taleb fired. "What was his name?"

Oliveah was quiet another moment, clearly trying to dredge this information from the depths of her memory. "It was a strange-sounding name. Elvin, I think he said. Elvin . . . Vikdal. Yes, that was it. I remember because I was trying to recall if I knew him."

"Elvin Vikdal?" Nathon repeated. "We've had no visitors by that name."

"Why would you have known him?" Taleb then followed. "Was he familiar to you?"

Oliveah was frowning. "No, but he wore an Arts Birth medallion and claimed to be a storyteller, so I thought our paths might've crossed at some point." She stopped and looked to the two of them. "Are you certain no one by that name ever stayed here? He said my father gave him lodging for a night, and knew he was born to Harvest. Plus, he made specific mention of one of you. He didn't give a name, just made reference to a young man with a War Birth medallion."

Nathon found this alarming, a feeling Taleb obviously shared as the two exchanged another look.

"What did this man look like?" Taleb asked.

"Approximately thirty years of age, yellow hair and blue eyes. Medium build and height. A pleasant face, although not particularly remarkable," she told them, her eyes quickly jumping from one to the other.

"What else was said between you?" Nathon asked.

"Nothing really," she shrugged. "We spoke for only a minute or two before he excused himself and left the tavern. I even promised to give my father his regards, but forgot the encounter until now." She was still scanning both their faces. "Did I do something wrong?"

Nathon shook his head. "No, of course not."

Taleb was getting to his feet. "I'm going to speak with Lord Ean. I think it best we rule out the possibly that he does actually know this man."

Nathon nodded, watching him go. He turned back when Oliveah said his name, her eyes full of confusion and worry as she looked at him.

"What does this mean?" she asked.

He had no idea what to tell her.
Chapter 19

Knoxx now knew himself to be in serious trouble. While silently cursing his brother for getting him into this, as well as himself for underestimating those War Birth medallions, he leapt down the corridor, away from where he'd been eavesdropping on the conversation going on inside Oliveah Oslund's rooms.

He'd moved just in time; Taleb pulled open the door and quickly strode off, on his way to speak to Lord Ean. Knoxx already knew the impending result of that conversation—Lord Ean's profuse denials that he'd ever housed or even heard of a man named Elvin Vikdal.

Elvin Vikdal. Devlin Alvik. His brother loved his anagrams. Still, it was incredibly unlikely anyone here would uncover Devlin's true identity, or at least not so long as they stayed clear of Aralexia. Incidentally, this was the city playing host to the upcoming King's Challenge, and where Oliveah meant to journey in only a couple weeks' time. So long as he survived the present threat to his safety, Knoxx decided he'd best find a way to warn his brother.

After carefully shadowing Nathon for the past hour, he was now aware of everything correctly deduced about him, namely that he was in fact a mage gifted with the power of invisibility. He remained astounded at Nathon's cleverness for figuring this out.

Nathon and Taleb's ensuing discussion over how they aimed to catch him hadn't been pleasant to listen to. They obviously assumed he was here to enact some shady purpose, perhaps even murder, and therefore planned on hunting him down and dealing with him accordingly. This wasn't an aim Knoxx believed he'd survive, particularly since his only means of escape had now been barred by the mass of guards camped directly before the gates. He could try blasting through them with a spell, but this would probably only drain the remainder of his strength and leave him visible, exhausted, and vulnerable to pursuit. He'd be lucky to last minutes.

His exhaustion was what foiled him. As a thief, he generally had no trouble adopting a fluid and stealthy way of moving, always necessary when thieving or invisible, but his fatigue had begun making him clumsy. Several people had heard his footsteps, the sound of creaking doors as he came and went, as well as the occasional weary stumble. Initially he'd been amused to be taken for a ghost, but his carelessness in letting Oliveah run into him this morning had apparently been the key to his undoing; they knew he was a real, living person now.

And armed with a dagger. This circumstance was particularly unfortunate, as Knoxx had only taken the blade to dig out a splinter he'd gotten wedged in his thumb. The flesh surrounding it had become red and puffy and he'd simply been looking for a tool to exorcise the wound, but Nathon and Taleb now suspected he was planning an act of violence.

All things considered, Knoxx believed he had only one chance of escaping this vineyard alive, and it was a slim chance at best. It further involved doing something he really didn't want to do, but because he was desperate, he decided swallowing his pride was a small price to pay in exchange for his life.

Taking great pains to be silent, he was now moving toward the north tower. It was there he'd slept his first night in the vineyard, thinking its summit the perfect spot to bed down since he'd hear anyone ascending the staircase long before they reached him. This reasoning had proved sound enough the first night, which passed without incident, but upon arriving at his nest for the second, he'd been surprised to discover a young girl already bunked down with the birds. The startled curse had slipped from his lips before he could stop it, another foul-up on his part and another he attributed to fatigue. At the time, his weariness had presented a serious concern, very much as it was now.

Reaching the tower, Knoxx entered and closed the heavy stone door behind him before letting his Magic fade. Reappearing, he stood for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, just breathing as his body adjusted to the sudden lack of strain. Finally he began his ascent, still being mindful to move as soundlessly as possible; with the castle now empty of all life but for the sequestered Oslunds, any noise he made would only draw the attention of the two War-born men intent on finding and killing him.

He reached the summit and continued toward the pen, counting fourteen crows present. The standard was fifteen, but due to his eavesdropping he knew one had recently been sent off to deliver a message about ghosts to some lord in Tyrell.

The remaining birds each represented one of Dhanen'Mar's home cities. Within each of these cities was a receiving area, typically a barn or tower, which all carrier-crows were trained to home in on, and once arrived their messages would be hand-delivered to the addressees. By and large it proved a fairly reliable system, provided either the sender or receiver covered the requisite cost.

Knoxx turned away from the birds and stepped over to the large wooden chest running along the far wall. Quickly locating ink, quill, and parchment, he bent to scrawl his note, being ever mindful to keep an ear tuned to the stairwell.

Once finished he read over his words, wincing all the while. He'd relayed his exact location, the fact that he was hiding out under the cover of invisibility from two War-born men, and concluded with a desperate plea for rescue.

He was unable to predict how Flynn would to react to this. On the one hand, the Thieves' commander held to a strict code of loyalty, known for going to great lengths to aid any Thieves in need of help. On the other, Knoxx had deliberately revealed nothing of his intentions to come here to the Oslund vineyard, which was likely to be viewed as a serious slight. Overall he gave himself halfway odds on whether Flynn would make an appearance or leave him here to die; odds he had no choice but to accept, given his lack of further options.

He rolled his message, forming a tiny scroll, and then jotted, "FLYNN FAJEN – URGENT" along its side before moving back to the crows.

Each of the birds had a number painted on its back. Opening the cage—and hoping the animals weren't going to kick up a ruckus at the invasion—he reached for the bird displaying the number nine. Ninth-day was ruled by Thieves, meaning this was the crow trained to fly to Corbit's Canyon.

To Knoxx's relief, the birds remained calm and quiet as he withdrew the nine-bird. He affixed his message to its leg, and then stepped onto the balcony to send it off, silently praying no one on the grounds below took note of its flight.

On horseback, Corbit's Canyon sat approximately four days distant from Tyrell; Knoxx therefore calculated the crow was likely to reach it in a matter of hours. His message would then be brought to Flynn immediately, due to both his marking of urgency as well as Flynn's very identity. Could a pegasus fly as fast as a crow?

Knoxx wasn't sure, but quickly reached the conclusion that even if Flynn did take pity and come for him, his arrival couldn't be expected until very near to morning. Glancing up, he determined it was presently almost Fourteenth-hour, with dusk just beginning to brush the landscape with radiant color. This meant he had to find a way to keep himself alive for the next six to seven hours.

Unless, of course, Flynn never came.

Deciding not to distract himself with such negative thinking, he began pondering his wisest—as well as safest—course of action. It didn't take long to conclude his best move was to remain where he was, for not only would he hear any approaching footsteps, giving him time to don his invisibility, but he could also keep an eye on the skies from the balcony.

In his note, he'd been very clear in stating that any attempt to enter the vineyard in the normal fashion would be denied, and that Flynn's only option was to descend upon his pegasus, Caelis. Knoxx briefly acknowledged the irony of this, recalling how, back upon the Tulan ranch, he'd instructed his commander to steer clear of the one thing that might now prove his salvation.

But the oddities of that week in Tyrell were plentiful, and only becoming more and more evident as the days went on. He'd learned much here on the Oslund lands, and should he live past this night there would be much to think on. He still had no idea the nature of his brother's interest in Taleb Okin and Nathon Wythe, but now retained a fair knowledge about them both, a wealth of details to pass along to Devlin once they reconvened in Aralexia.

Knoxx paused, his eyes sliding back to the crows at this thought. His gaze had already narrowed upon the bird with the number one painted on it, the bird trained to fly to the home city of Justice, and he wondered if he dared it. What if he was to die here, and all his gathered knowledge with him? At least by sending a report to Devlin his death wouldn't be a complete waste.

In the end though, recalling his brother's warnings stopped him, as did the reminder of how precarious a balance Devlin walked within the royal city. It was more than possible any messages sent to him were intercepted and read, and while Knoxx didn't understand the core truth of why he'd been sent here to investigate, he knew enough to suspect that sending such a report might very well get Devlin killed.

He decided not to risk it, but would be loaded with questions when next in his brother's presence. If he was going to risk his life, he damn sure wanted to know why he was doing it, no matter how dangerous this secret. Furthermore, by this time he'd admittedly grown incredibly curious about the whole affair.

His body weary, he slid his back down the tower wall until he was sitting, then stretched his legs out before him over the cool stone floor. While he longed to lie down and sleep, doing so would be a foolish risk with Nathon and Taleb roaming about the castle, so he merely laid his head back against the wall and fixed his tired gaze on the sky.

He came back to himself with a start, realizing he must've fallen into a doze. Blinking rapidly, he strove to focus his sluggish vision while listening intently.

Silence.

Exhaling with relief, he then proceeded to mentally berate himself for his recklessness. Glancing up at the moons, it was with further alarm that he saw nearly three hours had gone by. Three hours he'd just been sitting here, completely visible to the eye and vulnerable to attack. Inexcusable.

On a more positive note, he now had three less hours to wait for Flynn, and was possibly three hours closer to escaping this cursed vineyard. Alternatively, he had no idea where Taleb and Nathon had now gotten to, still lurking about the castle or out upon the grounds searching for him. The uncertainty was nerve-wracking, but he wasn't about to leave the tower to find out, remaining confident that this proved his safest haven.

Pushing to his feet, he still felt sluggish but significantly less weary as he began a slow pace about. Now full dark, he moved out onto the balcony with no fear of being spotted from below and leaned against the waist-high wall, gazing down over the property.

All appeared still. Lights glowed at the gates, where the guards were camped out to defend from his escape, and the barns beyond the castle were well-lit by numerous lanterns. He presumed the Oslunds remained in their private suites, with Nathon and Taleb most likely checking in with them every so often. All in all, the scene only seemed to reaffirm the wisdom of staying precisely where he was.

He was still pacing about more than an hour later, desperately hoping Flynn was now astride that magnificent beast of his and winging his way east to rescue him from certain slaughter. Unfortunately, it was also becoming more and more difficult to ignore the voice in his head that warned him to start planning for the possibility of Flynn not appearing, in which case Knoxx would have no choice but to try getting past the gates. Provided he could refrain from reverting to invisibility for the rest of the night, he thought he might have enough power to pull it off. Either way he'd give Flynn until dawn, then proceed with this alternate plan only if his commander failed to show.

Knoxx was beginning to feel cautiously optimistic over his chances for survival, and his steps grew more and more anxious as he continued his pacing. He just wanted to be away from this damn vineyard.

It was creeping upon Fourth-hour, still an hour before dawn, when his ears suddenly alerted on a slight disturbance. His body froze, and he cocked his head toward the archway leading downstairs. Yes, there it was—the sound of footsteps, faint but growing clearer. Someone was climbing the tower steps.

Knoxx instantly faded into invisibility and moved back against the wall, his nerves jangling. He continued to listen as the footsteps grew louder, now intermingled with the sound of low voices, and almost unthinkingly he reached to adjust the position of his dagger, ensuring easy access. While bloodshed—particularly his own—was the last thing he wanted to see happen here, if it came down to stabbing one of them to escape, he was prepared to do it. Nor would he shoulder any guilt for the act either, for that weight would be Devlin's to bear for instigating this whole mess.

The heavy stone door swung open and Taleb appeared; for some reason, his clothing appeared dusted in a fine white powder. Knoxx frowned in confusion before turning his attention to Nathon, who was coming just behind and carrying a large burlap sack.

Now just what are the two of you up to? Knoxx thought, staring at them with narrowed eyes while mindful to keep his breathing silent.

He received his answer a moment later.

The sack contained what looked to be flour, and Nathon had now started to dispense a thin layer all over the floor, starting at the far wall.

Knoxx continued to watch him with rapidly growing alarm.

"Once we're finished up here," Nathon was saying as he poured, "we'll have only the tower steps and foyer entrance left to cover."

Taleb nodded. "We'll stake out the exits so he can't approach without our knowing."

You devious bastards! Knoxx thought with almost incoherent panic, continuing to stare at Nathon as he moved ever closer to where he stood.

"Or if he's out upon the grounds and tries to enter," Nathon added, "this should deter him effectively."

It certainly would have—if he was out upon the grounds, a place he was now very much wishing he was.

"Once we rule out one setting or the other," Nathon went on, "we'll know where to start concentrating our efforts."

Knoxx was now inching his way down the wall, attempting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the white powder growing ever closer to his feet. He knew his movements were futile—within a matter of minutes, the entire floor would be covered, revealing exactly where he stood—but even so he couldn't help himself, edging out onto the balcony as his mind raced to find an escape.

There was absolutely nowhere for him to go. It was possible he could push past the two and make it to the door before they saw his footsteps and stabbed him, but the odds of him completing this move successfully weren't good. Of course, staying still and waiting for them to find him wasn't a much better option, and a jump from the tower would almost assuredly gain him two broken legs, with a neck to match.

"Quiet," Taleb then said, holding up a hand. "Did you hear something?"

Knoxx held his breath, looking about frantically for an option—any option—to present itself. Then he saw it, and wondered if he dared.

"No," Nathon replied, carefully setting the bag of flour down onto the floor. "What did you hear?"

"I don't know, maybe nothing. Just be still a moment."

Knoxx was now torn between holding perfectly still and making a break for what he saw as his only chance at remaining undiscovered. With his heart pounding almost deafeningly in his ears, he made a few quick and silent steps backward, stopping when he felt the low wall encircling the balcony hit his back.

Nathon and Taleb continued to hold still, listening intently. Knoxx sent a quick, silent prayer to his Patrons, Eris and Katrien, and then turned, putting his hands to the ledge and hoisting himself upward.

The fall to the ground looked higher than ever, but the ledge was fairly thick, and so long as he didn't keep looking down he shouldn't have any trouble keeping his balance. Ever so carefully he turned about, then fought off a shudder of relief when it didn't appear Nathon or Taleb had taken any notice of his movement. Fully upright, he stood, watching the two men intently.

Finally Taleb shrugged. "Must've been the wind. You know how drafty it gets up here."

"Perhaps," Nathon agreed, taking up his bag of flour from the floor. He resumed pouring, now moving out onto the balcony in small, measured steps which failed to miss even an inch of ground.

Knoxx was trying not to even breathe, a difficult task given his heart was still pounding painfully against his chest. Nathon was now almost directly before him. It was Knoxx's hope that he could keep to this position long enough for them to finish and become satisfied their prey wasn't here in the tower. Once he had some time to think, he could then decide on his next move.

"I'm glad you convinced Lord Ean not to call in the Legion," Taleb was now saying, leaning casually against the wall while looking to Nathon.

Nathon nodded. "I didn't think we required their assistance." He paused to pour more flour, adding in a lower tone, "Or their mercy."

Over the anxiety that nearly had his knees knocking together in fear, Knoxx felt a sudden and deep-seated prickle of unease as he took in their exchange. It was their tone, he deduced quickly. They knew he was here.

But they gave him no time to consider, much less react. He was barely registering the movement of Nathon pulling his sword before its point was sinking into him.
Chapter 20

Despite that he'd been expecting it, Taleb experienced a flutter of surprise when the tip of Nathon's blade bloomed red.

Their unseen target uttered no sound, nor did he suddenly appear. Instead, a dagger materialized seemingly from nothing and hurtled forward. Nathon saw it coming and managed to twist slightly, sending the blade into this thigh rather than his abdomen.

"Go!" he commanded, gesturing with a grimace toward the floor.

Taleb saw the footprints appearing in the flour as the mage jumped from the ledge and made for the tower stairs, and he bolted after him while pulling his own weapon.

The flour ran out at the top of the steps, but Taleb no longer needed it to follow the mage's trail. Not only was the invisible man making an enormous racket as he blundered downward, but large splashes of blood made clear his every move. Nathon's blind thrust must've inflicted serious damage.

Four steps from the bottom, Taleb let loose with a flying tackle. He felt himself hit the solid form of the mage just before they both tumbled into the heavy stone door, pushing it further ajar and landing them with a thunderous crash in the corridor beyond.

"Are you crazy?" a disembodied voice bellowed furiously from the floor next to him.

Dazed from the fall, Taleb scrambled to get a grip on the man, feeling himself catch hold of an ankle just as a sharp pain exploded across his right cheek. It felt as though the mage had kicked him.

The ankle pulled free of his grasp and another blow—this one delivered by a fist, he was certain—quickly followed. His head was buzzing as he pushed himself to his feet, his eyes now trying to focus on the floor.

The corridor, much like nearly the entire castle, was also blanketed in the fine white powder, and he could see the mage's footprints rapidly forming along it. Even more noticeable was the blood, continuing to gush from the wound Nathon had delivered. Taleb leapt after the red trail, pausing only briefly to take up his fallen sword.

It soon became clear the mage had spent a considerable amount of time within the castle these past few days, for he was navigating about the hallways and staircases with an obvious destination in mind—the entranceway doors. Taleb suspected that if he made it that far, he might lose him despite the blood trail. There was just too much land beyond; an invisible foe's greatest ally. Taleb further figured they'd instead discover the mage's body in a day or two, for to judge by the amount he was bleeding he wasn't going to survive without a Healer.

"I'm not here for your precious Oslunds!" the disembodied voice hollered back to him now as they hurtled along a second-floor passageway, with Taleb, so far as he could tell, only a few paces behind his target. "This is all a misunderstanding!" the voice went on, with more than a note of desperation.

Taleb instantly deemed these words lies, but his curiosity got the better of him. "What is the misunderstanding?" he threw back, even while reaching out a hand and just feeling the cloth of the mage's clothes faintly brush his fingertips.

The invisible man came to the end of the hall and noisily slid about a corner. "I only needed a place to hide out for a time," he answered raggedly, approaching the final staircase that would bring him to the ground floor. "I never intended any harm!"

Taleb thought quickly as he raced down the stairs after him. Truthfully, the claim wasn't completely unbelievable, for if the mage aimed to commit violence here he'd already had plenty of opportunity to do so. In fact, he hadn't been responsible for any violence at all until his very life was threatened. On the other hand, he could still be a spy.

"Halt and I won't kill you," Taleb shouted as they came to the bottom of the stairs and turned toward the entranceway. "Otherwise, your wound will prove the end of you even if I don't."

There came no reply, just the sounds of ragged breathing and pounding steps. Taleb honestly didn't know how the mage was maintaining such a pace with so severe an injury; his blood was spilling all over the corridor, making for a slippery trail.

The doors ahead were now beginning to open. Knowing this would probably be his final chance to take the man alive and discover the truth behind his presence, Taleb put on a burst of speed, made his best guess as to where his prey was standing, and threw his full weight forward.

He heard the grunt, and felt the body crush between himself and the door. Locking his arm about the other man's neck in a tight and unwavering grip, he then said, "Almost, mage."

"Don't count me out just yet," his captive replied breathlessly, just before Taleb felt an elbow slam into his sternum. The air instantly rushed from his lungs, and while he tried to maintain his hold he felt the mage pull away. Staggering after him, he fought for air while moving through the doors and out onto the lawns. He then noted a strange flickering not far ahead, and needed a moment to understand what was happening. The mage's power was nearly drained, he assumed, his body beginning to shift in and out of visibility. He also looked to be on the last of his physical reserves, his steps haphazard and wild.

Taleb was still frantically trying to breathe, attempting to run, when the mage blinked back into sight a final time, fully formed, visible, and evidently forced to stay that way. The blood-covered man pitched to the ground and lay there, face-down and unmoving.

Pulling in quick, shallow breaths, Taleb slowed and approached the figure cautiously. In all likelihood the mage was finished, but he thought it best to play it safe and therefore led with his sword, slowly circling the collapsed man.

"If you answer my questions, I'll send for our healer," he rasped. "If not, I'll let you die right here."

A faint groan was his only answer, the blood pooling beneath the mage growing wider by the moment and soaking into the grass beneath him.

"Talk or die," Taleb warned, pausing with his sword-point next to the mage's head.

"Back away from him, slave, or you'll be the one moving on to your Patrons tonight," a voice then slid from the darkness.

Startled, Taleb looked up, his eyes scanning the area around him. Just before dawn, the grounds remained shrouded in darkness and just barely allowed him to discern the shape of a man in the shadows ahead, about twenty paces distant and standing next to a tall lemon tree. There was a large shape behind him, a horse by its form.

"Show yourself," Taleb commanded, keeping his sword leveled at the mage's head.

The man started forward, his form emerging through the darkness. Taleb's first observation was that of his outstretched arm and the loaded crossbow it held, aimed directly at him. He next took note of the man's skin—a brown color that not only marked him as a native of Ceja, but offered instant clarity to his identity. Few souls in Dhanen'Mar were unaware of the Cejan thief who'd come to head their own Thieves' network, a man by the name of Flynn Fajen.

"Thieving?" Taleb exploded, staring in disbelief. "This is about simple thieving?"

Fajen halted just paces away, his blue eyes fixed on Taleb. "There's no simplicity here, nor can I say whether the situation involves any actual thieving. But rest assured I look forward to getting to the truth of the matter." He then sent the briefest of glances to the mage, his displeased expression clear.

Taleb frowned in confusion, then took a step back and gestured to the mage with his sword. "He refuses to speak for me. Perhaps you'll find better luck."

Fajen's eyes never wavered. "I don't think you understand," he said. "Back off and allow me to collect my man, or I'm going to shoot."

Taleb's frown deepened. "Not a chance. I can't possibly let you take him, although even if I did you'd never make it off the grounds." Saying this, he was suddenly forced to wonder how the Thieves' commander had gotten onto the property in the first place.

"I will say this one final time," Fajen came back with an open glare. "Back away now."

Debating his response, Taleb then caught sight of movement in the darkness behind the Cejan, the large shadowy figure he'd earlier identified as the man's horse. But it wasn't a horse; its large wings, unfurled and flapping nervously, were now beating rhythmically at the air as it stepped fully into view.

Taleb stared at the pegasus dumbly for a long moment. He supposed this answered the question of how Fajen had gotten onto the grounds, as well as how he planned to escape with the mage.

The two men continued to eye one another in the ongoing silence. Although his reputation didn't include committing senseless murders, Taleb found himself reasonably certain that Fajen was prepared to carry out his threat if his wishes weren't soon met. Still, he couldn't just allow him to take the mage.

Deciding on a course of action, he drew his arm back and threw his sword—not at Fajen, but rather at his crossbow. The blade struck it squarely, and as both weapons tumbled downward Taleb lunged, taking both himself and the Cejan to the ground.

Positioning for a hold that would break Fajen's arm if he did not fall still, Taleb failed to see the hit coming and his vision exploded in a shower of stars, pain erupting at his temple. Scrambling to regain his feet, he could blearily see his foe doing the same.

Blinking frantically to regain his sight, Taleb swung and caught Fajen on the cheek, sending him reeling backward several steps. Recovering quickly, Fajen retaliated with a hit to the ribs that produced an audible crack. Clamping his teeth together to withhold a gasp, Taleb willed himself to ignore the pain and aimed a kick meant to shatter Fajen's knee. The Cejan moved desperately to avoid the blow, but still caught impact enough to again send him staggering backward.

In the brief moment of pause that followed, Taleb's mind raced furiously. He'd always kept to a specific philosophy in life, a belief that the only way to truly understand another man was to fight him—whether with fists, swords, or any other weapon, how they handled themselves in these situations tended to reveal their true natures. And with respect to this theory, Taleb had already come to a few conclusions about Flynn Fajen.

Known for traits such as sneakiness and finesse rather than violence, it was nevertheless evident that the man had experienced his fair share of physical confrontation. While his style was no different than that of a common street-brawler, his speed, as well as his ability to misdirect his actions, was what made him a dangerous opponent. Twice more Taleb received punches to the head, taken in by Fajen's cunning feints, and he swung blindly after the second, his vision again lost to points of light.

He felt his fist connect with Fajen's nose and heard the crack as it shattered, before sending a follow-up strike by way of his left hand that threw the other man several paces through the air. The Cejan landed flat on his back with a thud.

Still fighting to see past the ongoing blurriness of his vision, Taleb lunged to get on top of him and then threw another punch into his face. Fajen took the hit but then straight-armed him, his fist striking just below the throat. Taleb instantly felt his ability to breathe vanish.

Gasping, and aware this agony was going to last for at least a couple of minutes, he struggled to maintain his position but felt himself shoved aside and then kicked in the chest for good measure. Falling to the grass, his hand brushed against something and he fought to bring his dimming sight into focus. It took him a moment, but he finally recognized his sword, lying just inches from his fingertips.

He grasped the handle and pushed upward as he spun, only managing to come to his knees as he confronted Fajen. The Thieves' commander was trying to rise, his entire face swelling and bloody.

"Halt," Taleb commanded weakly, still unable to pull in a substantial breath.

Fajen was panting as he laboriously dragged himself to his feet. Straightening with obvious pain, he stood before the point of Taleb's sword and merely looked at him.

Taleb somehow managed to follow his example, also coming to stand, and raised his weapon until its tip rested on Fajen's chest. "Surrender," he rasped.

The Cejan responded with a bloody smile. "I don't think so," he said.

Feeling a sudden pressure above his ear, Taleb froze. Moving only his eyes, he was just able to make out the crossbow now pointed at the side of his head.

"Drop the sword," the mage coughed out.

Taleb snarled.

"Drop it!" the mage demanded.

Taleb complied, even as his blood boiled with rage. He then watched in silence as the mage began backing away, keeping the crossbow aloft and aimed at his head.

"Stay where you are," the injured man warned after a quick glance at his expression.

Finally given a clear view of the damage Nathon's stab had inflicted, a deep bore in the mage's stomach, Taleb thought it a miracle he was even on his feet much less moving about and issuing threats. His pain had to be exquisite, and without the services of a Healer it was unlikely he'd live. Furthermore, Taleb was at last able to see what he looked like—a man of approximately his own age and height, but leaner, with yellow hair and agonized blue eyes. His face wasn't the least bit familiar.

Taleb met his stare. "I know what you look like now," he said, watching as both he and Fajen continued backing toward the pegasus.

"And once I finish with him, perhaps I'll let you have him," the Cejan returned, reaching the winged beast and turning to haul himself onto its back.

Taleb continued to watch in silence, his fury so strong he was nearly trembling, as Fajen literally dragged the mage onto the animal before him and then kicked in his heels. The pegasus began trotting away toward the fields, and then its wings spread and began to beat. Rapidly picking up speed, it leapt into the air.

Taleb stared after it, his mind blanking out for a long moment as he observed the diminishing view of the escaping Thieves.

"What in all the Chasms of Fire is that?"

He turned slowly, incapable of any quicker movement, to see Nathon hobbling across the grasses toward him. A quick downward glance then informed him that while Nathon must've limped all the way from the north tower, at least he hadn't been foolish enough to remove the dagger. It remained stuck in his left thigh, up near his hip.

"Pegasus," Taleb answered tonelessly.

Coming to a painful halt next to him, Nathon's eyes turned upward to watch the creature's soaring disappearance. "Pegasus?" he repeated. "Here? Why?" He then stopped to give Taleb a closer scrutiny. "Did the mage do all that?" he frowned, observing his wounds.

"Flynn Fajen did this. He arrived on the pegasus, as evidently the mage was one of his."

Nathon's frown deepened. "I suppose this explains why one of the crows is missing. The nine-bird."

Taleb gave a weary nod of understanding. "The mage must've sent it off to request rescue. Although this does nothing to answer why he was here to begin with."

"Perhaps not," Nathon replied, his eyes still fixed on the sky, "but we do know where to find them."

"We can't enter their canyon without a Thieves' medallion."

"No. But we can enter Aralexia, where they'll be the final week of summer."

Taleb began nodding. Everyone knew Thieves oversaw the gambling done upon the games of the King's Challenge, and he'd therefore be willing to bet that Fajen, at least, would be present at the event. The mage's appearance was questionable, particularly since his own commander had hinted at a desire to see him dead, but in any case the situation would provide another opportunity to unravel this mystery. Not to mention further protect Oliveah, since her troupe was also slated to be in Aralexia that week.

"Maybe we should enter the Challenge ourselves, while we're there," Taleb suggested off-handedly, trying not to move since even breathing hurt. "The winner takes five hundred gold, you know."

"Better we discuss that once we're healed," Nathon replied, wincing as he raised his whistle to his lips.

The blasts would call the guards, who'd then be dispatched to release the Oslunds and fetch the resident healer, a man who'd been born to Harvest and chosen Healing; historically, his talents allowed him to heal all but the most severe wounds taken here on the vineyard. Taleb was confident Nathon would suffer no permanent damage so long as he was seen to fairly quickly, and figured his own wounds would mend with or without the healer's help—although with would certainly be preferable, as he suspected he'd be a walking bruise in a matter of hours. While he could claim to have given no less than he'd received, Fajen's cunning had surprised him. He wouldn't be so unprepared next time.

At the moment, however, his biggest concern was the report he and Nathon now had to deliver to Lord Ean. How could they possibly admit they'd allowed the guilty party to escape, and learned no answers to explain his presence in the vineyard? Certainly it wouldn't help that Nathon had been stabbed and Taleb nearly beaten to a bloody pulp.

But despite their combined dread, Lord Ean professed nothing but relief to find them alive, sending both straight away to the healer. Alarmed at their injuries, Oliveah went with them and fussed about until the healer ordered her from the infirmary. She departed only after promising to return later that day.

The healer's name was Master Zac, a wizened man of sixty who looked a hundred and was very experienced in his craft. He began his treatments with Nathon, first extracting the knife and then cleaning the wound before applying herbs and healing energy. After affixing a tight bandage, he then dispensed an elixir meant to help him rest, and within minutes Nathon's eyes were glazing over.

Moving on to his second patient, it was determined Taleb had a cracked rib in addition to several serious bruises, many on his face. Master Zac's greatest concern was possible head trauma, and he insisted Taleb not sleep for at least six hours on the chance he wouldn't reawaken. Taleb took the advice seriously and aimed to keep both his eyes and mind alert.

Nathon, by this time, was clearly feeling the influence of the elixir, his blue eyes glassy as he stared about the room from his cot. His wits, however, didn't appear to be experiencing the same dulling effects.

"How long before I'm fully healed?" he put to Master Zac while shifting restlessly.

The healer looked back with exasperation. "That will depend on whether you allow yourself the adequate rest. Now lay still. If you follow my instructions you should be back on your feet with no ill effects in about a week. If you do not," he went on sternly, "you'll risk a permanent limp and find yourself laid up here well into next season."

"A week," Nathon repeated, nodding. "And Taleb?"

"Taleb will be fine in a couple of days," Master Zac said, shuffling to the counter placed at the far end of the room. Taking up his mortar and pestle, he began crushing some herbs.

Nathon watched him go, then swung his sluggish gaze over to Taleb in the next cot. "Sounds like we'll both be fit to attend the King's Challenge," he slurred.

"One way or another, we'll get our answers in Aralexia," Taleb agreed.
Chapter 21

"Angus asleep, she came to see him

From her knew the sweetest tune

Then, when he begged her to take his hand

She spread away from his dream"

Two days had now passed since the mage's successful escape from the vineyard. Almost dusk, Oliveah needed to prepare for supper but was presently in the infirmary with Nathon, entertaining him with her voice and lyre. The song she was singing, Angus and the Swan, was a personal favorite of them both, centuries old and originally made famous by a band of musicians still considered the best the world had ever seen.

"Seeking the truth in his dreams,

They tell him to love only her

Where did she fly?

Where did she fly?

Where does she hide?"

She strummed the last few notes on her lyre as her voice faded to silence, glancing up to find Nathon smiling at her.

"I'll never tire of hearing you sing that song," he told her.

She returned the look, shifting slightly on the stool placed next to his cot. "And I'll never tire of singing it to you, but for now you need to rest before Master Zac comes back and gives me an earful for keeping you awake."

"I'm not tired. You can stay."

She frowned, but with feigned severity. "I won't be a party to delaying your recovery. Besides, I need to go make myself presentable. While no longer in need of Sabian Reif's talents, he and Lord Guerin accepted my father's invitation and should be arriving any moment."

Nathon looked at her curiously. "Do you truly believe what's said of Sabian?"

Oliveah paused. She hadn't relayed to Nathon the truth of Deakin's rescue that night in Tyrell, and apparently Taleb hadn't either, most likely because he found the matter no less unsettling than she did.

"I do," she finally replied.

Nathon seemed to briefly contemplate before giving a slight shrug in reply. "I suppose it's possible, but not an ability I envy."

"Nor do I," she replied with a faint shudder. Curling her fingers securely about her lyre, she got to her feet. "Now mind Master Zac's instructions and get some rest. My father needs you fully healed and back in the vineyard as soon as possible."

He sighed. "Fine."

Nodding, she turned to go. It simply wasn't in Nathon's nature to be lazy, so keeping him bed-ridden the past two days had been a challenge. With luck, however, she'd now put matters into a more motivating perspective.

"Oliveah, wait a moment."

Almost to the door, she turned back and raised her eyebrows in query.

Propped up on his elbows, he regarded her intently. "Will you return later?"

She stared back at him, saying nothing; she knew precisely what this request alluded to, although he'd been gentleman enough not to have asked outright. Tomorrow she'd be departing to rejoin her troupe, which meant her time to reach a decision had now come to an end. Unfortunately, she still wasn't any clearer on which direction her heart was leaning, but now had precious few hours left to discover this deeper truth. She couldn't possibly leave the vineyard without providing them an answer.

"Before I retire for the night," she promised him now, fighting to keep all traces of her inner turmoil concealed.

He offered nothing more than a nod in response, but continued to eye her discerningly. She presumed he was seeking some sort of hint or clue from her countenance, but since this answer remained unknown even to her he probably beheld only confusion. Withholding a sigh, she turned and departed the infirmary.

Her mind raced furiously as she stormed her way up to her suite and began washing and dressing for supper. How could she possibly be expected to do this while they were both injured? But then, how could she not?

All right, she finally commanded herself while starting back downstairs to the dining hall. You're making this decision tonight, with no further excuses. Just get through supper and then go wherever your feet lead you.

Her father and Lord Guerin were rehashing the harrowing events of a couple nights ago when she arrived at the table. After politely greeting both Reifs, she took her seat between Sabian and Navalee and then glanced about. It was a relief not to see Taleb present; the Patrons knew getting through this meal would be difficult enough, and she hadn't wanted the extra burden of having to make small talk with one whose heart she might be breaking later that night.

She stared down at her food with little appetite.

"How are matters in Tyrell coming along?" her mother was now asking Lord Guerin. "We've heard terrible tales of the ruin it's become."

Lord Guerin began nodding as he reached for a bread roll. "Complete reconstruction is going to take some time, with present concerns still centered on cleaning up the damage," he answered. "I'm afraid it'll probably be a few seasons before Tyrell is restored to its previous splendor."

"And the blame falls entirely on Thieves?" Ean asked with a frown. "It appears they're becoming quite the problem in the area, yes?"

"I say hang them all," Navalee cut in angrily, spearing a wedge of baked apple with her fork.

Oliveah saw her mother wince. Navalee could, at times, be somewhat more forthright than what was proper for a young lady.

"Well," Lord Guerin began in response, glancing to Navalee before turning back to Ean, "the Legion certainly believes them responsible, although Sabian has a different theory."

Oliveah wasn't the only one to cast a curious glance to the younger Reif. He noted the sudden scrutiny and gently set his wine goblet onto the table.

"Magic," he then stated simply.

"You believe this was the result of a spell?" Ean asked, looking worried.

Sabian shrugged. "All I know for certain is that Magic lies at the root of this trouble."

Navalee leaned forward to look past Oliveah. "You know?" she repeated to Sabian. "How?"

"It's not polite to question our guests, Navalee," Ean cut in, an obvious effort to keep the likeliest answer from being spoken. "Has this theory been presented to the Legion?" he then went on, looking back to Lord Guerin.

"It has," he replied, "but was given little attention. In my view, Justice doesn't want to hold anyone but Thieves accountable."

"Very troubling, this matter," Lyllyn murmured, sipping her wine.

Oliveah agreed. She continued to experience the occasional nightmare over what she'd witnessed in Tyrell the final night of Ardin's Pride, but had accepted Justice's determination placing the entirety of the blame on Thieves. But could Sabian be right, and Magic the real culprit for all that had happened? She glanced over at him now, momentarily startled to find him staring back at her.

"Tell the diviner I'll see her in Aralexia," he then said in a low, quiet tone. "Whichever way matters fall, she'll soon have need of me."

Oliveah blinked quickly, taking several moments to respond. "I will do as you ask, but your request troubles me. Have I reason to worry?"

He nodded slowly, and again spoke in a voice loud enough only for her to hear. "We all have reason to worry," he said. "But your concerns now lie in Aralexia."

She really didn't care for the sounds of this. "If Aralexia presents a danger, avoiding it wouldn't be difficult," she told him.

"That's your choice, but that path will seal the diviner's doom. Otherwise, you'll still require all your wits to save her."

Oliveah stared at him in horror. "Can you put name to what threatens her?" she demanded in a harsh whisper.

He looked away, shaking his head slightly as he answered. "I'm afraid I know nothing else, friend Oliveah. I'm only told what I am told."

She didn't bother asking who had told him these things, as the obvious answer was one of his ghosts. The only truly relevant questions seemed to be how Madi's life was soon to be in danger, and what could Oliveah do to protect her?

Taleb and Nathon, she then thought. Both would be free men before the final week of summer, and she was certain she could convince them to journey to Aralexia to observe the King's Challenge. But could she do this without revealing why she needed them there? Neither would let her anywhere near Justice's home city if they thought serious danger lay within. A further concern was how she could request this of both of them when she planned on choosing one over the other this very night.

Dropping her head into her hands, she emitted a loud moan.

"Oliveah? Are you feeling all right, dear?" her mother asked from across the table.

She raised her head while forcing a smile. "Fine. My mind just wandered to all the packing I've yet to do."

Lyllyn cocked a disbelieving eyebrow but simply nodded back. No doubt she realized Oliveah was still struggling with her yet-unspoken decision, but couldn't know this was now only part of the problem.

Oliveah somehow got through the remainder of the meal, eating almost nothing, before asking her father for a quick word in private before he and Lord Guerin retired to his study.

Ean took in her expression wordlessly before turning to his guest. "Would you mind, Guerin? I imagine she has some lingering concerns over her morning travel plans."

Lord Guerin waved good-naturedly. "Not at all. I certainly won't begrudge the extra minutes with your lovely wife."

Ean smiled and nodded, then turned to Oliveah with a gesture. "My office, then?" he said.

Oliveah hurried from the room, leading the way, and took up a nervous pace once within her father's office. She waited impatiently until he'd closed the door and taken a seat at his desk before speaking.

"I need your permission to ask Taleb and Nathon to meet me in Aralexia the week of the King's Challenge," she opened.

Her words appeared to confuse him, and for a long moment he merely frowned at her. "I suppose they haven't yet spoken to you about this," he finally murmured.

She stopped before the desk, now her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"First, tell me why you're making this request."

Oliveah stared at him, her thoughts now racing frantically. She'd been so distressed over Sabian's words that she hadn't even considered the possibility of her father asking her this. Finally she grasped the only reasonable excuse that came to mind.

"I need a bit more time to make my decision," she told him. Convenient, an inner voice then hissed, forcing her to fight off a grimace.

Her father frowned again. "You can't keep dragging this out, Oliveah," he said. "They deserve better."

She sighed. "I know."

"However," he went on, "given the circumstances, this might not be such a terrible idea."

"The circumstances?" she repeated.

"Conveniently, they're already planning on being in Aralexia that week, so once it concludes you can either return here with Nathon or carry on with Taleb."

"Why are they planning on being in Aralexia? And why haven't they informed me of this?"

Her father held up a hand. "Their aim is to confront Flynn Fajen. Little question he'll be there overseeing the gambling, and they're determined to find an answer to the mage's presence here."

Oliveah's eyes widened. "Fajen will be accompanied by scores of his Thieves! They'll be putting themselves in an incredible amount of danger!"

"They won't be in any danger. Or at least, not from the Thieves. As participants in the King's Challenge, no one outside the contest can touch them; not even Thieves would dare it."

Oliveah stared at her father blankly, replaying his words in an attempt to convince herself she'd heard wrong.

"Participants...?" she finally managed, her entire body stiffening with fear.

Ean took her in, looked away with a sigh, then said, "Yes, participants. I'm not happy about it either, but they've made up their minds. Both will be a part of the games this year."

Rather than panic, Oliveah felt herself go entirely numb, and her eyes drifted unseeingly down to the floor. They can't truly be doing this. They can't.

"Oliveah!"

She distantly became aware of her father calling to her, and slowly raised her gaze back to meet his. He was on his feet now, regarding her worriedly.

"Why don't you have a seat," he suggested, still eyeing her. "Take a minute to let this settle in."

She felt herself shaking her head. "They can't do this," she insisted.

Her father was now guiding her to the small sofa in the corner, pressing on her shoulders so she would sit.

"They can and they are, I'm afraid," he told her. "You've no choice but to accept it."

She turned to him woodenly, and then her shock broke. Taking its place was a wave of fury.

"They can die in those games!" she bellowed. "Order them not to go! I'll beg you if I must, but you have to forbid them!"

He closed his eyes briefly while shaking his head. "They'll be free men by the time of the Challenge. I'll have no authority to stop them."

"They won't do if it you ask them not to! Please, talk to them!"

"You think I haven't already tried? That I want either risking his life for so arbitrary a reason? The Patrons know I think of them as my own sons, but they're going to do this with or without my approval. My advice to you is to give them your support, rather than distract them with your worry."

She gaped at him incredulously. "Support? For this? Never!" She shot to her feet, now visibly vibrating with anger. "If you refuse to put a halt to this, then I will!" she yelled, storming toward the door.

"You're going to fail," he called after her. "As much as they both may love you, this isn't something you have any power over. Men are men, no matter their feelings. Trust me on this, or you'll only risk making the situation worse."

"I won't fail!" she screamed back at him, before slamming the door behind her with all her might.

Nearly blind with rage, she pounded her way through the castle, heading for the ground-floor infirmary. Since she had no idea where Taleb was she sought Nathon out first, and with no care for the fact that he was injured and likely resting. She barged through the infirmary door so violently its wood cracked as it bounced off the wall behind it.

Her first observation was that Nathon wasn't resting, and the mystery of Taleb's whereabouts had now been solved. He was seated atop the stool she'd occupied herself just a short while ago, and it seemed the two were engaged in a serious discussion—or had been, prior to her tumultuous entrance. They were now staring over at her in surprise.

"Everything all right, Oliveah?" Nathon asked, taking her in.

"No, everything is not all right," she snapped, approaching the foot of his cot.

Taleb's look turned to one of foreboding. "You've spoken with your father, haven't you?"

She glared at him.

Nathon sighed. "Our intention was to discuss this with you prior to your departure," he began. "I admit we've been procrastinating, unsure of your reaction...."

"Unsure of my reaction?" she repeated savagely, taking a step nearer. "Have you both lost your minds? Don't you know how dangerous the games of the King's Challenge are?"

"We've heard—" Taleb started.

"Heard?" she cut him off. "Well, I've seen. Every year for the past seven, I've seen. And every year I've watched men die. Do you not realize these duels leave you at the mercy of your opponents?"

"Only if they gain the upper hand," Nathon replied.

Oliveah's eyes blazed. "And you believe you'll be fighting farmers, boys, and merchants? Or have you simply not given any thought to the sorts of men who typically enter the Challenge? I know you're both skilled, but you have no idea what you'll be up against."

"Why don't you tell us, then," Taleb invited, annoyance creeping into his tone.

"Very well," she said. "First, there's the knights; usually several will enter, as will a healthy selection of Justice officers. Then you have the mercenaries and criminals, who swarm in not only from the farthest reaches of Dhanen'Mar but also distant realms, since the Challenge is open to all. Finally," she went on, still glaring, "there's the warlords. Not every year will one enter, but they tend to annihilate all opponents when they do." She paused to then take them both in. "Now, do these sound like men you truly wish to cross blades with? Men you'd trust to the mercy of?"

Nathon frowned at her. "Naturally, all combatants will be proficient at swordplay. But you shouldn't dismiss our own skills and talents in this area. We are War-born, Oliveah."

"And trained by a vineyard's master-at-arms, not by knights, or warlords, or anyone who could offer a true assessment of your capabilities!" she returned furiously.

They exchanged a look at this.

"It would appear she harbors doubt in our abilities," Taleb then commented lightly.

Nathon nodded. "Clearly, we've much to prove, lest we disappoint or embarrass her," he agreed.

Oliveah stared back at them, slowly coming to understand the severity of her error. Insulting a man's pride, even if done in an attempt to save his life, was never a wise idea, and she realized she'd just made the situation much, much worse.

"That's not what I meant!" she insisted quickly. "I know you're both more than adequate—"

"Adequate?" Nathon repeated, looking to Taleb. "We certainly have our work cut out for us."

Oliveah grimaced. She could see no way out of this now.

"But—what if you're made to fight each other?" she then exclaimed desperately. "Could you truly lift a blade against one another?"

They both shrugged.

"Should it happen, I guess we'll finally then know which of us is more . . . adequate," Taleb said.

Oliveah grabbed at the roots of her hair in utter frustration as she stared at them. She had only one play left to make, and as much as she didn't want to do it, she saw no other option. If they both entered the King's Challenge, she could very well lose them both. This way, she was hoping to save at least one.

"I'll marry the first of you to withdraw from this!" she blurted, hating herself for the tactic but not quite regretting it.

Unsure of what to expect, the ongoing silence following her pronouncement soon had her heart pounding in anticipation. Nothing could be read from their expressions, but the longer she stood there, staring back at them, the more certain she became that neither was pleased. Finally Nathon spoke.

"That's hardly fair, Oliveah," he said.

"You should be making that offer to whichever of us wins," Taleb added flippantly.

"Agreed," Nathon nodded. "For how else are we to prove our worthiness?"

She stared at them in disbelieving horror.

How did this happen?

She didn't know, but there was no repairing the damage now. Feeling herself about to weep, she turned and raced from the room.
Chapter 22

Corbit's Canyon was home to but a single resident born to Healing, a young woman bearing the extremely rare combination of Healing and Thieves. Directly upon returning to the canyon, Flynn summoned her to the clubhouse to attend Knoxx, where she spent the next three days doing all she could just to keep him alive. The mage lost far too much blood, she diagnosed, and his chances of pulling through remained in doubt.

Flynn was presently in his office on the clubhouse's ground floor. He was attempting to read some reports sent from various sects of Thieves all about the country, their lists of recent spoils, but was having trouble staying focused. His entire body remained incredibly sore, and with all the Healer's attention on Knoxx, he was left to deal with his own injuries unaided.

The worst of them was his knee. Although managing to avoid taking the blow straight-on, saving him a shattered kneecap, the joint was still sprained, swollen, stiff, and very difficult to move around on. His face wasn't an especially pleasant sight at the moment, either. His nose remained broken, both his eyes blackened with deep bruises, and his lower lip split and scabbed.

The identity of the man he'd fought in the vineyard remained a mystery. Flynn knew only that he'd been wearing a War Birth medallion, and that it wasn't an acquaintance he'd be anxious to make again. It had taken everything he had just to hold his own, and if not for Knoxx's intervention, he thought he might now be dead.

Knoxx had regained consciousness only twice since arriving back in Corbit's Canyon, and neither time been in any condition to explain himself. Flynn generally had the patience of a stone—an important trait for any thief—but his anger and curiosity were beginning to get the better of him. He'd known Knoxx was up to something when he'd left for Tyrell so enthusiastically, but so far, he hadn't been able to make any sense of the mage's actions.

Yesterday, he'd summoned Tishan to the clubhouse and put her through a ruthless interrogation, suspecting Knoxx might've divulged his intentions to her. After an hour, however, he was satisfied she'd known nothing, and was just as mystified by Knoxx's actions as he was. He'd finally sent her away, frustrated at his continued lack of answers but resigned to simply waiting and hoping Knoxx pulled through.

In addition to the mystery at the vineyard, he was further anticipating a report on what, if anything, the mage had uncovered in Tyrell. While he'd shown a lot of nerve deviating from his commander's orders, Flynn didn't think he'd had nerve enough to ignore those orders altogether, and therefore might've discovered an interesting tidbit or two while in the city of the Arts, information that could help explain exactly what happened the final night of Ardin's Pride. Tishan was anxious to learn this as well, although Flynn had denied her request to sit with Knoxx, even during his many hours of unconsciousness. Besides the Healer and her assistant, Flynn had no intention of giving the mage an opportunity to speak with anyone but himself before relating the tale of his actions.

Once learning those answers, he'd then have to decide on an appropriate punishment, for so long as Knoxx lived he wasn't escaping the situation unscathed. Regardless of whether he was able to provide a more or less reasonable explanation, Flynn had his own authority to protect.

On another note, official word from Tyrell remained unchanged, meaning no one had yet made any mention of his appearance at the Tulan ranch; all crimes committed there were still being hanged upon persons, or rather Thieves, unknown. Tishan also remained in the clear, as it appeared no one had so much as learned her true name, much less connected her to the stolen merchandise. Due to Lord Beran's shouted accusations it was possible a Justice officer had been dispatched to investigate her assumed identity, but if so they wouldn't get far. Not only was the name she'd given a fabrication, but so was the mountain-side town she'd claimed to have come from. No mention had yet been made of Knoxx either, although this was far less surprising.

Ultimately, being in the clear meant Flynn was now free to leave the canyon without fear of being pursued, arrested, and jailed, as well as attend the gambling extravaganza set to commence in Aralexia in little more than two weeks' time. Missing this would've annoyed him, and put him in a bind over finding a competent replacement; it wasn't an easy job, requiring excellent as well as swift arithmetic skills. Furthermore, the games themselves provided much entertainment, particularly as he liked to gamble on the outcomes himself.

Giving up on his reports, he shoved them into a desk drawer and vowed to get to them tomorrow. He then got to his feet, grabbed the cane he'd been using to assist his knee, and headed from the room with the intention of taking Caelis out for his daily flight.

Actually, Caelis presented another point of interest in regard to what had transpired in the vineyard. At no time had the pegasus attempted to interfere with the fight, not even when Flynn was being held at sword-point, and this could imply only one thing; the War-born man he'd been fighting hadn't intended to kill him. Due to the pegasus being a heart-reader, this interpretation of the facts couldn't be mistaken, and Flynn would remember this should he ever confront that still-unnamed man again.

Passing through the entrance hall on his way outside, a noise on the stairwell caught his attention and he glanced upward. The Healer, Yalla, was slowly shuffling her way down the stairs, clearly exhausted and taking measured steps.

Not exactly at his most spry himself, Flynn moved to the bottom of the staircase and stood looking up at her. "Yalla, are you all right?" he called.

She glanced down at him but maintained her slow and steady descent. "All I need is rest," she returned, sounding weary. "Knoxx has awoken and shows signs of improvement. It required all my skill, and most of my energy, but I'm now confident he'll survive."

Flynn felt relief, but also a sharp spike of impatience. "I must see him," he insisted as she came to pause on the lowest stair, putting them at eye level.

Yalla pursed her lips, staring back at him knowingly. "You can't cause him any stress. He's still weak, and requires all his strength to aid in my own continued ministrations."

"I understand," he said.

She continued to frown at him. "I mean it, Flynn. No stress."

He grinned back her. "I promise to go easy on him," he vowed, "for the time being. How long until he's fully recovered?"

She coughed slightly and shook her head. "A week at least, more likely two. And only so long as I don't have to tend to anyone else in that time, for he remains in need of much care." She stopped and leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing his shattered nose. "Your face must be paining you a great deal."

"More so my knee, but it can wait," he replied. "Once Knoxx is well, you can see to me."

"Very well."

"Get some rest now, Yalla. Feel free to make use of any room in the clubhouse."

She nodded, exhaustion again overtaking her features. "I'll return to the mage once I've gotten a few hours' sleep. Carril is with him now, as he shouldn't yet be left alone."

Flynn waited until she'd moved off before starting the arduous task of maneuvering himself up the stairs. Even with the help of his cane, the climb took several minutes and left his knee throbbing; by the time he reached the summit he was cursing Knoxx as well as the unidentified War-born man directly responsible for the damage.

The vacant suite he'd dumped Knoxx into upon their return consisted of a bed chamber with adjoining sitting room. Flynn entered the latter, finding it empty, before moving further in and coming to a pause in the doorway.

In the chair next to the mage's bed sat a middle-aged man, busy in the act of changing the dressings over Knoxx's wound. Carril had been born to Thieves but chosen Healing, which granted him considerable skill but none near to Yalla's own Healing-born ability. He commonly worked as her assistant, seeing to the lesser ailments so she could save her energies for those more severe. Observing Carril now, Flynn thought he looked nearly as exhausted as she had, implying it had taken extreme efforts from the both of them just to pull Knoxx through.

"Carril," he said quietly, still paused in the doorway.

The man glanced up with lined and weary eyes. "Commander Fajen. Have you spoken with Yalla?"

Flynn nodded and limped a few steps closer. "Yes. Go get some rest in the sitting room. I'll stay with him for a time."

Carril looked relieved as he pushed himself to his feet, tossing a bloody bandage into the rubbish bucket as he stood. "I appreciate it, Commander Fajen. Wake me for any concerns."

"I will," Flynn said. "Close the door on your way out, if you would."

Carril did this wordlessly, vanishing behind the glossy wooden doors as he swung them shut. Flynn waited until they clicked closed, then turned slowly to face the bed. Knoxx's eyes were open and regarding him warily.

"I've been expecting you," the mage said, his voice hoarse and weak.

The Thieves' commander gingerly settled himself on the bedside chair Carril had been using, his eyes never leaving Knoxx's face. "If you ever expect to rise from that bed again, I advise you start talking."

Knoxx didn't seem surprised or alarmed by the threat, his face calm and pale as he looked back from the feathered pillow beneath his head. He then managed a faint smile. "Would you believe me if I said my silence was an attempt to keep you safe?"

"Keep me safe?" Flynn repeated. "You've obviously not taken a good look at my face. No, I would not believe you."

Knoxx sighed, moving his blue gaze up toward the ceiling for a few moments. Flynn watched him, saying nothing, and finally the mage spoke again.

"This is my brother's business, Flynn. I snuck onto that vineyard to perform a task at his request, one he claimed might jeopardize the lives of any who learned of it. I can speak of it no more."

The Thieves' commander took this in silently. Knoxx's answer wasn't one he'd considered, but certainly it brought instant understanding; Flynn had made Devlin Alvik's acquaintance upon a few occasions, through Knoxx, and was well aware of the man's station in Aralexia. Devlin's warning wouldn't have been made in exaggeration, and to put his own brother's life at risk by drawing him into this scheme, he was probably swimming in some seriously deep waters. Waters Flynn wanted no part of.

"I fear even telling you this much might place you at further risk, but you need to heed this warning," Knoxx went on, now turning to take in his commander. "We were both seen at the vineyard, and while I won't know for certain until I've spoken with Devlin, this alone might risk our lives. I'm sorry I got you caught up in this, Flynn. I never meant to involve you, or anyone else."

Flynn said nothing for several long minutes, tossing possibilities about in his mind. Finally he asked, "You weren't there to murder anyone, were you?"

Knoxx's eyes widened. "No! Just to observe."

Flynn believed him. Knoxx would kill if backed into a corner, but his wasn't a dark heart. What he was capable of at his brother's request, however, was a question he couldn't answer, and why he'd needed to ask.

"When and where are you to next meet with Devlin?" he inquired.

"Aralexia. During the King's Challenge."

Flynn nodded. It made sense, for this was generally the only time of year the brothers saw each other—the perfect opportunity for Knoxx to relay whatever knowledge he'd sought and found at the vineyard.

"I'll allow this Knoxx, but only because of your brother's position. The Patrons only know the truth of this matter, but whatever it is, I want nothing of it."

The mage was looking back at him, nodding.

Flynn went on. "I can't permit you to embroil any other Thieves into the affair either. This is yours and your brother's mess, and the two of you will have to deal with it, including whatever damage we caused at that vineyard."

Knoxx was still nodding. "I don't even know his deeper motives myself, Flynn."

"If you're smart, you'll keep it that way," Flynn told him. "The games your brother plays are deadly, Knoxx. Don't ever forget that. Tell him what he needs to know and be done with it, or else I can't allow you back inside this canyon."

For the first time, the mage began showing signs of distress. "You'd exile me?" he asked in disbelief.

Flynn regarded him with utter seriousness. "You can be my thief, or your brother's spy. It's your choice. We live dangerous enough lives without you bringing trouble from Aralexia down on us."

"There is no choice. My life is here, in the canyon," Knoxx insisted.

Flynn nodded. "Then once we arrive for the Challenge, tell Devlin what he needs to know; I won't stand in the way of that. But then you're done with it, Knoxx."

"All right," the mage agreed. "It'll be as you say. Even if he asks, I'll venture no further with this."

"One last thing," Flynn said, using his cane to begin pushing to his feet.

"Yes?"

"I know I shouldn't ask, but the man I fought—who was he?"

The mage grunted softly. "So far as I can see, just one born to War who's soon to be freed from his slave-term."

Flynn took this to mean this man hadn't been the subject of Knoxx's interest within the vineyard. Nor was he overjoyed to learn this man would soon be released of his slave status; easily recognizable as well as highly notorious, it was almost without question his identity had been ascertained. But would this man be so brash as to come after him?

Probably not, Flynn decided silently. Given his lack of intent to murder, he probably wouldn't waste his time seeking out a rematch. At most, a report would be made to the Justice officers of Tyrell, but since Flynn didn't intend on going anywhere near that city for a good long while, the effort would be futile.

"Is he the one who stabbed you?" he asked now.

Knoxx shook his head. "No, that was the other one. Be glad I inflicted my own wound in return, or else you'd have found yourself facing both of them."

Both of them? Flynn was tempted to question further, but then decided to take his own advice and refrain from learning anything more. He already knew too much, more than was safe according to Knoxx, and given Devlin's involvement he believed it.

Knoxx was now staring at him, his eyes squinted in scrutiny. "Sorry for . . . your face," he then said.

Flynn bit down on a scathing reply and offered a shrug instead. "I've had worse. Yalla will heal me once she's finished with you." He turned and started for the door, deciding their discussion about Tyrell could wait another day or so. "Get some rest, Knoxx," he instructed. "The King's Challenge begins in little more than two weeks, and you'll want to be fully healed to travel."

"Flynn?"

He stopped, looking back over his shoulder.

The mage raised his head from his pillow, taking him in from across the room. "Thank you for coming for me."

Flynn was quiet, then shrugged again. "You're one of mine. But Knoxx," he went on, turning back to face him fully, "don't ever put me in that position again. For next time, my response will be quite different."

Knoxx looked down, nodding. "Understood."

Flynn turned and left the room.
Chapter 23

Word of Madi's punishment for her arrest in Tyrell had finally arrived, delivered by carrier-crow just the night before. Lord Eward Savannon, from his seat in Fortunia, had now decreed that all members of the Savannon clan were banned from having any contact with her for an entire year. She would also receive no allowance during this time, forcing her to live upon the "meager tokens" she earned from her troupe.

Madi found the verdict less than devastating. For one, she rarely had contact with her family throughout the year anyway, and as far as money was concerned, she retained ample amounts of her own savings to comfortably see her through the next several years.

Also to lessen the blow was her great-grandmother's reaction to the letter. Danetria had crumpled the parchment in her gnarled fist with a snort, stating it would be a cold day in the Chasms of Fire before anyone told her who she could or couldn't associate with. She then reassured Madi that she'd always be welcome in the Spindle, no matter what her bird-brained grandson had to say about it.

It was now the following morning, and Madi was enjoying her last meal in Kohtala before needing to depart and reunite with her troupe. Due to the fact that others dwelling in the Spindle had chosen to follow Eward's orders, for comfort's sake she'd requested a private breakfast with Danetria and her favorite aunt, Serena, Eward's younger sister. The three were now gathered in Danetria's seventh-floor quarters, picking away at their food as they rehashed all the portents and divinations they'd observed these past several days.

Madi had already relayed the incident with the owls to her great-grandmother and aunt, an event that had taken place almost a full week earlier. But despite the physical markings the animals had left on her face and hands, neither woman was convinced the owls had been real, putting forth the theory that Madi had been so taken by the vision of them that her mind had manifested the wounds. This would also adequately explain why the balcony had been empty of the creatures just moments after she made her escape into the Spindle.

Initially, Madi didn't see what difference it made either way; the obvious message here was the owls, regardless of whether they'd been real. Danetria had disagreed, however, and gone on to explain why.

"As we know," she stated, "owls serve as harbingers of death, and the act of being confronted by so many clearly warns of much death coming—although by violence, disease, natural disaster, or some other unknown entity, we do not yet know. Further noteworthy is how they appeared suddenly, and then physically attacked you, foretelling that the origin of this threat isn't one we presently anticipate. Now," she went on, "this is where it becomes so vitally important to distinguish between reality and vision. For if the owls were truly and physically in your presence, a path already set in motion is implied, one we're unlikely to escape. If they existed only as elements of your inner sight, however, we can interpret this message as more warning than harbinger, and can carry hope of escaping this calamity."

The analysis made perfect sense to Madi, although it didn't help them reach a conclusion over whether the owls had or had not been real. In the end, Danetria simply urged her to stay alert for any further clues or signs, and send word back to the Spindle if any appeared.

The three were currently discussing Madi's looming appearance in Aralexia, in hopes of providing her with as much intelligence as possible to ward against the upcoming threat to her life. Danetria continued to stress the importance of staying near to Oliveah, something Madi didn't foresee having any difficulty adhering to, although how Oliveah was going to help keep her alive was another question they couldn't yet answer.

Her aunt Serena waited until the end of the meal before revealing her own divination, and it was one that shocked even Danetria—a reaction Madi would've thought impossible.

"Last night, I consulted my own ball regarding this matter," Serena began, "and believe it has now revealed the path of Madi's future steps, so long as she escapes harm in Aralexia."

Madi was sipping the last of her tea, and quickly set down her cup to give her aunt her complete attention. Her great-grandmother nodded and said, "I was hoping you would glimpse further details."

Serena tucked a long, loose lock of black hair behind her ear while looking to them intently. "I wasn't able to interpret much from the ball," she went on, "but was granted a dream soon after retiring which helped decipher its images."

Now Madi was nodding. It was common for her aunt to receive such insights in her dreams, a foreseeing method diviners used with varying success. Madi herself had experienced only a handful of these dreams, all largely unclear and obscured by mist.

"What did you see?" Danetria asked, adding a spoonful of honey to her own fresh cup of tea.

Serena paused only slightly. "The Catalyst Stones," she said. "Or rather, one of them."

Madi gasped, and her great-grandmother jerked so violently she overturned her cup, sending tea splattering all over the table. Danetria ignored the mess completely as she fired her next question.

"One of the Stones?" she demanded. "Are you certain? Diviners have been trying for centuries to glimpse their locations!"

"I'm certain," Serena replied confidently.

"Well?" Danetria demanded impatiently. "What was revealed to you, exactly?"

"I saw Madi," Serena replied with a quick glance at her niece, "holding the Ruby Stone. She stood next a young man I did not recognize, but instinctively knew he was meant to act as her guide. She will not find the Stone without him."

"What can you tell us of him?" Danetria asked quickly.

"I wasn't provided his name," Serena said, "but can tell you he speaks to the dead."

"Sabian Reif," Madi realized instantly. Her mind then spun furiously, attempting to assimilate these revelations into some sense of order. First, she focused on the Catalyst Stones.

Her great-grandmother's excitement over them certainly wasn't unwarranted. More than two thousand years ago, diviners and mages had forged them from the largest gemstones they could find, imbuing them with properties of great power. There were five in all: The Ruby Stone, which worked as a catalyst for love and wisdom and granted protection from threats of misfortune. The Sapphire Stone, which heightened the feelings of peace, happiness, and intuition in all who came near. The Amethyst Stone, said to calm emotion and allow a higher and deeper process of thought. The Emerald Stone, capable of wide-scale healing and enhanced fertility, and rumored to lend its bearers the power to hear the thoughts of others. The final Stone was one of Diamond, and said to absorb and amplify the traits of its wielder, as well as harness the powers of the other Stones; and it was because of the Diamond that all five had now been lost for two thousand years.

During the first few decades of their existence, the Catalyst Stones achieved much good within the world, passing through the hands of mages of every race, allotted where and when they were most needed. The Ruby brought wisdom and love to whole communities, the Sapphire peace to warring realms, the Emerald a cure to plagues and pestilence, and the Amethyst a deeper appreciation of life to all who grasped it. The Diamond Stone, however, was but a product of the intentions of its bearer, and it was here the trouble began.

To protect the Diamond Stone from falling into the wrong hands, a risk acknowledged by its creators, it was kept in the company of both a powerful mage and a diviner. Presumably, it was believed that the diviner, her abilities so enhanced by the Diamond itself, would see any threat coming, and that the mage, either through spells or a more practical method of violence, could defend against this threat. It hadn't been anticipated that a king, lustful for power and bloodthirsty by nature, would make a play for the Stone, intent on conquering the entire world. Nor was it anticipated that he would gather an army of hundreds of thousands to fight for his tyrannical goal.

The diviner foresaw the invasion, but too late; the castle where she and the mage were keeping the Stone was already surrounded, allowing them no means for a conventional escape. Perceiving imminent attack, they deployed crows to the other Stones' keepers, instructing them to flee and hide lest the crazed king gain control of the Diamond and attain power over them all. Their instruction was evidently followed, for the Ruby, Sapphire, Amethyst, and Emerald all vanished from the world that night, right along with their keepers, never to be seen since.

As for the Diamond Stone, the diviner and mage entrusted with its care tried to destroy it, even as the army beyond their walls began to infiltrate the castle. Their attempts were unsuccessful, but all hope wasn't lost, for the mage's power was one of distance-jumping, allowing him to cross great spans of land instantaneously. Urged on by the diviner, who was left behind to her death, the mage took up the Diamond Stone and vanished, also never to be seen or heard from again. There remained much speculation over what had become of him and the Diamond Stone, but no definitive answer was ever found. The most popular theory was that he'd cast himself into a live volcano, or perhaps into the sea, to ensure the Diamond would never again pose such a threat to the world.

This was all Madi knew of the Stones and their origins, and after refreshing herself of these facts she began trying to grasp the idea that her aunt had foreseen her holding the Ruby Stone. Did this mean all five still existed in the world? And how was Sabian to act as her guide?

Actually, she amended quickly, the answer to that last question seemed rather obvious. Sabian would obviously be receiving all pertinent information from his ghosts. But why now, after two thousand years?

Apparently her aunt and great-grandmother were wondering the same thing, for as Madi turned back to the conversation she heard them discussing this very concern.

"The question of when has always been left to the Patrons," Danetria was insisting. "Our concern is why."

"Perhaps the world is about to face great strife, and will require the Stones to survive," Serena speculated worriedly.

"Or perhaps they will only cause great strife, and we're meant to destroy them before this can occur."

Serena seemed to ponder. "It's possible someone else is nearing the Ruby, and Madi is meant to find and destroy it before its power can be used for corruption."

"That is a possibility," Danetria nodded.

Madi was glancing between the two with wide eyes. "You want me to destroy one of the Catalyst Stones?" she demanded with disbelief.

Danetria took her in. "If this Sabian Reif can direct you to the Stone, it stands to reason he might further know its purpose for being found."

Madi frowned. "Sabian lives in Tyrell. I don't see how our paths will cross anytime soon."

"You forget what I told you about the events in Tyrell the week of Ardin's Pride," Danetria countered. "What Destiny began there will conclude in Aralexia."

Madi nodded slowly. "This must be why my presence in Aralexia can't be avoided. So I can reconnect with Sabian."

"Likely just one of several reasons," her great-grandmother cryptically replied.

Madi knew there was more Danetria had glimpsed, in both her cards and her ball, yet left unsaid, and while she burned with curiosity to learn those answers even stronger was her confidence in knowing her great-grandmother's silence was for good reason. Much more worrisome was the fact that whatever Danetria had seen, it had clearly been disturbing.

Serena continued to appear thoughtful, her gray eyes squinted slightly. "While all the Stones must be treated with care, as evidenced by the past it's the Diamond we need be most wary of. Particularly if any of the others have yet been found."

"It's therefore possible we're being given a chance to destroy the others before the Diamond is located," Danetria theorized.

Madi was again looking from one to the other. "Destroy them by what means?" she asked. "If their keepers of days past couldn't find a way to achieve this, why would we fare any better?"

"A fair question," Serena replied with a nod.

"I may know a way," Danetria said, her expression pensive. "Serena and I will further investigate the possibility while you're in Aralexia."

Madi nodded, her thoughts narrowing upon future events and all they'd come to involve. Knowing she'd soon be given an opportunity to find one of the lost Catalyst Stones—a mind-shattering revelation in and of itself—she now felt even greater anxiety over her upcoming time in Aralexia. Once there, she would need to avoid the king and any situation that might prompt him to demand a reading from her, stay near to Oliveah, and locate Sabian Reif. Also, to heed the words of "Lendiv Vakli", as well as keep alert for any aid offered by Thieves. To say nothing of the prediction of her death should she fail to follow any of these directives.

Furthermore, there was still the matter of the owls to consider, and the dire omen they represented. Was this prophecy somehow connected to the Stones? Did someone already have the Diamond in their possession, and plan on using it to unleash all manner of horrors upon the world? Would finding the Ruby Stone, as Serena had dreamt, help thwart this evil agenda?

Madi felt her head begin to spin, her breathing become fast as her sight grew dizzy. How much depended on her staying alive in Aralexia? Would others die as a result of her own death, if she could not find a way to survive?

She abruptly realized she was on the floor beside her chair, lying on her back with her aunt's cool, soothing palms pressed to her cheeks. "Breathe, Madi," Serena instructed quietly. "Nice and slow. Just breathe."

She did this for several minutes, concentrating only on her breaths as she stared back into her aunt's eyes. Eventually the dizziness passed, and with Serena's help she slowly brought herself to a sitting position, and then to her feet. Bemused, she noted the quartz bracelet now fastened about her wrist.

"Keep it," Serena told her. "It'll help you remain balanced."

Madi nodded absently as she slid back onto her chair. Danetria was eyeing her from across the table.

"I'm sorry, great-grandmother," Madi murmured, ashamed of her show of weakness. "I suddenly felt so overwhelmed."

Danetria's eyes darkened. "Do not apologize for your emotions; they're the key to what we do as diviners, and not to be ignored. Never forget that Madi, and never apologize for it."

Madi nodded back seriously, but felt a sudden urge to smile. No matter how glum, Danetria always had the wisdom to make her feel better. She simply couldn't imagine a world her great-grandmother wasn't in.

Serena had now resumed her own place at the table, reaching for the teapot to refresh their cups. Madi stirred in honey and sipped at her beverage, thinking. There remained one final question she couldn't answer, and decided she may as well address it now on the chance her aunt or great-grandmother could.

"Why me?" she asked them.

Serena's eyebrows drew together in question. "What do you mean?"

Madi paused, fiddled briefly with her spoon, and then said, "Why am I meant to find the Ruby Stone, and not someone else?"

A heavy silence greeted her query, and a shadow of disapproval came to rise in Danetria's eyes. "Are you questioning Destiny?" she asked. "Questioning Ehle?"

"No!" Madi insisted with a quick shake of her head. "My intent isn't to question, but to understand. For there must be others far more worthy and capable of this task than I."

Danetria's features relaxed and her look turned discerning. "As I've said, you have a role to play in what's to come. Finding the Ruby Stone is obviously a part of it."

Madi spun this through her mind, seeking a connection. She then speared a searching look at her great-grandmother, their gazes locking. "It's all connected, isn't it?" she asked.

Danetria didn't respond, staring back without expression.

"What do you mean, Madi?" Serena asked, now watching the two carefully. "What's all connected?"

Madi's gaze stayed fixed on Danetria as she answered. "Tyrell. Aralexia. Lendiv Vakli. Taleb, Oliveah, Nathon, Sabian, and myself. The Ruby Stone. These are all but parts of a greater sum, yes?"

"All those and more," Danetria answered. "But this is a truth you mustn't yet seek out, for your tasks are just threads of many, and if you try too hard to understand them all your focus will become lost. Perform your own role in this, and let the others perform theirs. The truth will surface when it's meant to."

Madi maintained eye contact for another moment, then finally dropped her gaze with a soft sigh. Her great-grandmother was right. Focusing on too many questions at once would only distract her, and at a time when she needed her wits about her more than ever. Whatever else Danetria had seen in her cards and ball, keeping her silence was an act of protection; just another example of her wisdom.

"All right, great-grandmother," Madi told her. "I understand, and will do as you ask."
Chapter 24

Baiel Maves took a step back and ran a critical eye down the line of sparring young men before him. Their ages ranged from eight to sixteen years, all handled a true steel blade, and they'd all been born to War. Instructing the warlords-in-training was one of Baiel's favorite duties, prompting him to fondly recall all the years he'd spent toiling upon this grassy field himself.

"Bend your leg more, Luen, you can't keep your balance standing like that. Feyter, you won't pull off a successful feint by moving so slowly, put some energy into it! Qyn—nice work, but don't hesitate to take the offensive. You're not going to win a fight just by blocking and avoiding."

Baiel continued to observe, calling out more critiques and encouragements for the remainder of the hour, before blowing a short blast on his whistle and waving the fifty or so boys over to him.

They were all panting, drenched in sweat, and exhausted—precisely as they should be after their rigorous morning exercises. After a quick address Baiel then sent them off to take lunch, and from there all would spend the afternoon seeing to their assigned chores and studies. Idle hands weren't a part of daily life here at Lutarre Keep, although everyone was given the time between supper and bed-rest to pursue their own interests, activities involving games, riding, reading, or worship in the temple of Stahl. Warlord Captain Gaiden Rojek understood the importance of recreation, and ensured all members of the community had the chance to partake of it for at least a short time each day.

Baiel followed the boys at a leisurely pace. After the midday meal he'd be undertaking his own combat exercises with a few fellow warlords, and then he was to sit in on a council meeting meant to finally determine whether those in the keep should offer a fee for any War-born child. Baiel was presently in favor of the idea, although there were further considerations to be addressed.

"Baiel!"

Now only steps from entering the castle, he paused and turned back. A warlord by the name of Teht Jarvey was jogging toward him, coming from deeper within the keep.

"Teht," Baiel greeted as the other man drew near.

Teht came to a stop and lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the glaring summer sun. "Baiel," he returned. "Your presence is requested at the temple."

"Requested by whom?" Baiel asked, his brows lifting in surprise.

"Brother Jord. He asks that you attend him at your earliest convenience."

Baiel was now frowning, as this was unusual. "Is everything all right? Is Brother Jord unwell?"

Teht shrugged. "He appeared his usual self, neither ill nor overwrought. Surely the summons implies nothing worrisome."

Baiel nodded, his concern ebbing but his curiosity piqued. "My thanks, Teht. I'll head over now."

The warlord gave him a nod and then started away toward the castle. Baiel reversed his direction and headed for the center of the keep, keeping his eye on the Temple of Stahl as his steps brought him near. He had absolutely no idea what Brother Jord might desire of him.

He entered the temple silently, with its familiar walls of dark red and musky scent of burning candles, and quickly scanned the room. Two warlords and a citizen were present; one of the warlords knelt at the forefront of the temple before the great stone statue of Stahl, while the other sat a few rows back upon a pew. The citizen, a woman Baiel recognized as one of the castle cooks, sat several rows behind, her eyes closed tightly in prayer.

Not wishing to disturb their worship, Baiel moved soundlessly along the back wall, his gaze on the heavy, blood-red drapes hanging beyond the altar and stone effigy of the Patron of War. As he drew near he saw them twitch, and then part slightly to reveal Brother Jord's thin, pale face. The clergyman spotted him and raised a hand in gesture.

Baiel waited until he'd passed into the inner chamber before speaking. "Brother Jord," he said. "Teht reported you wished to see me?"

The clergyman nodded and motioned him deeper into the chamber, where an immense, round stone table was placed. "Take a seat," he instructed.

Baiel dropped into the closest chair while keeping a curious eye on his host. "Is everything all right?"

"Of course, everything is fine." Brother Jord moved to pour them each a cup of iced lemonade from the glass pitcher already on the table, before lowering himself into the seat next to him.

Thirsty from a long morning under the hot sun, Baiel accepted the beverage gratefully and took several swallows before setting his cup back down and refocusing on the other man. Brother Jord was regarding him with a passive look.

Baiel hesitated, then said, "I mean no slight to your company, but I trust you're going to explain your summons sooner rather than later?"

Brother Jord smiled. "Of course. It's only that I remain unsure of your reaction."

"There's only one way to know," he replied with a frown.

The clergyman nodded. "Do you recall the conversation we shared directly following your return to the keep?"

Baiel nodded. "Of course."

"So you therefore remember the content of our words?"

Baiel was quiet for a moment as he thought. "Certainly," he finally responded. "We discussed the fact that I'd returned without a Secondary, before I recounted the details of my time away." He was now watching Brother Jord curiously, having no idea where he was going with this.

The clergyman was nodding. "Yes, the discussion involved your indecisiveness over choosing a Secondary. You asked me something specific about that, do you recall?"

Baiel thought again, searching his memory. "I asked if you'd received any insights to address the question," he then said, his focus on the other man narrowing intently. "Is that why you asked me here? Have you now been given this answer?"

"I've received information, but it doesn't pertain to the choosing of your Secondary medallion. Or at least, not so far as I'm aware," Brother Jord told him.

Baiel quickly reminded himself of everything he knew about these insights clergypersons occasionally received. They typically manifested during times of deep meditation, sent by the Patron in question in response to a prayer for guidance or clarity. The clergy worked as vessels in this way, the only beings—besides diviners, of course—thought to be devout enough to receive such direct messages and entrusted to pass them along to the correct recipient. Brother Jord, Baiel knew, had acted in this service many times throughout the course of his station.

He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Stahl—Stahl, his very own, beloved Patron—had made him the subject of one of these insights when Brother Jord spoke again.

"You're to travel to Aralexia," he said, "and enter the games of the King's Challenge."

The overwhelming sense of excitement racing through him shuddered to an abrupt halt. "The King's Challenge?" Baiel repeated with a grimace. "Surely, you jest."

Brother Jord looked amused. "I assure you, I do not."

"But . . . those games are deplorable."

"Is that relevant? Stahl himself desires your participation, so certainly there must be a reason."

Baiel looked away, at the ceiling, at the walls, anywhere but at the vessel chosen to relay this most unforeseen and undesired directive. Finally he swung his eyes back. "Am I to win them as well?"

"The outcome wasn't revealed, so I don't believe it to be of consequence," Brother Jord told him, still wearing his soft smile. "Although I'd be very surprised to learn of any with the skill to best you."

Baiel was in no mood for flattery, no matter its truth.

"Those games are nothing more than the basest form of entertainment, witnessed by and bet upon by those who enjoy watching men fight to the very point of death," he insisted. "It's a disgusting practice, and one that speaks to King DeSiva's callous nature for encouraging such brutality."

The clergyman absorbed this calmly. "Your fellow warlords occasionally participate in the event," he said.

Baiel looked back with exasperation. "They do so as practice, using the duels as nothing more than a unique sort of exercise to further hone their skills. They don't enter for prestige, nor money, as are the common motives of the combatants."

"Nor did they enter upon the wishes of Stahl himself."

Baiel opened his mouth, then closed it again as his argument fell away in the face of such a statement. Of all challenges and duties, quests and deeds, why was this nonsense, the games of the King's Challenge, the task his Patron had requested of him? He didn't understand it, he certainly didn't like it, but he further didn't see having much choice in the matter. It would take a braver man than he to deny Stahl's wishes, no matter how trite and inconsequential they appeared.

Brother Jord continued to watch him with interest, and they sat in silence for a time. Finally Baiel sighed.

"Of course, I will adhere. So long as Captain Rojek grants me leave," he then added. His last words were empty and they both knew it; Gaiden Rojek wouldn't attempt to thwart the path of an insight, no matter what it entailed. Rather, he'd send Baiel off with nothing less than his full encouragement.

Brother Jord didn't respond to the remark. "You're an intelligent man, Baiel, but you've never been inclined to view the bigger picture," he said instead. "Perhaps you should begin doing so now."

"I'm not certain what you mean," Baiel returned flatly.

"I refer to your obvious disdain for this instruction," Brother Jord explained calmly.

Baiel snorted. "Am I to be grateful? The games stand for everything warlords abhor. Perhaps you've made a mistake, incorrectly interpreting Stahl's message."

"There is no mistake," the clergyman denied, shaking his head. "You will go to Aralexia, and you will participate in the games. But the point I was trying to make speaks to your perspective on the matter, and your own interpretations."

"Brother Jord," Baiel responded, gesturing helplessly, "if you can make some sense of this, then by all means, I implore you to do so."

"You're looking at the games as the result rather than the means. Do not be so close-minded, Baiel."

"I still don't understand."

Brother Jord nodded. "Let me speak clearly, then. I suspect the King's Challenge tournament is unimportant in and of itself, and primarily because you are right; their vulgarity has very little in common with the code we adhere to here in Lutarre Keep."

Baiel was growing impatient. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Brother Jord repeated, "the games are more likely meant to serve as the next step in your life's path."

"How so, exactly?"

"There are thousands of possibilities. I couldn't attempt to list them all."

"One or two, then."

Brother Jord nodded indulgently. "All right. Perhaps you'll at last find a clue to your sister's whereabouts, or a matter requiring the attention of the warlords will be brought to your notice. Truly, the options are endless."

Baiel thought about this for several moments, realizing Brother Jord was probably correct. Furthermore, believing his appearance in Aralexia was meant to provide a step toward more meaningful events made him feel a great deal better about the situation. He could only hope these events didn't keep him from Lutarre Keep too long, as he had little desire to be away again after his recent absence.

"I thank you for your wisdom in this matter, Brother Jord," Baiel now told him. "As always, your counsel has proven insightful."

The clergyman nodded. "I'm pleased to be of assistance. Although you do surprise me, for it's rare to behold any level of excitement in you."

Baiel looked down for a brief time, thinking. The other man was right—his emotions had gotten the better of him, the resulting behavior most uncharacteristic.

"I apologize for being discourteous," he then said. "Your words caught me off guard and I reacted inappropriately."

"Understandable," the clergyman replied, waving a hand.

Relieved, Baiel moved to get to his feet. "I must bring word of this to Captain Rojek. But I'll return prior to my departure and ask of you a blessing."

"Certainly. I'll be expecting you."

Baiel gave the clergyman a reverent nod and then made his way back toward the heavy drapes, parting them with a hand before stepping through. Only one of the warlords still remained in the worship area, as did the woman who worked in the kitchens. Baiel again took pains to cause no disruption to their prayers, moving soundlessly along the walls until he reached the doors and pushed his way outside. He then started for the castle, hoping to find the captain in his office.

Luck was with him; he caught Captain Rojek returning from his midday meal, and they entered his office together. Waiting until the captain had taken a seat at his desk, Baiel then relayed the insight received by Brother Jord.

Gaiden Rojek was a man of forty-two years, with graying yellow hair, green eyes, a Secondary of Death, and the physique of a bear. He'd now been captain for little more than thirteen years, and for the past five had made it no secret that it was Baiel he was grooming to succeed him. At present, he was smiling.

"I was once the subject of one of Brother Jord's insights," he revealed, lounging back in his chair.

"Really?" Baiel replied with surprise. "I never knew."

The captain nodded. "I was little more than your age, perhaps a few years older, and enduring a crisis of sorts at the time. I was entertaining doubts that a life at the keep was truly what I wanted for myself."

Baiel found this astounding, and moved to drop into the seat across from the desk while staring in wonder. "You weren't sure?" he came back in disbelief.

"No. For many seasons I prayed for clarity, and Stahl eventually complied by sending Brother Jord an insight revealing me as captain. I knew then that my life could go in no other direction, and settled upon this course with no further conflict."

Baiel was quiet as he thought this over. He remained a little disturbed to know his captain hadn't always been as dedicated to this life as he was now, but in the end Baiel supposed it mattered little, so long as all had resulted as it was meant to.

"I only wish my own directive had been equally significant," he said, staring down at the surface of the desk. He then glanced up quickly when the captain issued a harsh response.

"You should be nothing but grateful that the Patron of War has given you any notice at all. Even if his instruction was to go frolic about the midden heaps, if your duty to him is half as strong as you claim you should be jumping to do his bidding."

Baiel wasn't accustomed to receiving chastisement from his captain, and it had a profound effect on him.

"You're right," he said quickly. "To be anything less than thankful is an egregious slight to the one we serve. I will ask his forgiveness and offer penance."

Captain Rojek shrugged, his expression falling back to one of familiar casualness. "Perhaps it's unwise of me to be so bold, but I imagine simply adhering to his wishes—without further complaint—will do well enough. Now," he went on, "we'd best discuss your departure. Beforehand, I'd advise speaking to those who've participated in Challenges past, so you'll know what to expect once you arrive in Aralexia."

"Has anyone else requested leave to attend and participate this year?" he put forth curiously.

The captain snorted. "I think a few were considering it, but none would now be foolish enough to pit themselves against you. Still, I recommend taking an escort along for moral support and to prevent any trouble from arising. As you know, some men fear us, others respect us, but there's always a select few who feel the need to challenge us. I give you leave to select your own companions."

Baiel nodded, already running through a list of possibilities in his mind.

"I would further suggest," Captain Rojek went on, "the accompaniment of a squire. I'm sure any of the boys would be thrilled to serve in this fashion."

"I'll bring Qyn," Baiel decided.

"Fine. When do you plan on leaving?"

He thought. "Three days. This should see my arrival a day or two before the Challenge begins."

The captain's lips widened into a sudden grin. "You know, I'm almost tempted to leave the keep and join you myself just so I can witness this. You being a contender in the King's Challenge isn't a circumstance I would've ever thought to imagine."

Baiel unsuccessfully tried to fight off a scowl, and the other man laughed.

"So you're not the least bit worried for me, then?" Baiel asked with a flat stare. "Certainly you know men die in these games every year."

Captain Rojek continued to chuckle. "Worried?" he said, looking back. "For you? Not in the slightest. In fact," he went on, leaning forward, "I'm expecting your performance to accomplish much for our already formidable reputation. With luck, the entire populace—and, more importantly, the royal council—will come away believing the entirety of our ranks is comprised of men of your skill. And if so, I think we can expect a peaceful realm for many years to come, yes?"

Baiel gave him a shrug in return, but the idea strengthened his hope for a deeper purpose to this directive. "Perhaps that is precisely Stahl's intention," he replied.

Part 3

The King's Challenge

Chapter 25

The role of royal jester within the kingdom of Dhanen'Mar wasn't what it was in most countries of the world. In other realms, these men typically had little purpose but to see to the amusement and entertainment of the king and his family; their standing within the courts of King DeSiva and his predecessors, however, carried a somewhat weightier importance.

The current royal jester of Dhanen'Mar shouldered many duties. While his official capacity was to provide as well as organize any event that fell into the realm of entertainment, it was a role with far deeper reaches than most suspected, particularly of late. As jester, this man's responsibility was to more or less keep the king happy, as well as offer counsel regarding any matters that could either heighten or threaten this. Such boundaries left a rather large margin of relevance, to say the least.

The royal council of King Redgar DeSiva currently consisted of seven persons, including the king himself, with all presently convened within the Hall of Council, a large chamber inside the stone fortress of House DeSiva.

Next to the king sat his sole heir, his son Luken. The prince was nearing his twenty-third birthing-day, shared the same tall physique and dark hair as his father, and of course, was also born to Justice. His Secondary was Harmony, a choice most agreed predicted a peaceful reign, but one that had caused the king to sneer with derision. The king's own Choice medallion had never been revealed, although all who sat upon his council, particularly his jester, had their suspicions.

Also present was Dusan Galaz, long-time seneschal of the royal house. His medallions were Justice and Love, and by this time he'd loyally served the king for decades. Now past fifty years in age, Seneschal Galaz appeared utterly dedicated to his work, and was commonly thought to be the king's most loyal and trusted friend. The jester knew differently, but that was just one of a thousand secrets lurking within these stone walls.

Next to the seneschal sat Valerio Catala, Commander of the Legion of Justice. All officers sworn to uphold the king's law were his agents, thousands of men and women spread across Dhanen'Mar. Commander Catala wore the medallions of Justice and Commerce, a no-nonsense sort of man but one who genuinely seemed to keep the best interests of the realm at the fore-front of his mind. Like most in Aralexia, however, he did harbor one dark secret, one which the royal jester happened to be aware of; and while never having put its knowledge to use for any of the years he'd known it, it remained a piece of information kept in reserve should he ever require the commander's assistance.

Cadien Stavrakos, born to Commerce and carrying a Secondary of Justice, was the treasurer of all royal finances. The jester suspected Stavrakos's choice of Justice had only been made to allow him a chance at this position, a post he'd now held for thirteen years. The treasurer and jester rarely saw eye-to-eye, and it had been a race these past few years to see who would be the first to successfully do away with the other. Thus far, both had failed to deliver this final, fatal result.

Next was Richert Poage, captain of the royal guard. His force consisted of a body of five hundred men, with most, like Poage, born to Justice and backed by War. While the Justice officers belonging to Commander Catala upheld the law in the streets, it was the responsibility of Captain Poage and his knights to ensure no harm came to the king or his heir. It was also the duty of the royal guard to handle all matters of safety upon castle grounds as well as to protect any royal bodies while away from them. The captain was a serious and formidable man, and one who would, with absolutely no hesitation at all, kill any person his king merely pointed to. The jester circled Captain Poage cautiously, and outright avoided him whenever possible.

The royal jester was now unfurling an official scroll, handed to him just minutes before outside in the courtyard. Its contents included the names of the men who'd signed up to participate in the games of the King's Challenge, an event set to begin the next day. Because the games were primarily considered an act of entertainment, the organizing and running of them was the jester's responsibility, meaning he'd be doing the majority of the speaking today. He spread the long parchment out on the table before him, first looking to the numbers before the names.

"It appears we have a total of sixty-four men participating this year," Devlin Alvik announced to the others.

"That's about average," Commander Valerio Catala commented, nodding.

Devlin ignored him as he quickly did the math in his head. "Yes, this will work nicely. The first round will consist of five or six duels per day, for six days. Then the second round of four duels per day over four days, and so on." Since he'd be seeing to the scheduling personally, this remark stirred little interest in the others.

From his seat at the head of the table, the king was now looking to him. An enthusiastic lover of the games, his excitement for their commencement had been visibly growing all summer.

"What of the men?" he demanded. "Any surprises?"

"A moment to peruse the list, my liege, if you'd be so kind," Devlin responded blithely, running his eye to the bottom of the parchment. Generally, those he commissioned to organize this list added footnotes in order to provide an easy summation of the information within, and he saw with satisfaction that such addendums had been included again this year. What was not so typical were the scrawled words, much larger in size than any others on the page, obviously meant to draw his eye.

Devlin read them, then looked up at Prince Luken. The prince was gazing back at him expectantly.

"It seems his highness has decided to include himself in the Challenge this year," he announced, then glanced about to observe the reactions of the other men while keeping his own expression neutral.

The captain of the royal guard, Richert Poage, was predictably agitated by this announcement. "Your highness, this is foolish," he said to the prince. "While doubtful any man would be bold enough to do you actual harm, by the Challenge's own rules we cannot punish any who choose to kill their opponents. I'm afraid the risk to you is simply too high."

"I must concur with Captain Poage," Commander Catala seconded, aiming his appeal at the king rather than the prince. "The venture would be foolhardy and unnecessary."

King DeSiva appeared to consider their words. He then looked to Devlin. "And what is your opinion?"

He cast only the slightest of glances to Captain Poage and Commander Catala before focusing back upon the king. "I believe Luken's participation would only dampen the spirit of the games," he said. "Understandably, most men would be hesitant to face him, and fail to put forth their true effort for fear of causing him injury."

Everyone at the table, expect perhaps the king, recognized the reply for what it was—a subtle attempt at manipulation, preying on the king's love of the event rather than any concern for his son which he may or may not be feeling. Essentially, his jester had just offered him a convenient excuse to extricate Luken from a potentially dangerous situation, while not infringing upon either his or the prince's sense of honor.

"Your arguments are weak and have failed to convince me," Redgar DeSiva instead announced to the table at large. "Luken will fight."

Devlin displayed no reaction to this, although even he was surprised. Captain Poage and Commander Catala were both frowning, Seneschal Galaz staring down at the table, and Cadien Stavrakos grinned faintly as he looked at Devlin.

"Thank you for this, father," Luken was saying. "I will not disappoint you."

The king's reply was a grunt and a nod, a response his son appeared unable to interpret.

"Continue," King DeSiva ordered.

Devlin again focused on the parchment before him, even as his mind began plotting out ways to keep the prince safe. The first few duels would not be difficult, since Devlin himself would be devising the pairings. He could easily keep Luken away from anyone who might have spine enough to injure him.

"Twelve knights have signed on," he read, glancing up at Captain Poage before looking back to the footnotes, "and eighteen Justice officers, come from all across the country." A pause to glance up and observe Commander Catala's nod.

"We have twelve foreigners," Devlin went on, "including six from Jennen. And twenty Dhan'Marian unknowns, most of them likely mercenaries or criminals, although I'm seeing a wide variety of Birth medallions recorded by their names."

"That is only sixty-three," the treasurer then spoke up. He truly did have a stunning mind for numbers, a fact he evidenced as often as possible.

"That's because I wasn't finished," Devlin replied, spearing Stavrakos with only the briefest of looks. "The last entry is a warlord, I'm afraid. Name of Baiel Maves."

There came faint grumblings from all about the table. Warlord participation was generally frowned upon due to the simple fact that they always won, and then refused to collect their five hundred gold in winnings. Warlords made everyone look bad.

King DeSiva was now frowning. He didn't like warlords because they never accepted his offer to become part of his royal guard when they won. They weren't the only men to decline this proposal, but they did so rather disdainfully which didn't sit particularly well with the king.

"Perhaps this warlord shouldn't make it very far into the competition," Redgar DeSiva stated now. "Cadien?"

"I'll take care of it, your majesty," Cadien Stavrakos replied without pause. Everyone knew why the task had been given to the treasurer rather than to Captain Poage; while effective, discretion wasn't included in Poage's skill set.

Devlin withheld a sigh of irritation. King's order or not, he aimed to thwart the murder of this warlord—on or off the field—and silently added it to his list of responsibilities for the week. Looking back to the parchment, he began running his eye down the long list of names when his gaze caught on something that stopped him cold.

"Is that all, Devlin?" the king now asked.

Devlin barely managed to avoid a pause, something that would've been a dangerous indicator in such company.

"That is all, your majesty," he replied, casually rolling the scroll in his hands. Internally, however, his mind was jumping. Taleb Okin. Nathon Wythe. Both names had been listed under the category of "unknowns", implying they were native Dhan'Marians but no further details were presently known about them. Beside each, their Birth medallions of War had been recorded, although that was a further bit of proof Devlin hadn't needed. The surprise and potential disaster of this nearly had him reeling.

"Does anyone else have any business to present before we adjourn?" Seneschal Galaz spoke up, looking about the table.

Devlin held his tongue, and hoped the others would do the same.

"Just a small matter, if it would please his majesty," Cadien Stavrakos said smoothly.

"It wouldn't," the king said, getting to his feet and starting for the door.

All six remaining men watched him go, a few with dumbfounded stares. The prince finally broke the awkward silence, clearing his throat.

"Master Stavrakos, is this a matter where I can be of assistance?" he asked.

"Perhaps, your highness," Stavrakos replied, finally shifting his gaze from the doors where the king had just made his abrupt departure. "I simply require the proper approval forms to withdraw the prize amount for the winner of the Challenge. Of course, I realize we still have a week before needing to dispense the gold, but I thought it prudent to begin putting matters in motion now."

"Certainly," Prince Luken nodded, looking back to the treasurer. "I'll ensure you have what you require within the next couple of days."

Stavrakos got to his feet and gave a slight bow. "Your highness," he said.

The prince then officially dismissed them all, an act that should've been seen to by his father. Luken kept to his seat as the others began filing out, his eyes now on Devlin.

Devlin caught the stare, and while he didn't acknowledge it, he slowed his movements until all others had preceded him through the door. Rather than follow, he then secured himself and the prince within before turning back to Luken with a look of inquiry.

"Have you a request of me, my prince?" he asked.

Luken remained in his seat, and began tapping nervously on the surface of the table. "You can't let him kill that warlord, Devlin," he said. "It simply isn't right."

Devlin was pleased but unsurprised Luken had approached him with this concern. With the king's behavior growing more and more bizarre as the days went on, this wasn't the first conversation of this type they'd shared recently.

The jester stepped close and leaned his palm onto the table, allowing him to speak quietly in response. "I will thwart this as you ask, but in exchange request that you withdraw from the Challenge. Captain Poage and Commander Catala are correct in that it's simply too dangerous."

Luken frowned, proving predictably stubborn. "No, Devlin. Surely you must realize the opportunity this act affords me."

Pausing to think, Devlin nodded slowly. Luken was, in essence, a decent man, and would likely make a fair king, but his father's opinion that he was soft wasn't completely unfounded. Much of his life had been spent trying to prove he was capable of all the duties his future title entailed, and by entering the Challenge he seemed to believe he'd finally found a way to accomplish this. The problem was, Luken didn't have the slightest chance of actually winning the games; indeed, Devlin would've bet his entire life savings against such an outcome. But it was obvious the prince didn't intend to waver, meaning he'd simply have to find another way of shouldering him through without allowing any harm to come to him.

"I understand," he finally said.

Luken blew out a breath, nodding. "Ask anything else of me, and it is yours."

"I want for nothing," he responded, "and worry not, for I'll find a way to halt the murder."

The prince smiled. "You're a good man, Devlin."

You might not hold to that point of view if you knew what I was plotting behind your back, Devlin thought, returning Luken's smile.

"Thank you, my prince," he said aloud. "Now, be certain to get a full night's rest, lest you be called on to fight tomorrow."

Luken nodded enthusiastically. "As always, you're right. I fear to think what we'd do without you, Devlin."

I shudder to even imagine.

"Deep rest, your highness," he replied. "By your leave, I still have a few matters to see to myself, and the hour does grow late."

"Of course. You may go."

Devlin gave a low bow and then turned, sweeping through the doors and into the corridor beyond.

His claim of still having matters to attend to wasn't a lie. One of his spies in the city, a woman of sixty who worked in a bakery, had sent a report just hours ago telling of Knoxx's arrival in Aralexia. She'd then delivered to the mage Devlin's message, instructing him on where and when they were to meet—a time now less than an hour distant.

Before seeing to that, however, the jester needed to explore one further task, and one now vitally important given the discovered names of Taleb Okin and Nathon Wythe on the list of combatants. He couldn't imagine what had prompted their participation, but the reality of it had him near to frantic. He was hoping Knoxx could explain matters, although regardless, this meant he now had three people to try and see through the Challenge safely rather than only one. If Knoxx had been lucky and discovered something useful, perhaps only two, but that was an answer he'd yet to learn.

His immediate aim was to locate one of his assistants—a group of three men and two women—who'd been hired to oversee the Challenge's enlistment station all this past week, and upon leaving the castle he quickly discovered fortune was with him. Spotting the young woman who'd come to deliver the list only a short while ago, he noted she appeared to be loitering about the courtyard, evidently in no hurry to vacate the grounds.

"Reagan!" he called, quickening his steps in her direction.

She gave a start of surprise at the sound of her name, her long red hair fanning out about her as she spun to face him. "Oh—Master Alvik," she said, watching his approach.

He drew up before her. "My apologies if I startled you. It wasn't my intention."

She smiled and waved a hand dismissively. "My own fault. I was daydreaming."

"First time upon royal grounds?" he guessed.

"Yes."

He nodded, presuming this explained her loitering; doubtless she'd simply been trying to draw out the experience for as long as possible. "Well, I'm glad you decided to stay and gawk," he then told her, "for I have another assignment for you."

"Certainly," she replied, standing motionless in the deepening shadows. "How may I serve?"

Devlin found her disposition remarkably pleasant for one born to Revenge. He had no idea what Secondary she carried, as it was turned inward, but suspected its influence was responsible, perhaps Harmony or Love.

He held up the scroll she'd presented to him only a short time ago. "I need you to find out everything you can about these men."

Her eyebrows rose slightly. "All of them?"

"No, you can disregard the knights and Justice officers. And the prince, obviously. Also the warlord. That still leaves thirty-two men, I realize, but if you divide the task between the five of you it'll be manageable."

She nodded and raised a hand to take the scroll from him. "How quickly do you need our reports?"

"By dawn," he replied. "None of you will be getting much sleep tonight, but trust you'll be well-compensated."

"Dawn," she repeated, nodding. Then, "I trust this assignment is to be conducted discreetly?"

"Well," Devlin responded, holding her gaze, "it doesn't violate any laws, if that's what you're asking, but it might be viewed as unethical by certain parties. More so, I'd worry about remaining subtle over the course of your information-gathering. Many of these men are extremely dangerous, and may not take kindly to strangers prying into their business."

"Understood."

"Good. Send your reports here to the castle, as quickly as you can compile them. Don't be troubled by the hour. I won't be getting any rest tonight either."

He walked her out to the street, where they then separated; she to locate her co-assistants and divvy up their new assignment, and he to the inn where he was to meet his brother. Stepping along, Devlin knew he was in all likelihood being followed—he and Cadien Stavrakos kept a very close eye on each other's movements—but this wasn't a concern. Every year Knoxx came to Aralexia for the games, and every year Devlin would meet with him several times over the course of the week. There was absolutely nothing suspicious about his current movements, the sheer beauty of this planned information-exchange now coming to fruition.

His destination was an inn near the forum where the duels would take place, the very inn where his brother planned on staying all week. It was a sound choice for Knoxx and his fellow Thieves, as they'd be overseeing the gambling web also set to commence the following day. Reaching the establishment, Devlin strode through the front door and immediately turned toward the stairs, bypassing the crowded common room. The air was filled with excited chatter, and the jester gave the scene only a brief glance as he swept past.

He started up to the second floor just as another man began his way down. They met about mid-way, and Devlin sent a silent nod of acknowledgment to Flynn Fajen, commander of Dhanen'Mar's Thieves network. The Cejan's reply was to pull up next to him and place a knife alongside his ribs. Devlin paused gracefully in mid-step.

"If you endanger any of my Thieves with your schemes again, I won't be so generous as to stay my hand a second time," Fajen told him, his blade pressed tightly to Devlin's side. "Even if he is your brother."

Since the jester's life was, in essence, under dire threat each and every day, the action surprised but didn't startle him. Instead, he was forced to wonder what had happened to prompt Knoxx's commander into taking this action, and how he knew Devlin was the cause.

"Back off, Cejan," he then issued quietly in reply. "This is bigger than you, or me, or Knoxx. Stay out of my way, or discover first-hand how I react to threats in my own city."

It was a rather bold statement, what with the other man's knife still lying against his ribs, but Fajen simply offered a challenging sort of grin before vanishing the blade back into his sleeve. Without another word, he resumed his steps downward.

Devlin continued in the opposite direction, thinking. He decided Knoxx must've gotten himself into trouble while trying to gather information on Taleb and Nathon, forcing him to confide at least a few details of the affair to Fajen. Evidently Devlin hadn't stressed to his brother enough the importance of keeping this matter to himself, but how dearly they'd come to pay for Knoxx's transgression remained to be seen.

He reached the second floor and quickly located his brother's room; after knocking, he waited only a moment before Knoxx's muffled voice called out for him to enter. The room within was dark, lit only by a few candles, and by their light Devlin's first observation was that his brother did not look altogether well. Lying upon the bed, his face was extremely pale and his eyes tired.

"Are you ill?" he asked with a slight frown, approaching slowly.

"Just tired from the journey," Knoxx told him, before gesturing to the chair in the corner. "Have a seat, Dev. We have a lot to talk about."
Chapter 26

Parting ways with Devlin Alvik on the street outside the castle, Reagan Maves' thoughts were now alternating between wanting to kill the royal jester, or thanking the very stars he'd found her when he had. It had taken her more than two years to get this close, two years to find a way inside King DeSiva's castle grounds, armed with a knife and burning desire to finally see out the revenge owed her. Only to be foiled in the end by ill-timing.

Being Dhan'Marian, however, she really had no choice but to view Master Alvik's inadvertent thwarting of her plans as Fate's interruption; Destiny's way of letting her know this wasn't the right time, that she'd either be unsuccessful or perhaps killed herself if she carried on in her attempt to murder the king this night. On the other hand, the jester might've just foiled the only chance she'd ever have to see out her aim, and this possibility left her furious.

She'd arrived in Aralexia more than a year ago. Beforehand, she'd spent several seasons in Inuria, the home city of Revenge, after pledging this dominion as her Secondary. She'd learned much during her time there, both from the clergypersons of her Patron, Rizea, as well as from the scores of others born to Revenge who'd come to congregate in their home city. Of course, she'd never revealed to anyone the identity of her ultimate mark, but most seemed to presume the figure held some level of importance due to the sheer level of risk she'd taken by doubling her fortune. Despite her target remaining unidentified, however, she'd received nothing but encouragement from the many like-minded souls she'd come to know there.

Leaving Inuria, she'd journeyed straight to Aralexia and then lain low for the first couple of seasons after her arrival. Scrutinizing from afar the workings of the king and his council, it soon became obvious that Devlin Alvik would be her likeliest way in—not only was the royal jester known for being personable, but the responsibilities of his title often saw him intermingling with the populace in ways the other council members did not. The games of the King's Challenge had then presented her with the perfect opportunity.

Befriending one of the five persons Master Alvik hired each year to assist him during the course of the games, Reagan proceeded to then poison the woman. The treatment wouldn't kill her, just keep her incapacitated with fever and vomiting for some time, a condition that led her to the regretful conclusion that she wouldn't be able to do her part for the jester this year. It had been an easy thing to then plant the idea that saw the victim herself advocating for Reagan to take her place, a suggestion accepted by Alvik without fanfare.

Having successfully gained a position that would—hopefully—provide her a legitimate reason to get near the king, she now simply needed to see out her tasks, raise no suspicions, and await her opportunity—an opportunity she thought she'd gained this very night, by volunteering to bring the completed list of games' participants to Master Alvik here on royal grounds. She'd been trying to devise a way of getting past the knights and into the castle when the jester had come upon her, bearing a request that would now see her wasting her entire evening.

Attempting to harness her fury, Reagan lifted the scroll he'd returned to her and began unfurling it with little curiosity while threading her way through the streets. Since she hadn't been the one to actually compile the list, she wasn't familiar with all the names on it. She and the jester's other four assistants had manned the enlistment booth in shifts all this past week, and she'd personally seen few men of interest, mostly just knights and Justice officers seeking prestige or the prize money.

Since the running of the games could grow somewhat frenzied, Master Alvik insisted that his assistants all be housed in one convenient location for the duration, easily found and summoned should he require them at a moment's notice. Consequently, all five were currently lodged in one of the most opulent inns in the city, financed by the royal jester himself. Reagan was nearing this destination when she began running her eye down the list of more than sixty names, hoping to somehow spot those who would make tonight's task as quick and painless as possible.

Following Master Alvik's instructions, she disregarded all those listed as knights and Justice officers and swept her gaze down to the those marked "foreigners", meaning any participants not native Dhan'Marians. Their races were listed beside their names, and Reagan scowled at seeing six of the twelve were in fact from Jennen, the country she'd been taken to and held in for more than ten years.

Rydin Kale – Jennite.

Her feet suddenly halted as her eyes grew wide, paused upon that name she had extremely good cause to know. Her liberator. Her rescuer. The man who'd appeared seemingly from nowhere and saved her life by taking that of her loathed captor, Hurl Bestry.

Reagan had spent much time these past two years thinking about Rydin Kale, and lamenting the fact that she'd not learned more of him when she'd had the chance. But it appeared Destiny and Chaos were now seeing to the matter, perhaps to provide her the opportunity to make good on the Life-Bond she owed him for saving her life. Strangely, she felt no fear for him, seeing his name there on the list of King's Challenge participants, her mind instead seeking out ways to get around the rule that prohibited her, as one of Master Alvik's assistants, from indulging in the gambling done upon the combatants. Of course, all gambling was illegal anyway, so there would be paths around this ban so long as she was careful—a minor inconvenience, as she now had every intention of placing a very heavy bet in Rydin's favor.

Smiling to herself, Reagan decided Rydin's name would find its way onto her own list of men to seek out this night, although she already knew enough of him to report on what Master Alvik was seeking from these assignments: the level of threat each man presented. She would rate Rydin as high and leave it at that. If it was the jester's intention to somehow manipulate the outcome of the games, as she now suspected, it was really none of her concern, but she'd refrain from giving any further details about her rescuer. Let them all see his capabilities for themselves once he took the field.

Still standing before the doors of the inn, she moved to start re-rolling the scroll when a second name, clear at the bottom of the list, caught her eye. Stunned, she dropped the scroll, scrambled to retrieve it, and then nearly ripped it in two in her haste to locate the name again. Staring, Reagan felt her body go numb with shock.

Baiel Maves – Warlord.

He was alive! Her brother, whom she'd now been separated from for twelve years, and found not a trace of since returning to Dhanen'Mar, alive!

And a warlord, she quickly reminded herself, staring down at this word scrawled next to his name. Somehow, he must've found his way to Lutarre Keep and been taken in by the men there. Overcome by a wave of immense pride, she continued to struggle with the idea of connecting the six-year old boy she'd known to the full-grown warlord he'd evidently become.

She had to find him, now, tonight! Master Alvik's orders be damned—she'd waited far too long for word of her brother's fate, only to now learn he was here, in this very city. She had to go, had to speak with him!

Reagan hastily re-rolled the scroll and pushed her way through the doors of the inn even as her mind continued firing dozens of thoughts at her. Most prominent among them, unfortunately, was the reminder that shirking any of her official duties, no matter the excuse, might appear suspicious. It might also anger the jester and cause him to terminate her services, in turn losing her the only possible chance she'd ever have to assassinate the king.

She had no choice. Baiel would have to wait.

With the serene expression she always strove to wear in public firmly in place, Reagan quickly summoned her four co-assistants into her private room on the third floor and explained Master Alvik's instructions. To judge from their reactions, she gleaned this was the first year the royal jester had issued such a directive, which made her curious. She determined he was probably seeking a way to ensure Prince Luken emerged from the Challenge alive.

The others appeared to have reached a similar conclusion, although none dared utter a word about it. Reagan followed their lead and set about manipulating the division of the thirty-two names so that she'd receive Rydin Kale as one of her own objectives. This was accomplished quickly and without incident. The meeting broke up a short while later, and she left the inn carrying a list of five names in addition to Rydin's.

Thankfully, a record of where each man was staying had also been fashioned, information gathered upon sign-up. The reason for this was simple; because these sixty-four men would be facing one another in possible fights to the death over the next week, it was highly recommended that each find accommodations under a different roof. The city of Aralexia was large, providing a more than adequate number of inns both luxurious and modest, so this advisement was generally followed.

In the interest of expediency, however, Reagan had volunteered for the two men listed as "unknowns" who'd evidently ignored this and taken up in the same dwelling, a small inn just a few blocks over. Both were recorded as being born to War, a fact which again only reminded her of her brother. Once she was done with these two, she'd have only Rydin, two foreigners, and one more "unknown" to investigate before she could send her report to Master Alvik and be free to seek out Baiel.

A part of her continued to reel with euphoria over the news of him being alive, despite applying all her willpower to ignore the feeling for the time being. She'd simply been imagining and plotting the king's death for too long to let anything risk it now, not even the long-sought reunion with her brother.

It was nearing Fourteenth-hour when she reached the inn she sought, now fully dark outside but not so late that most wouldn't still be awake. She settled into the common room with a tall glass of spiced cider and spent the next several minutes simply taking in the scene.

The room was fairly crowded, with a general air of excitement apparent in the souls within. This was to be expected on the night preceding the start of the games, but while listening to the chatter around her, it quickly became clear that none were aware of the two combatants staying in this very dwelling. Instead, most talk centered on speculations over the men who'd entered, which of them would make it past the first round, and how much should be bet upon their favorites. She heard more than one reference made about "the warlord" and how it would be nothing short of stupid to favor any but him to take the final prize. Reagan was glad to hear this, as it boded well for her brother's safety throughout the Challenge.

She was surreptitiously taking in Birth medallions while listening to the talk around her, finding a wide variety showcased here; there were Justice and Harvest, Commerce and Love, Arts, Death, and many Travelers. Furthermore, all seemed to be getting along well, prejudices set aside as they held to a common excitement over the looming thrill of the games.

Seeing no War Birth medallions, Reagan expanded her searching gaze, eventually coming to settle on two men seated over in the corner of the room, near the guttering hearth. They were speaking quietly amongst themselves, largely ignoring the noise and chatter going on about them. Following her instincts, she rose from her seat and moved casually in their direction, managing to snag an unoccupied stool at a nearby table. Casting them a quick glance as she positioned herself, she was pleased to see her instincts were correct, for both were showcasing War-born medallions.

Balancing her cider on a crowded tabletop just within arm's reach, she dug into her satchel, removed parchment, ink, and quill, and began making notes. They included the fact that both these men seemed of an age and shared a similar physique.

After a few minutes of hearing nothing but inaudible murmurs from their conversation, Reagan chanced shuffling her stool slightly closer. They appeared not to notice, and she began catching most of their words.

Boring, she thought after several more minutes had passed.

The two, whose names she knew to be Nathon Wythe and Taleb Okin although she had no idea which was which, appeared to be discussing a woman named Oliveah and the fact that she was so angry at the both of them—for reasons not mentioned—that she'd denied speaking to them earlier that day. Reagan had no idea who this Oliveah person was, but gave her silent congratulations for having the ability to string these two along, both fine examples of the male species if she did say so herself.

The conversation remained largely uneventful until one of them—Reagan still wasn't certain which was Nathon and which Taleb—made the suggestion of possibly withdrawing from the games. The other clearly thought little of the idea, and a short but heated debate followed. The result left neither of them intending to take so bold a step, which was a wise decision since trying to squirm one's way out of the competition once entered wasn't an easy task, and known to prove no less deadly than the combat.

Reagan continued eavesdropping for the next half-hour or so, until the two men decided they'd best go upstairs and get some rest should they be called on to fight the following day. By this time, Reagan knew they were newly-liberated slaves recently set free by one Lord Ean Oslund, that both were in love with this Oliveah person they'd spoken of, and that neither appeared particularly worried they might be killed during the competition. She'd also now determined Taleb to be the green-eyed man and Nathon the blue-eyed, and rather surprisingly, knew them both to be very interested in the possible whereabouts of one Flynn Fajen, a man everyone in the country knew to be the commander of Dhanen'Mar's Thieves' network. She had no idea what this was about but added it to her report, concluding by classing both Nathon and Taleb as a middling threat. This was a determination made solely on their blatant confidence and War Birth medallions, for if not for those factors, these two former slaves would've ranked no higher than low.

She waited until they'd vanished up the stairs before leaving the inn, checking her list to see which of the remaining combatants was closest to where she now stood. Ten minutes later she was seated in another common room of another inn, listening to a hugely-muscled man from Balsh, a country across the sea, loudly proclaim to all who were listening how he was going to thrash all men selected to face him.

Born to Death, the man's name was Gliddion Xaz, and he did indeed possess a forbidding presence, as well as enough scars to convince anyone that he'd seen his fair share of violence. Reagan silently wished him a painful death when he specifically stated how he'd enjoy tearing the Dhan'Marian warlord's spine from his back. She rated him a high threat and moved on, before the temptation to poison him grew too strong.

The next man on her list was a native of Navosa, a country lying beyond Dhanen'Mar's eastern border. His name was Kem Maeda, and she discovered him in a most unusual location. Behind his inn, one much more affluent than the others she'd visited this night, was a large stone fountain, complete with fish and colored lights. The Navosi man was alone, and swimming in this fountain completely naked but for his Justice Birth Medallion.

Only because she was motivated to finish this task as quickly as possible did Reagan gather the required gumption to approach and make a cautious attempt at conversation. She was relieved to quickly discover that Kem Maeda seemed a decent enough fellow despite his public nudity, finding his explanation for it understandable. Because his native country was largely comprised of desert, he'd apparently taken the sight of so much excess water as a sign of good fortune and was hoping it would bring him luck in the tournament. She further learned he was the last-born prince of Navosa's reigning king, and here unbeknownst to his father and family.

Reagan ended the conversation by calmly wishing him luck, but then relayed her alarm in her notes to Master Alvik. Best he looked to manipulating Prince Kem Maeda's safety throughout the games as well as Prince Luken's, otherwise a war might inadvertently be started here. Because of this possibility she ranked Kem Maeda as a high risk, with explicit notes on why she'd done so.

There now remained only two men on her list, and she already knew enough about one of them to make an adequate report to Master Alvik. But curiosity got the better of her, and she started toward the place where the Jennite Rydin Kale was reportedly staying.

It was one of the seedier inns in the city, located down by the waterfront. Actually, it quite possibly was the seediest. Now having been in Aralexia more than a year, Reagan was aware of the establishment although she'd never before gotten this near to it; known for its brawling and illegal gambling over games of rolling bones, like most locals she'd always given the place a wide berth.

Shrugging, she approached it now and entered through its front door, which hung upon skewed and rusted hinges. She then stood in the doorway, hands on hips, and observed the dim interior.

Directly ahead was a rickety staircase leading to the rooms above. To her right was the common room, which evidently doubled as a tavern as it had a plain wooden plank—non-sanded and unvarnished, by the looks of it—serving as the countertop of the bar. There was a thick smell of stale ale and unwashed human bodies. Only a few lanterns offered a soft glow to fight the darkness, likely a deliberate effort to keep the patrons from clearly seeing the hovel they currently dwelt in, she thought.

Reagan continued to stand in the doorway, surveying the scene. Approximately fifteen men occupied the chairs and stools, with most now looking in her direction. Given their expressions, she surmised it probably wasn't common for a woman to deliberately set foot within these walls.

"I'm looking for Rydin Kale," she announced, not seeing the Jennite among the faces gazing her way.

The hulking man behind the bar snorted at her. "I don't think he'll be of much use to you, but if you can get him upstairs and into his room I'd be much obliged," he said, taking a step back and gesturing at the head of a man who'd apparently passed out upon the bar.

Reagan frowned; she knew it was typical for women in the city to throw themselves at any man entered in the competition, and clearly the barkeep assumed she'd come looking for Rydin for just that reason. Deciding she didn't care enough to bother correcting him, she started across the dirt floor toward the one she sought. "He doesn't appear to be causing you much trouble," she commented, now close enough to hear Rydin's faint snores.

"He spent the entire day drinking and trying to pick fights," the barkeep told her. "No one will touch him, seeing as he's entered in the games and all, so he's mostly just been making a nuisance of himself and driving away all my customers."

Reagan's only response to this was a dismissive wave, received with a grumble by the barkeep as he turned away. Leaning her arm next to Rydin's head, which was face-down, she used her other hand to grab a fistful of his hair and pulled back.

He was reaching for his sword before his eyes even fully opened, and Reagan immediately released her hold and jumped back, startled.

He blinked at her profusely, seemed to focus, and then relaxed the hold on his weapon, apparently finding her nonthreatening.

"What?" he snapped, still blinking.

Relatively certain she was in no further danger of being stabbed, she settled onto the stool next to him and issued a disapproving look.

"Do you think it wise to be drinking like this the night before the games are to begin?" she asked.

He rubbed his eyes, shrugging. "The first round takes several days. It's unlikely I'll be called on tomorrow."

"Unlikely but not impossible," she returned, wanting to smack him. "Should fortune be in your favor, you may want to consider staying sober for the remainder of the week."

He shrugged again, but then leaned forward slightly to squint at her. "Have we met?"

She grinned faintly. "I told you Destiny and Chaos would again see to our paths crossing. Admittedly, I was surprised to find you enlisted in the games here in Dhanen'Mar."

He stared at her for another minute, paying special attention to her hair, before dropping his eyes to her medallions. Her Birth was displayed fully of course, but her Secondary turned inward like his own.

"Reagan Maves," he now said, nodding slightly while continuing to stare at her. "I'm pleased to see you well, although I'm guessing you didn't take my advice and steer clear of Inuria."

She didn't reply, deeming a response unnecessary.

"Did you ever find your brother?" he then slurred, reaching for the half-empty tankard of ale sitting atop the bar.

"As a matter of fact, yes. I haven't seen or spoken to him yet, but I just learned he's also entered in the competition."

Rydin seemed to find this mildly interesting as he gulped the remainder of his ale. "Who is he? I'll be certain to go easy on him should we be called to face one another."

Reagan stared back with a raised eyebrow. "Identifying him won't be difficult," she then pointedly informed him. "He's the lone warlord entered, after all."

He glanced at her, grinning faintly as he set aside his empty tankard. "You Dhan'Marians certainly have a high opinion of your warlords, don't you? I imagine this will be interesting."

"I assure you, the opinion is warranted."

"I suppose we'll see."

Reagan slid from her stool. "All right, I'm getting you upstairs and into bed before I lose my temper. Come now, move!"

He continued to appear amused even while obligingly pushing himself up from his stool. "If you insist," he said.

She took hold of his arm and all but dragged him up the stairs, which creaked alarmingly beneath their feet. His steps were somewhat steadier than she'd been expecting, but there remained little doubt of his severe intoxication. He would indeed be in rough shape if called on to fight the following day.

He eventually managed to locate his room and Reagan all but shoved him onto the floor pallet apparently meant to serve as his bed. "Sleep it off," she told him. "You'll thank me tomorrow."

He rolled himself onto his back, his eyes a gleam in the darkness as he looked up at her. "You're not staying?"

Had he been even mildly sober, or she not so anxious to find Baiel, she might've been tempted. But this simply wasn't the night for such considerations.

"Perhaps another time," she told him, turning back to the door. "I wish you luck should you see combat tomorrow."

He made a reply, but it was groggy and already muffled with sleep. She closed the door behind her and made her way back down the perilous stairwell, sending a nod to the barkeep when he called out his thanks.

She included nothing of Rydin's drunkenness in her report to Master Alvik, simply relating that he had the muscles of an ox and the confidence of a king. As already decided, she rated him a high threat, then moved on to the final name on her list. Eugan Reif.

Unfortunately, this Dhan'Marian was already behind closed doors and abed by the time she arrived at his inn, forcing her to seek out more creative methods of gathering the desired intelligence. Thankfully, however, many of the other guests were nowhere near ready to retire for the night, and most proved eager to discuss the Challenge combatant staying here in their very own inn. Reagan mingled with the common-room crowd, learning a few mildly interesting tidbits, before finding herself sharing a pitcher of juice with Eugan Reif's very own cousin, a young man named Sabian. He proved quite willing to chatter on about his cousin, and ultimately provided more than enough details for her to finish her report.

Eugan Reif, she relayed, was the son of Lord Guerin Reif of Tyrell. Born to Death, he was backed with Justice and had entered the games for the sole purpose of bringing some prestige to his family name. Ignorant of, and largely uninterested in, noble matters, Reagan further learned that the Reifs were commonly afflicted with the Birth Patron of Death, and that much of Dhanen'Mar's highborn society shunned them for it. She didn't understand Eugan's desire to risk his life just to win the approval of such people, but her job was to report, not judge, so she simply jotted down the facts and left it at that. In conclusion, she was tempted to rate Eugan a low threat, but his Death Birth medallion caused her to bump him up to middling. Underestimating anyone's Birth Patron in a forum such as the King's Challenge would be foolish.

With her task complete, and it now almost First-hour, Reagan headed back toward the castle. Despite the lateness of the hour the streets retained a fair amount of traffic, brought on by the anticipation of the following day's festivities, but a heavy presence of Justice officers kept the peace effectively. She had no trouble reaching her destination quickly, and announced herself to the knights stationed at the castle gates. Forewarned to expect her and her co-assistants, they promptly accepted the scroll she handed over and promised to deliver it to the jester immediately. She thanked them and turned back into the city, finally free to seek out her brother.

Unfortunately, she wasn't certain where to begin looking. Since Baiel hadn't been on her list of objectives she hadn't been provided his location, and it would've been suspicious had she asked for it—although once his name was officially announced, no doubt many would realize it was no different than her own. She worried this might lead to their pasts somehow being discovered, her intentions here deduced, although this seemed a remote threat. Still, she would remain diligent. Allowing anything to foil her plans at this juncture would be inexcusable.

But in the matter of how to find him, she wasn't completely without options. In fact, with much of the city still buzzing with imminent excitement, it didn't appear the least bit odd when she began questioning random passersby as to where she might find the warlord.

All seemed to assume her purpose was no different than what the barkeep had thought back at Rydin's hovel. Unconcerned with their opinions so long as it brought her to her brother, she finally got a lead from a golden-haired woman of about her own age wearing a Thieves Birth medallion.

She looked annoyed when Reagan stopped her on the street to question her, but answered readily enough, albeit impatiently.

"He's staying at The Dancing Damsel, same as me," she replied with irritation. "Now if you don't mind, I have things to do."

Reagan moved aside to let her pass, shouting her thanks to the woman's retreating back as she started away.

The Dancing Damsel was a well-regarded inn, situated near the arena where the games were slated to begin in only a matter of hours. Realizing it was now the middle of the night, Reagan slowly drifted to a pause, now questioning whether she should just leave this until morning. But what if Baiel was called to duel in the morning? She didn't want him taking the field before they had a chance to speak. Deciding to keep on, she took up a run through the now nearly-deserted streets.

The common room of The Dancing Damsel was close to empty when she entered, with just two men sitting across from each other in chairs by the fireplace. With a quick start of surprise she saw one had the brown skin of a Cejan and realized his identity as Flynn Fajen, the man who'd somehow gained a decidedly murderous interest from Taleb Okin and Nathon Wythe. Seeing him there, Reagan briefly debated issuing a warning, but reconsidered when she realized doing so might interfere with the secrecy of her task—and because the last person who needed a hint about Master Alvik possibly manipulating the outcome of the games was the man who'd be overseeing all the gambling done upon them.

She passed by Fajen and his pale, yellow-haired companion wordlessly and started up the stairs. She was now trying to determine how to locate her brother's room without having to pound on every door, a practice that would probably see her dragged out into the street and stoned.

Indecisive, she paused upon the landing at the top of the stairs. Perhaps she'd have no choice but to wait for daylight.

Her eye then caught on a shadowy figure near the end of the corridor, standing silent and unmoving in the shadows. Curious, she began moving toward it, squinting in the dim light thrown from the single sconce affixed to the wall.

"Hello?" she called out, drawing near.

The man shifted in her direction, his face still hidden in shadow, and gave an audible sigh.

"Hello?" she tried again, annoyed at his lack of response. She stopped before him, now able to see him more clearly. He looked to be about ten years her senior and wore an expression of exasperation. More importantly, he was adorned in a long red cloak as well as a Birth medallion of War.

"You're a warlord!" she realized, still taking him in. "Please—where can I find Baiel Maves?"

The warlord sighed again. "Miss, please try to understand that he needs his rest, lest he be called on to fight tomorrow. With respect to this, I must insist you seek your entertainment elsewhere."

Staring at him, Reagan rapidly concluded that she wasn't the first woman to try gaining entry to her brother's room this night.

"You misunderstand," she told the warlord. "I'm his sister."

He said nothing for a moment, peering down at her with narrowed eyes. "I can't deny your likeness, that's for certain. But Baiel's been seeking an answer to his sister's fate for many years, so you'd best not be lying."

Reagan was as surprised by this as she was pleased. Not only had her brother spoken of her to his fellow warlords, but neither had he given her up for dead, as he otherwise might've after so many years.

"Tell me your name," the warlord insisted, still regarding her somewhat suspiciously.

She tossed her flame-colored hair, a glory she'd shared with Baiel when they were children, back over her shoulder while bringing a hand to her Birth medallion. "My name is Reagan Maves, and I was born to Revenge. Now, may I pass?"

From his expression, it seemed unlikely Baiel had informed his brethren of her Birth Patron, but her name was another matter. Displaying a sudden grin, the warlord stepped aside and gestured toward the closed door he'd been barring. "With my blessing. I'm most honored to make your acquaintance, Reagan Maves."

Reagan didn't reply, stepping past him and putting her hand to the door. Finding it unlocked, she entered the room quietly but took only a step inside before pausing.

Baiel wasn't asleep as she'd been expecting, but rather wide awake and sitting in a cushioned chair turned toward the window. Hearing the door click shut behind her, he turned to throw a glance over his shoulder.

"What are you doing in my room?" he frowned, taking her in.

Reagan could feel the smile now widening across her face. Unable to speak, she simply stared as her brother got to his feet and started over to her.

He was tall, at least six paces or more, and strong as any imagined warlord would be. Their features, mainly their noses and mouths, were similar, as was the color of their hair and their bright blue eyes. He was before her now, paused and giving her a similar scrutiny.

"Brother," she finally managed, as tears began to leak from her eyes.

His look of puzzlement melted into one of wonder. "Reagan? Is it truly you?"

While not prone to outward shows of emotion, she was crying openly as she flung herself into his arms. "All these years, I feared you were dead," she mumbled, clinging to him. It was an indescribable feeling, realizing she was no longer alone, that at least one member of her family still existed in this world.

Finally pulling away, he hastened to fetch a handkerchief to dry her tears and then urged her to take a seat in the chair. After pouring them each a glass of wine, he sank down onto the bed across from her.

"Tell me what happened," he said, staring at her, "after you were taken."

She'd known he would ask this, and been debating the entire evening over the response she would give. But looking at him now, the answer was obvious; she couldn't tell him the truth of it, not this day, perhaps not ever. The fact that she carried the knowledge was enough. She would not force him to carry it too.

So she spun a story, one reasonably awful but far from the horror of the truth, where she'd been taken to Jennen and forced to work in an orchard and endure just the occasional beating. Finally she'd managed to flee, she concluded, and returned to Dhanen'Mar in hopes of finding some trace of him.

His tale, in turn, was much as she'd figured; dumped into Dhanen'Mar's slave market, he'd escaped his master and made his way to Lutarre Keep, where he was accepted without question for being War-born and then trained in the art of combat. She was relieved to learn that of the two Maves children, he'd by far proven the luckier.

Anxious to turn the conversation from their pasts, she asked what had prompted him to enter the King's Challenge. He was candid in stating his low opinion of the event, insisting his participation was strictly due to the Patron of War's wishes. Moreover, he was now convinced that he'd been sent to Aralexia for the express purpose of finding her, and while aiming to see out his commitment to the games, it was clear they presented only a minor concern.

Upon several occasions she caught him glancing at her reversed Secondary medallion, his curiosity evident but unspoken. Even a king could not demand someone show their Choice medallion, a matter left entirely to the discretion of its wearer, and she had no intention of ever revealing to her brother the risk she'd taken. So when the topic finally came around to what had brought her to the city of Aralexia, another internal debate was settled.

Once again, she lied.
Chapter 27

Despite being a native of Jennen, Callan Ashe was well-familiar with the country of Dhanen'Mar, the city of Aralexia, and the games of the King's Challenge. This was in fact his twelfth visit to the royal city, and his third during the course of the games. Upon all past occasions his reasons for coming to Dhanen'Mar were linked to his profession, with present circumstances proving no exception. Thankfully, however, his contracted task left him much time to seek out his own entertainments.

It was currently just past dawn, First-day of summer's final week. In more exciting terms, today marked the commencement of the King's Challenge, and even at this early hour the streets were thronging as thousands made their way toward the forum in the city's east end, frantic to secure a good seat.

Callan had every intention of joining them, but lacked the cause to share in their concern. There were special boxes of seating for the highborn and their guests, and while he was technically neither, the handful of people aware of his talents here in Dhanen'Mar tended to treat him most generously. Born to Death and backed by Commerce, Callan Ashe made his living as an assassin—and one known, within the small, discreet circles that made up his clientele, for being among the best in the world. His areas of proficiency were poisons and a bow, although circumstances occasionally required him to step outside his comfort areas. It mattered little, in the end; once locked onto a target, he would find a way to see it done regardless of what the task demanded.

At present he was sitting alone at a small table on the outdoor patio of an eatery. There were few other customers, with the bulk of the city's inhabitants now making their way to the arena, and Callan idly watched the masses pass by as he ate his breakfast in silence. From what he overheard, it seemed the list determining the pairings for the first round had now been released, and everyone had an opinion about who they thought would win, which combatants were most likely to kill or be killed, and how large a bet should be placed upon their choices. Callan had nothing against gambling, but thought he was unlikely to participate in any of the illegal betting this week; with most of the entries sure to be of Dhan'Marian stock, he would know too little about the fighters to risk any of his much-loved coin. But simply watching would no doubt prove entertaining enough.

He was just finishing the final bite of his jam-filled pastry—the Dhan'Marians loved their rich, fatty foods—when a woman of about sixty years shuffled onto the patio, coming from inside the eatery. He mindlessly noted her appearance as he wiped his fingers on his napkin, and gave no reaction whatsoever when she dropped a tiny, folded square of parchment onto his table while moving past. Callan finished with his napkin, laid it down, and concealed the thrown item into his palm. He then drank the last swallow of blueberry juice remaining in his glass, got to his feet, and started off down the street.

He had no idea as to the identity of the woman who'd tossed him the message, but this sort of act wasn't uncommon in Callan's life. Little doubt she was but a messenger or spy for one of the countless highborn now congregated in Aralexia, one aiming to commission his services. It was for this reason he'd reacted by giving no overt acknowledgment, as the lives of both himself and his clients often relied upon such discretion. And certainly, he was long-familiar with these practices.

It took him only a few moments to fully immerse himself in the crowd, joining a rowdy gaggle of youths who paid him no mind. Keeping pace with their group, Callan deftly unfolded the small square of parchment, glanced down briefly, and took in the address written there. He remained with the youths for another block and then turned south, hoping he was heading in the right direction. The address lay upon a fairly busy road, but because it had been more than a year since his last visit to Aralexia he was simply making the best guess his memory allowed.

His uncertainty proved groundless about ten minutes later when he came upon his destination without misstep, and entered the small bookshop with mild curiosity. A man of about forty years sat behind the counter, dusting the spines of a pile of leather-bound tomes, and he glanced up at Callan's entrance. The shop otherwise appeared empty.

"In the back if you would, Master Ashe," the shopkeeper said, his eyes returning to his books even as he gestured to the doorway behind him.

Callan's blue-green gaze glanced about again. These sorts of situations always presented dangers, as the possibility existed that someone seeking retribution for one of his prior marks had learned his identity and aimed to implement some manner of revenge. Callan had survived a few such scenarios, but sensed no similar threat now. Still cautious but reassured by the feel of the poison-dipped dagger in his coat, he rounded about the counter and passed through the open doorway beyond.

"This is a surprise," he then said. The room he now stood in was almost uncomfortably small, and furnished only with a wooden table and a few chairs. He eyed its lone occupant with cautious interest.

"Close the door and take a seat," Devlin Alvik instructed from his chair at the table. "I have a unique proposition for you."

Callan did as asked, his curiosity now piqued. He knew the royal jester by sight, and was fairly certain they'd exchanged mindless pleasantries at social functions in the past. There was absolutely no doubt Alvik knew precisely who he was and how he earned his living. In return, Callan had heard a thing or two about the jester, talk implying the man was an extremely sly son of a bitch. The circles of political intrigue in Aralexia were countless, with Devlin Alvik thought to be at the center of much of them. This was a dangerous city on many levels.

Callan said nothing as he settled himself in the chair across from the jester, his expression one of mild interest. He fixed his gaze on the other man and waited.

"I don't have a lot of time, Master Ashe, so let's get straight to my reason for summoning you," Alvik began.

Still Callan said nothing, silently debating over who the jester wanted him to kill.

"I trust," Alvik went on, "that you've come to Aralexia with an agenda beyond viewing the King's Challenge games?"

"Correct," Callan affirmed. Naturally, he was here to perform an assassination, a fulfillment to a contract devised some weeks ago. His client had suggested using the raucous backdrop of the games for the event and Callan had agreed, thinking he could do a little mixing of business and pleasure.

Alvik paused briefly and regarded him without expression.

"No cause for worry, jester," Callan then added, grinning slightly. "It wasn't your name I was given."

"With respect to your reputation, I suppose I should be grateful," Alvik returned dryly. "But I do have further business for you, if you're interested."

"I'm always interested," Callan told him. "Especially when a client begins with the temptation of a unique proposition." He was mocking the jester, and Alvik knew it; every client considered his or her aims unique, but to Callan they all sounded so very similar.

Alvik considered him, then lightly said, "I've heard those of your ilk hold to a tight circle."

The facetiously-delivered remark put Callan on instant alert. There were few places an opening such as that would lead, and all quite dangerous. "True," he replied cautiously.

Alvik sent him a dark smile. "An assignment has been given, one I would very much like to interrupt. Might this be something you'd consider, Master Ashe?"

Callan said nothing for several long moments. In this particular case, the jester had been right—this was an objective most unique. He was also correct in knowing that professional assassins held to a loose code which kept them from competing for jobs or getting in each other's way. Alvik's proposal that he eliminate one of his own kind in an effort to protect the target was therefore something that could very well get him killed.

"I might be tempted to consider it, depending on a few details," Callan finally replied.

Alvik stared back at him unflinchingly. "I'm prepared to offer you two hundred gold, paid in full upon the final day of the Challenge, should you prove successful."

Two hundred gold? That was a price more than double his typical fare.

"Who's the mark?" he asked suspiciously.

"A warlord by the name of Baiel Maves."

Callan felt he was beginning to understand. "I've heard the name. He's entered in the Challenge, yes?" Clearly, someone thought they'd have a better chance of seeing themselves through the rounds without having to face the sole warlord who'd entered.

"Yes," Alvik nodded. "And if he dies in a duel, fine, but I need him protected at all times when off the field of play."

Callan paused. "Let me be certain I'm understanding you correctly," he then started with a frown. "You want to hire me to protect a warlord?"

Alvik was quiet a moment. "The man's ability to defend himself isn't in question. However, I believe it to be in everyone's best interests that he remain ignorant of the threat against him."

The assassin took that in, and then laughed as he gained full understanding. Someone had placed a hit on this warlord, presumably to keep him from winning the competition, but the outcome of the venture wasn't guaranteed and could just as likely result in the warlord besting his would-be killer. The problem would then appear to solve itself, until one considered the common attitudes of Dhan'Marian warlords. Should Baiel Maves realize he'd been targeted in an effort to manipulate the games, rest assured he'd be quick in stirring up a mess of trouble, likely by way of publicly citing corruption and ruthlessness in the home city of Justice. He'd probably even accuse the king's royal council of masterminding the threat to his life, which Callan figured may or may not be true. At present, the royal jester's objectives made that conclusion too murky to draw.

"You've quite the predicament on your hands, don't you, jester?" he finally said, his voice dripping with mirth. "I shudder to imagine the reaction of the populace, should they discover their royal council manipulating their beloved games."

Alvik was now glaring at him. "I didn't invite your opinion or commentary, killer. Only your answer."

The title of "killer" was likely meant as an insult, but Callan fully accepted what he was and therefore took no offense, intended or not. "Do you know who's been hired to hit the warlord?" he asked, still smiling faintly.

"Unfortunately, no."

Callan shrugged. The circle of men sharing his profession was small, and discovering this information for himself wouldn't be difficult.

"Make it three hundred gold and we have an accord," he said, anticipating an argument followed by much further haggling.

"Done," Alvik said instead. "Although," he then went on, "I would ask for your input on one further matter. A trifling thing, in comparison."

"I'm listening," Callan said, suppressing his surprise over the jester's casual acceptance of his requested fee.

Alvik produced a small piece of parchment from a pouch at his waist and slid it across the table toward the assassin. "For reasons best not discussed, I would ask you to tell me what you know of these men."

"Who are they?" Callan asked before even looking to the list.

"Fellow Jennites whose names you may recognize," the jester replied. "If so, I would hear all details you're aware of."

"Are they Challenge participants?"

"Yes."

Callan now assumed the "reasons best not discussed" involved the royal jester using any information given him to manipulate the upcoming duels. The assassin didn't approve of this, but for what he was being paid he didn't much care either. He turned his gaze down to the six names scrawled upon the parchment.

It then took everything he had not to immediately begin laughing.

Rydin Kale.

Callan had known Rydin for many years, had served as his companion upon numerous jobs calling for a blend of their respective talents, and while he was surprised to see his friend's name listed here, above all he found the fact incredibly amusing. These Dhan'Marians had absolutely no idea what was soon to be unleashed upon them—nor would they be forewarned, or at least not by him.

It was a strain, but aware of the jester's intense stare watching him for any reactions, he managed to maintain a blank expression while gazing down at the names before him. He hadn't a clue what had possessed Rydin to enter the Challenge, most likely the prize money, but was now very much looking forward to watching the ensuing carnage unfold. This year was going to be a King's Challenge event not soon forgotten.

"Beynon Ansell," he read, this name written just below Rydin's on the list.

"You know him?" Alvik asked.

"Heard of him. He's a mercenary with a fairly frightening reputation. Expect him to kill any man he gains the upper hand over."

"Anyone else?"

Callan's eyes returned to the list. "Galwey Zalfs," he said. "He served as a knight for King Stoneburn until about three years ago. There were rumors of plots being perpetrated behind his majesty's back, but nothing could be proven so Zalfs was exiled rather than killed. He's getting along in years but I wouldn't underestimate him."

"Will he show mercy?"

Callan gave the question serious thought. "Not to any knights or Justice officers, I'd wager. But perhaps to those who live outside the law, like himself."

The jester nodded. "Any others?"

"No. Those are the only names I recognize," Callan lied, pushing the parchment back across the table.

Alvik collected the list and stowed it back into his pouch. "Then it appears our business is concluded. I'll expect an update from you once a day, delivered here personally. Your sum will be paid in full should the warlord still be alive—and ignorant of all plots against him—at the end of the week."

Callan nodded, thinking of his promised three hundred gold. Earning it wouldn't be easy. Between this job and Rydin's unexpected appearance, little doubt it was to be an interesting week.

"I trust," the jester then went on, "I don't need to remind you that your discretion is but a further element of your task."

"You don't."

Master Alvik nodded. "If you'll excuse me then. The first match is set to begin at the top of the hour, and there are preparations I've yet to complete."

"I'm sure there are," Callan replied with a smirk, getting to his feet.

Alvik shot him a final look, then preceded him from the room, saying nothing to the shopkeeper as he exited. Callan followed, similarly silent, and found the street beyond almost eerily deserted. Clearly, most citizens were already gathered at the forum.

Callan headed that way himself, but now had a quick errand in mind before taking his own place amongst the seating. Along the street, just before the entrance to the arena containing the field and its rows upon rows of slanted wooden benches, dozens upon dozens of vendors had crammed their carts and booths, hawking everything from food and drink to clothes, jewelry, and weapons. The space was crowded with citizens, and Callan strolled between a row of booths, looking about until he spotted what he was searching for.

A large tent stood at the center of the frenzy, its purpose clear given its dark-blue color of Thieves. Callan headed toward it, unsurprised to see the crowd spilling forth from the flaps, and pushed his way inside.

The scene within was nothing short of chaotic, with men and women of seemingly every age and station pushing and shoving their way to the makeshift counter in the center, yelling their bets to the five Thieves stationed to collect their money and record their wagers.

The Justice officers patrolling the grounds, Callan knew, gave the Thieves a blind eye in regard to the gambling, probably because most of them made use of the service themselves. In fact, he'd heard rumors that even King DeSiva gambled upon the event.

Callan began the rather difficult process of shoving his way forward. It took him nearly ten minutes and much irritation to finally wedge himself before the counter, and once arrived he found himself looking into a face he'd never beheld but had every reason to recognize. Flynn Fajen's successes were legendary, and not only in Ceja and Dhanen'Mar.

"Who will it be?" the brown-skinned man was saying to him now.

Callan took him in. "You're Fajen?" he asked, just to be sure.

"I am," the Cejan replied, looking amused.

The assassin grinned. "Is it true you stole the crown of your very own king?" According to rumor, this was the act to have earned Fajen the exile from his native country, but Callan had never known whether to believe such a fantastic tale.

But Fajen was now matching his grin. "Technically, he wasn't yet officially king," he replied. "I filched it during the coronation ceremony."

Callan barked an appreciative laugh. "One day you'll have to regale me with the full account over a drink."

"Certainly," Fajen agreed. "But for now, who do you favor?"

Callan tossed a small leather purse onto the counter. "Fifty gold on Kale. To win it all."

Fajen looked at him in surprise, then moved to dump out the contents of the purse and give the coins a quick count. "You're certain?" he asked. "The only wagers I've thus far taken on the final outcome all favored the warlord. All other bets have kept to the individual matches."

"I'm certain."

"As you please," Fajen said, sliding some parchment toward him. "Sign here."

Callan took pains to write his name legibly and then returned the form. "Much obliged," he said.

Fajen continued to eye him curiously. "If you don't mind my saying, that's an obscene amount of money to put at stake before the first duel's even been fought." He grinned again. "Is there something I should know?"

Callan smiled slowly, and then tapped a finger on the parchment he'd just signed. "Take my lead, friend. Trust me."

"Perhaps I will," Fajen replied.

Callan nodded, then turned away and left the tent, now intent on getting to his seat in time to witness the inception of the opening match; for if the first round schedule posted behind the Thieves' commander had been accurate, the first duel was set to begin in only minutes, and slated to feature one Rydin Kale.
Chapter 28

After leaving his meeting with the Jennite assassin, Devlin started immediately for the arena. There was one further task he'd wanted to see to beforehand, but time had now run out; he would have to try to get to it between matches, and hope he'd still be quick enough to head off any looming trouble. One way or another, he had to speak with Oliveah Oslund as soon as possible, preferably before she spotted and recognized him.

The games of the King's Challenge took place upon a large, grassy field in the city's east end, encompassed on all sides by elevated rows of wooden benches to provide a decent view for all. Devlin would be watching the duels with the rest of the royal council—the king included—from specially-placed seating at mid-field level, but since this event fell within his purview of responsibilities, he was first required to deliver the official opening address. Since everyone gathered already knew all the rules, and because this would be his ninth time publicly stating them, the very idea bored him, but it had to be done. He strode onto the field while giving little thought to what he was about to say to the thousands now gathered.

The rules of the King's Challenge games were simple. Two men would take the field armed with swords and shields, and duel until one was either defeated or dead. The man who lost was left at the mercy of his opponent, for there was no punishment for killing in the games. The winner would then move on to the next round.

Due to this year's sixty-four entries, Devlin had devised six rounds, to be concluded upon the last day of the week, Fifteenth-day. Since the first round had to accommodate all sixty-four combatants, he'd broken down the fights to cover the first six days of the competition, having five or six duels per day. The thirty-two men to win—or survive—would then move on to the second round, and so on. By Fifteenth-day, only two men would remain. The winner of the final duel would then be awarded a prize of five hundred gold, and in most cases, be offered a position on the royal guard—an offer which was accepted about as often as it was declined.

The royal jester reiterated all of this to the crowd now, fully aware that most weren't bothering to listen. He then recounted the names of the twelve men scheduled to fight this day, and the times of each duel.

First up would be a Justice officer stationed here in Aralexia, versus the Jennite Rydin Kale. Devlin knew almost nothing of Kale, only that he was born to Chaos and what little else his assistant Reagan had relayed in her brief written report the night before. Devlin had paired him against a Justice officer more or less just to see what happened.

Retreating to his seat amongst the rest of the royal council, the jester was highly aware of the fact that Oliveah Oslund was almost assuredly sitting somewhere in the crowd, now having possibly placed him as the one who'd approached her five weeks ago in Tyrell. Regardless of her location in the stands, it was unlikely she was near enough to recognize his features; his voice, however, was another matter, particularly as the woman in question was in fact a trained singer. He was therefore left with little choice but to assume he'd been identified, meaning swift damage control was now imperative.

Whether she was yet able to connect him to the Thieves who'd invaded her family's vineyard remained up for debate, but Knoxx had at least warned him to beware the possibility. It had been extremely sloppy to presume she wouldn't make an appearance in Aralexia this week, and Devlin now had to deal with the resulting mess. But also thanks to Knoxx, he further knew how to approach the situation, provided he found Oliveah before she had the chance to cause any trouble. At the present moment, she was likely suffering from confusion and perhaps fear at realizing the one she'd spoken to so casually was in fact the king's royal jester.

Within the box of seating reserved for the king and his court, expressions were varied, and Devlin took them all in with a swift glance as he drew near. Richert Poage, captain of the knights, and Valerio Catala, commander of Justice, were seated next to each other, neither speaking and both running cool eyes over the nearby crowd. Despite the presence of ten of Captain Poage's knights standing sentry nearby, both men were likely keeping an alert watch for any trouble. It was always a stressful time for them when his majesty left the safety and confines of the castle.

King DeSiva and his son, Prince Luken (who would not be fighting until the final day of the first round) were both wearing expressions of great anticipation, although, to Devlin's eye at least, the king's looked to be shadowed by predatory expectation while Luken's with wariness. The jester still couldn't quite figure why the king was allowing his only heir to participate in such a dangerous event, but then many of King DeSiva's decisions of late appeared to make little sense. The reality of him growing more and more nonsensical as the days went on proved a deep-seated concern to all men on his council, although the question of how to deal with it remained unanswered. For Devlin, it meant increasingly frequent and private talks with Luken, who was doing his best to counter the more bizarre of his father's recent proclamations.

To the other side of the royal pair sat Cadien Stavrakos. The treasurer and his majesty appeared to be exchanging the occasional private word, which always made Devlin nervous. Stavrakos's concern for Redgar DeSiva's deepening insanity was largely an act, in truth being an affliction he enjoyed taking advantage of by way of manipulating the king into doing his own bidding. Stavrakos and Devlin existed within a constant struggle, the puppet masters of a demented king who was rapidly becoming too much for even the two of them to handle.

Next to Stavrakos sat Seneschal Dusan Galaz, and Devlin moved to take the empty seat next to him. This man had secrets of his own, a few revealed to Devlin just recently, and for now at least, their aims were uniform. It was because of the seneschal that Devlin had traveled to Tyrell in the first place, an event which had now stirred up an incredible amount of trouble and would probably, sooner or later, lead to a great number of people being killed. The jester was fully expecting to be one of them.

He settled into the cushioned chair next to Galaz, their gazes meeting in only the briefest of glances. Devlin placed his arms onto the rests at his sides and then nodded to the bell-ringer who'd made his way to center field.

The man sounded the gong to announce the top of the hour, Seventh, and to call the first combatants forward. The crowd went into a frenzy at the signal, unleashing all the excitement they'd been harboring all season. Devlin scrutinized the two men now coming forth, his mind taking rapid mental notes on all his eyes observed.

The Justice officer was approaching from the north end of the field, a beacon in white as he'd evidently decided to wear his official uniform to the match. There appeared to be an equal amount of cheering and heckling, issued from law-followers and law-breakers alike, but the officer simply raised an arm in acknowledgment and gave the masses a smile. Devlin didn't know the man personally, but rumor named him a cocky bastard who'd prompted more than a few official inquiries into his conduct. Apparently he enjoyed exerting excessive force while subduing those he arrested, and it was said he kept a list of all the bones of criminals he'd broken over the course of his career. His age was just past thirty, and he was now strutting into position next to the bell-ringer.

Turning his eyes away, Devlin looked to take in the officer's opponent, who was continuing to move in from the field's southern end. His first observation was that Reagan hadn't been exaggerating the man's size, the second being that Kale was moving like one possessed of a poor sense of balance, a head wound, or an incredibly harsh morning-after headache. The Jennite was squinting under the blaring morning sun and staggering slightly as he drew near, carrying a sword but no shield. His clothes were sloppy, as though he'd slept in them, and his face shadowed by at least a few days' worth of stubble. The jester wasn't quite certain what to make of his appearance, and neither was the crowd. Foreigners were typically insulted and ridiculed, but the spectators were now mostly falling into silence as they took in the Jennite Rydin Kale. He drew to a clumsy halt before the officer and bell-ringer, where a short conversation then ensued.

It looked to Devlin as though the bell-ringer was trying to explain to Kale that he was allowed a shield. The Jennite, however, kept waving away his words and gesturing impatiently with his sword. Evidently, he was anxious to begin.

The bell-ringer looked away, finding Devlin's eyes across the distance separating them, and waited for direction. Devlin waved for him to proceed—if the Jennite didn't want to take advantage of the rule allowing him the protection of a shield, then so be it. Perhaps losing his head would prompt him to re-think his recklessness.

The bell-ringer acknowledged the command with a nod and turned back to the two men before him, gesturing for them to take their places at three paces apart. The Justice officer did this with alacrity, the Jennite with what looked like sluggish indifference. The bell-ringer leapt back to get himself clear and then raised the large brass bell in his hands.

The Justice officer raised his sword toward Kale, and Kale responded in kind, their blades crossing in the space before them. They held the pose, and the bell-ringer sounded a mighty gong to officially begin the match.

The officer stepped back and spun his wrist, lifting his blade from Kale's and swinging it about low in an effort most likely meant to maim. Kale moved with alarming and unexpected speed to block with his own steel, even while taking a step forward and twisting slightly to drive his left elbow into the officer's face. Before the man had any amount of time to react, Kale had several inches of his sword buried in his chest.

Only because he was so disciplined in controlling his facial expressions did Devlin manage to keep his jaw from dropping. It was over—in the span of only heartbeats, over. Never throughout the entire history of the games had a fight finished so quickly.

The crowd seemed lost to the same shock, as nothing but utter silence reigned as Kale then pulled free his sword and watched the dead Justice officer slump to the ground before him. Then he turned, snapped something at the bell-ringer, and began moving back down the field in the direction of the exit.

The sound of maniacal laughter pulled Devlin's attention back, and he turned to observe King DeSiva pounding the armrests of his chair in a show of amusement. "A fine show!" he bellowed between laughs. Devlin's eyes slipped past him and found those of Cadien Stavrakos, and the two shared an incredibly rare moment of camaraderie as they exchanged identical looks of weary exasperation.

Next to the king, his son was still staring with wide eyes at the field, his gaze fixed upon the dead officer. Unable to offer him any words of reassurance in this public forum, Devlin got to his feet and began striding across the grass.

By this time the audience was mostly recovered from their shock, now raining cheers and wild hollering down upon the field. Others remained silent, perhaps still processing the succinct brutality they'd just witnessed.

Devlin reached center field and came to a pause. It was customary, at this time, for him to hoist the victor's arm and officially declare him the winner, but a quick glance informed him Kale was already moving off the field of play, either oblivious or uncaring to those who cheered his victory.

"I told him he needed to remain until you declared him the winner," the bell-ringer was now informing the jester. "He mumbled something in reply about returning to his bed, and then threatened me against getting in his way."

"Probably best you took his advice," Devlin replied.

"He stank of cheap ale."

Devlin found that information unsurprising, given Kale's appearance. Shrugging, he turned away and raised his arms to gather everyone's attention before shouting, "The winner of our first match is the Jennite Rydin Kale, who will return to the field for round two! We'll see you all back at Eighth-hour for our second duel of the day!"

His announcement, while redundant, was met with wild cheering. He gave the audience a good-natured wave, and then looked to make a quick exit from the field himself, leaving the rest of the royal council to see to the king; his maddened laughter continued to roll outward, intermingling with the sounds of the crowd and likely drawing much unwanted attention. Truthfully, the last thing the city of Aralexia needed was further stories of King DeSiva's slipping sanity.

Following in the unsteady footsteps of Rydin Kale, Devlin moved quickly toward the south end of the field, where the forum emptied into the crush of hundreds of vendors and hawkers congregating to sell their wares. Needing to be back on the field by Eighth-hour for the next match, he was left with less than an hour to locate Oliveah Oslund and approach her in a way that wouldn't appear suspicious to any watching eyes. He had no idea how to accomplish this but pressed on nonetheless, simply hoping the luck Destiny had shown him back in Tyrell would emerge again—for clearly, this was a matter Destiny was most interested in.

Despite his optimism, however, the jester was unable to find any trace of the woman he sought, a misfortune that held up throughout the entire day. A knight won the second round, injuring but not killing his opponent, and two Justice officers faced off in the third. At Tenth-hour the last-born prince of Navosa, Kem Maeda, took the field against the knight Devlin had carefully selected to face him, a man the jester knew well and one who possessed no care for needless killing. It came as a great surprise when Maeda bested the knight, proceeding to then help his opponent back to his feet and shake his hand after defeating him.

The final two duels took a more brutal turn when a Justice officer slashed the throat of the Dhan'Marian mercenary he faced, and then as a knight severed the leg of the foreigner who'd clearly been aiming to kill him. The foreigner bled out and died on the field, but even this failed to eclipse the drama of the day's first match, with the majority of the crowd still talking about Kale's stunning victory as they filed from the forum in search of food, drink, and further entertainment.

Devlin distanced himself from the knightly escort now assembling to bring the king and his son back to the castle, giving his majesty the excuse of having some further games' duties to enact. The king didn't question the statement and simply waved him off, but Devlin knew Stavrakos, overhearing the comment, would now have eyes all over him. Thankfully, long practice had taught him ways to elude those eyes, but still, he'd need to remain careful. Should the treasurer gain even a glimmer of what he was up to, the bloodbath Devlin so feared might be quick to follow, and that was something he couldn't allow to happen until the truth was known.

He left the field and began weaving his way through the crowds, propelled along by the encompassing momentum. After only minutes he spotted two of Stavrakos's spies, but the sheer mass of citizens now emptying into the streets made their task of shadowing him extremely difficult.

Devlin took full advantage of the situation by darting into what turned out to be a small but elegant eatery. The proprietor, standing just inside the door, looked appropriately surprised to find the royal jester suddenly within his place of business and scrambled to please him, offering his finest table as well as much food and drink.

Devlin rapidly deduced that remaining here for a time would only help his purpose, giving Stavrakos's men the opportunity to scatter about in futile efforts to locate him. The idea was further influenced by his rumbling stomach, a protest of his decision to skip lunch earlier in the day, although missed meals were a common occurrence when his birds were not present to sample his food. Stavrakos applied the same practice, as he and Devlin had, on several occasions, attempted to do away with one another in just such a fashion.

He allowed the proprietor to settle him at a private, corner table, and was just sitting back with a glass of wine to await the arrival of his meal when a woman abruptly dropped into the seat across from him. She had a lacy shawl wrapped about her head and hair, leaving only her face visible, but it was a face he had no trouble recognizing. He realized he should've anticipated this.

"I see now why you were so hesitant to give me your name," Madilaine Savannon said quietly, her smoky eyes staring at him from across the table. "Royal jester, we must speak."

His first reaction was to glance about the eatery, which remained largely empty. "How did you find me here?" he came back, seeing nothing suspicious.

"I followed you from the field," she told him simply.

He found it concerning that he hadn't noted her presence, and wondered if he'd missed seeing any more of Stavrakos's spies. He gave the room another searching glance, yielding the same results.

The diviner opened her mouth to continue, but then remained silent as the proprietor reappeared, babbling his apologies for not knowing the royal jester was expecting a guest. He poured another goblet of wine for her and asked how else he could be of service.

"The lady will be joining me for my meal. That is all," Devlin said.

"Very good," the man nodded, hurrying off.

Devlin turned his gaze back to the young woman but didn't speak. He would reveal nothing until she'd divulged her purpose for being here.

She ignored her wine and continued staring at him. "I trust you know of my great-grandmother, Danetria Savannon?"

"Only by reputation," he replied. And certainly, it was a reputation beyond impressive; Danetria Savannon's talents were legendary.

"She has instructed me to trust you," the diviner informed him.

Devlin took this in silently, finding the possible implications worrying. Had this most powerful diviner seen the truth? "What else has she revealed of the situation?" he asked.

Madilaine paused and glanced downward for a moment before replying. "She warned me that to read for the king would mean my death."

He didn't immediately reply, finding the mere possibility of this alarming. It was also highly unlikely to occur, for never would King DeSiva be so foolish as to invite such an intimate glimpse into his life. Although, Devlin further had to admit, his majesty's deepening insanity—and unpredictability—needed to be considered.

He looked back to the woman across from him. "Your great-grandmother is correct. Leave Aralexia immediately, diviner," he urged. "If you value your life at all, you must ensure this reading never takes place."

It was clear she understood the severity of his warning, but even so, she slowly shook her head. "I cannot leave. For it was further divined that my presence here was of great necessity this week."

Devlin allowed himself a frown. Dealing with diviners could be a tricky business, but there didn't seem to be anything to misinterpret here. Moreover, Madilaine had yet to divulge the true reason for her presence, and he suspected he wasn't going to like it.

"It was you who sent the Thieves to the Oslund vineyard, wasn't it?" she then asked.

He stared back at her, expressionless.

She began nodding as she went on. "I don't understand your interest in him, precisely, but you're obviously privy to his destiny. You sent the Thieves to spy."

She knows which of the two I seek!

She also didn't seem to be aware that he still wasn't sure if it was Taleb Okin or Nathon Wythe who held his interest. And admitting this wouldn't give him much validation in her eyes.

"What do you know of it?" he asked, looking back at her mildly.

The diviner worriedly bit down on her lower lip. "Only that blood and death surrounds him, that his purpose in this life is to take the lives of others. But also that he holds to no evil intent."

Devlin worked to stifle a shudder. There it was—all the proof he'd needed, and an assurance that what he was attempting to do, even while risking so many lives in the process, was the correct choice. The future fate of Dhanen'Mar depended on it.

But he revealed none of this. "What do you want from me?" he asked bluntly.

Her response was interrupted by the arrival of their meal, which neither of them so much as glanced at. The proprietor served them personally, then asked if everything appeared adequate.

"Yes. You may go," Devlin told him dismissively.

Madilaine waited until they were again alone before replying. "I was hoping you could tell me how to survive the next fifteen days," she said.

"Your great-grandmother already did that. Stay away from the king." He continued to regard her, and like their meeting in Tyrell, found her an easy read. "What do you really want of me?"

She sighed. "It's clear you're not inclined to share with me what you know. My great-grandmother wasn't either. But that isn't my business."

He was extremely relieved to hear that—apparently Danetria Savannon had foreseen the danger of this information and decided to keep it to herself for the time being.

"Then what do you want?" he asked, picking up his fork to at least give the pretense of eating.

"My concern is for Oliveah," she replied, looking back at him.

He understood at once. Glimpsing the brutal fate awaiting either Nathon or Taleb, Madilaine Savannon was looking for a way to ensure her friend's future safety. By way of Knoxx, Devlin was aware of the complications surrounding Oliveah Oslund and those two men, and therefore had no trouble interpreting the diviner's intent. The problem was, he still didn't know which of them Madilaine was now asking him to oust from Oliveah's life.

He inwardly cursed himself for not simply taking the risk and admitting his ignorance at the start of the conversation. However, since that moment had now passed, he really had no choice but to try and bluff his way through.

He responded by giving Madilaine the address of the bookshop he used for his most secret meetings, such as the one earlier today with the Jennite assassin, and by instructing her to make sure Oliveah was there—alone—in an hour's time. He was accommodating her request for one reason and one reason only: The distraction of a wife was not something the man he sought would need when the time came for him to fulfill his purpose.

"There's something I would ask of you in return," he then added.

"If it's in my power, you've only to speak it," she said.

"Besides being entered in the games, it's been brought to my attention that Nathon Wythe and Taleb Okin have come to Aralexia with the intention of confronting the Thieves they discovered in the Oslund vineyard. I need you to veer them from this path."

Madilaine frowned. "I'm not certain that is within my power, jester."

"I assure you, neither of those Thieves know any details of this, and any interrogation of them would only lead back to me. Also, one is my brother, which should speak to my motivation in seeing they come to no harm."

She began shaking her head, not in denial but rather frustration. "Why can't you just speak to him outright, and end all this secrecy?"

Realizing she was referring to either Taleb or Nathon, he replied accordingly. "He cannot yet know. I require more time to shift other matters into place." He then paused to take in her look, even while stifling the urge to strangle her for unknowingly leaving his interest unnamed. "It has to be this way, diviner. To tell him now would bring only death."

Her eyes were wide as she digested this, and finally she gave a nod. "Oliveah and I will come up with something, a reason to keep them from pursuing the Thieves." Her nodding grew more assured. "We'll figure something out."

That made one less problem he'd have to deal with, leaving only another hundred or so. The intrigues of this week were going to age him twenty years.

"One hour, then," she said, rising from her seat before pausing to deliver a final word. "A warning to you, jester. Oliveah won't be easy to deal with, as she's feeling the weight of a great many concerns and will likely make you their collective target. And perhaps, not undeservedly."

Wonderful. Devlin had angered enough women in his life to know that they could, in some ways, be far more dangerous than men. He predicted this was to be an aggravating confrontation.

"Understood, diviner," he said aloud. Watching her departure, he then sat back and proceeded to run through their entire conversation in his mind, seeking any clue that might've identified either Taleb or Nathon as the man in question. To his irritation he found none, meaning he would have to find a way to make Oliveah slip the information.

He took his time finishing his meal, then left the eatery and started for the bookshop. It was his only haven in the city that Stavrakos didn't know about—or so he hoped—and he therefore kept a vigilant eye out for any of the treasurer's spies as he made his way down one street and up another. He saw nothing and no one suspicious, prompting him to assume his earlier speculation was correct; his delay in the eatery had most likely caused those tailing him to panic and scatter, frantic for any signs of him as they moved in a growing outward perimeter. By this time, they were probably scouring the farthest reaches of the city.

The bookshop, owned and operated by one of his own well-paid spies, was by this hour closed, but Devlin had his own key and let himself inside. He remained positive no one had been tailing him along the darkening streets. Settling on the stool behind the counter, he then prepared himself to wait; there remained another twenty minutes before the appointed meeting time.

Oliveah didn't keep him waiting that long. She hurtled into the shop just minutes later with all the momentum of a tidal wave, slamming the door behind her with enough force so that he was surprised when its glass pane didn't shatter.

"Lady Oslund," he greeted, thinking he'd perhaps underestimated the diviner's warning. The woman now standing before him was clearly enraged, her eyes appearing as shards of green ice settled upon him.

"You'd better start talking, jester, or I'll be out in the streets, shouting about how you sent spies to my home, before you can stop me," she threatened.

Yes, he'd most certainly underestimated the situation.

He stood and started from behind the counter. "Lady Oslund," he said again, stepping toward her, "please calm yourself. Rest assured, I intend to tell you all I know." He reached around her and threw the bolt on the door. "Follow me, if you would."

He heard her coming after him as he made way into the secret room behind the counter. "Sit," he then invited, taking hold of a bottle of wine from the shelf and pouring them each a generous glass. She was seated and staring at him when he turned back to hand her one of the goblets. She took it and placed it onto the table without drinking.

He settled down opposite her and began. "First, please believe I never intended any harm to result of this. I understand some injuries were taken on you family's lands, and apologize for that."

"Injuries?" she repeated incredulously as her eyes smoldered. "What care do I have for those now? He's entered in the games because of what you've done! They both are!" Furiously, she hefted her goblet and threw it at the wall behind him.

He heard the glass shatter but remained unmoved, only now understanding the true reason for her rage. She didn't give a damn about what he was up to—only that he'd inadvertently endangered the lives of the two men she loved by doing it.

"Oliveah," he started delicately, "I'm just as horrified over that particular development as you are."

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "How incredibly foolish you must feel then, as their involvement is entirely your fault."

"Would it ease your worry to know that I've every intention of seeing him from the Challenge alive and intact?" he asked, in a veiled attempt to goad her into revealing the name he sought.

She cocked her head at him slightly. "How so?"

"It's commonly believed that I make the pairings by randomly drawing names, and indeed that is my typical practice. But none would be the wiser should I deviate from this and indulge in a more specific design."

She thought on that silently for a moment. "Do you desire him ousted, or victorious?"

"I want him ejected as quickly as possible."

She nodded. "We're in agreement there, at least. Now tell me why."

He paused briefly. "What do you know?"

"Only what Madi has told me, that he has a destiny that cannot be thwarted. And that this destiny . . . will take precedence over all other concerns in his life." It was obvious those words pained her, but her gaze remained steady as she stared into his eyes.

"You will have to let him go, Oliveah," he told her forthrightly. "Too much is at risk for it to unfold any other way. Send him on his way, and choose the other."

She was now staring at him in a rather shrewd manner, her eyes again narrowed and her lips pursed in thought. He didn't favor the look, and favored it even less after her next words.

"You don't know which of them I speak of, do you?" she asked.

Devlin stared back at her, all the while silently cursing himself. He'd known from their brief conversation in Tyrell that Oliveah was no fool, but evidently he'd still done her a disservice here tonight. Clever enough to have discerned his ignorance, she'd now left him no choice.

"I don't," he finally admitted, "and I need you to tell me."

"Explain yourself first. For no matter how I've tried, I simply cannot fathom why you—or Destiny—would have any such care for an orphaned slave."

He'd known going into this conversation that he would have to tell her the truth of it; there was simply no other way to continue his agenda without enlisting her as an ally. He therefore relayed what he knew, succinctly and without interruption, and in this, at least, her reactions were predictable.

First there was disbelief, followed by shock and horror. Then finally acceptance, leaving her to stare at him from across the table with eyes reddened but dry.

"You understand now, why you can speak of this to no one. Not even the diviner, Oliveah," he cautioned.

"I understand," she repeated hollowly.

"And you understand why you must let him go."

She gave no response to this, her silent stare just going on and on.

"All right," Devlin eventually sighed, losing patience. "I've held up my end. Now, Taleb or Nathon?"

Her voice was hoarse but steady when she replied. "Why would I tell you that now?"

His gaze turned piercing. "Meaning?"

Slowly, she moved to lean across the table toward him. "So far as I see it," she said, her eyes flat as they rested on his, "if you don't know which of them you truly seek, you'll remain incredibly motivated to protect both."

Devlin felt a sudden and intense need to grind his teeth together in frustration. It wasn't often he was outsmarted, and even less so that he underestimated an opponent.

"You really should consider a life here in Aralexia, Lady Oslund," he told her dryly. "For clearly, you can dance with the best of us."

"All I want is to return home," she replied, suddenly sounding tired. "But first, we must find a way to make it through the week."

He decided to make one last-ditch effort. "I swear to do all in my power to see them both safely ousted from the games. But you must tell me what I need to know."

"That's not good enough," she insisted.

"Then what do you propose?"

"Get them both through the Challenge alive. Then, and only then, will I give you the name you want."
Chapter 29

Oliveah found it difficult dragging herself from bed the following morning. She lay there a long while, watching the brightening rays of dawn come slanting through the lacy curtains as Devlin Alvik's words from the night before went on replaying through her mind. Acceptance of the truth remained a struggle.

Finally she pushed her blankets aside and rose into a sitting position. Across the room, Madi's bed was empty and neatly made, with a note left on its pillow. Oliveah got to her feet and approached, observing the diviner's neat scrawl as she took up the small piece of parchment.

At breakfast with the Reifs, it read. We'll return for you when it's time to start for the forum.

Oliveah sighed. Returning from her meeting with the royal jester the night before, she'd headed straight to her room and spoken not a word to anyone. Madi had sat with her in silence, making no inquiries or demands over what she'd learned, and the last thing Oliveah remembered was still being under the diviner's watchful eye when she'd finally drifted off. She would now have to warn Madi that if she spoke with Devlin Alvik again, under no circumstances could she reveal that it was Taleb he was looking for. This information was the only advantage Oliveah had to play, leaving her determined to guard the secret with her very life if necessary.

After dropping the note back onto Madi's pillow, she mechanically began washing and dressing, reminding herself of the need to look presentable since her troupe was performing between matches today. It wasn't an interlude she was looking forward to, as there were now much more important matters on which to focus her attention.

Her troupe had arrived in Aralexia two days earlier, with all members taking up residence in The Green Rose, an inn lying near the center of the city. After much consideration, Oliveah and Madi had then gone to their troupe master, Moriss Tipley, and explained to him that a divination had shown Madi's life to be in danger should she conduct any readings in Aralexia this week. In light of this, their intention was to keep the diviner's presence unannounced, thus preventing her talents from being solicited. Thankfully, Moriss had accepted the explanation and strategy without argument. Furthermore, Madi had taken to shielding her appearance while in public by way of keeping a shawl swathed about her head and shoulders, a precaution Oliveah had warned might be necessary within this city no stranger to Savannons.

Not surprisingly, Taleb and Nathon had somehow determined her location and come calling only hours after her troupe's arrival. She'd left the vineyard two weeks earlier without speaking a word to either of them, still furious over how they'd mocked her concerns, and her temper hadn't cooled much in the interim. Upon learning they'd come to her inn wishing to see her, she'd sent Reavis out to meet them instead, relaying the message that she'd find them once she was ready and not a moment sooner.

Nevertheless, this was a confrontation she could no longer avoid. Her conversation with the jester the night before had shifted all such petty concerns aside, and whether she was ready for it or not she now needed to speak with them as soon as possible. Tracking them down, she presumed, would not be difficult.

She'd had three reasons for not attending yesterday's opening duels, the first being that neither Taleb nor Nathon had been scheduled to fight. Secondly, their lack of participation didn't exclude their attendance, and she hadn't wanted to risk running into them somewhere within the forum. Her final reason spoke to her simple distaste for the games, as she had no desire to watch men fight and die over a silly sackful of gold; in this she tended to agree with Madi, viewing the event as savage rather than entertaining.

Still, this point of view hadn't stopped the diviner from attending. Just hours prior to the initial duel, she'd chanced upon one of the leaflets floating about the city listing the day's combatants and discovered Rydin Kale's name upon it. Professing concern for his safety she'd then insisted on being present for his match, attending in the company of Sabian and Eugan Reif. Locating the Reifs was a task Oliveah had enacted immediately after learning of Sabian's upcoming role to lead Madi to one of the legendary Catalyst Stones, yet another truth she was having trouble comprehending.

After Madi's departure with the Reifs, she'd not seen the diviner again until she returned to their inn bearing the news that "Elvin Vikdal" was in reality Devlin Alvik, royal jester to King DeSiva, and that he wished to meet with her. Madi had further confirmed his responsibility for sending the mage gifted with invisibility to her family's vineyard, and with the sole intention of spying on Taleb. Oliveah now knew this had been an effort to determine whether Taleb or Nathon was the man Alvik was seeking, a confirmation—thank all the Patrons—that hadn't been made.

Setting out for her meeting with Devlin Alvik the evening before, she'd felt confused as well as afraid, but eclipsing these emotions had been fury. Armed only with the speculation that the jester's actions had something to do with the Destiny Madi had glimpsed about Taleb, her intention had been to unload the totality of her rage upon him for his intrusion, for royal jester or not, she believed him completely responsible for both men now being entered in the Challenge.

As matters stood now, she knew Alvik to be no less concerned about this than she was, at least in regard to Taleb, and that his feelings weren't without cause. The reality was, if mishap, accident, or landing on the wrong side of a duel was to take Taleb's life, it was entirely possible Dhanen'Mar itself would suffer. Then again, would Destiny truly allow Death to steal him, before his purpose even had a chance to be realized?

She didn't know and wasn't interested in taking the risk, a viewpoint the jester obviously shared given his determination to see both men alive through the competition. His task would begin the next day with Nathon, and continue the following with Taleb. Despite knowing Alvik would be doing his best to manipulate the outcome, Oliveah was anticipating those upcoming matches with utter terror. How she was to endure sitting in the audience, watching them fight, she didn't know.

But that particular worry would be left for tomorrow; today's task involved finding a way to prevent the two from seeking out Flynn Fajen and his magically-gifted companion—Devlin Alvik's own brother, the diviner had informed her. At present, she had no idea how to go about this, but aimed to figure out a workable plan sometime in the next couple of hours. She was further assuming Taleb and Nathon's confrontation with Fajen hadn't happened yet, since it was unlikely to have taken place without the jester's knowing.

Withholding another sigh, she tied off the laces of her dress and began running a comb through her hair when the door opened behind her. Looking back, she watched Madi enter the room and shoot her an apprehensive look.

"Close the door and take a seat," Oliveah told her, setting her comb aside. "We need to discuss a few things before setting out for the day."

Madi did as asked, settling into the chair next to the window. "The jester revealed something more of Taleb, didn't he?" she said.

Oliveah moved to take a seat on the bed across from her. "He did, although I cannot speak of it to you. I hope you understand."

Madi simply nodded; if there was one thing a diviner understood, it was the need to keep certain truths unspoken.

"The thing is," Oliveah continued, "Alvik doesn't know for certain that it's Taleb he's searching for, and you must take extreme care not to tell him." She then went on to briefly explain how she'd manipulated the jester into protecting both men throughout the course of the Challenge.

The diviner took it all in silently. "Any thoughts on how we're going to keep them from pursuing the Thieves?" she asked once Oliveah had finished.

Oliveah frowned, thinking. "No, but I think it best I speak with them."

"With the Thieves?"

"Yes. Fajen, at least, is likely stationed in the gambling tent, so I can easily seek him out between matches."

Madi looked at her. "Great-grandmother did say to expect their aid."

Oliveah nodded. "It's possible this is the scenario she was referencing. But either way, we need to remain vigilant. Nathon and Taleb are Alvik's responsibility, but your life remains in danger too so long as we're in Aralexia. Has Sabian yet told you where the Ruby Stone is hidden?"

It was Madi's turn to frown. "Only that it lies beyond the borders of Dhanen'Mar. He says he'll reveal its specific location at the conclusion of the week, once our party is complete. He's of the opinion that we'll require a guardian if we're to have any hope of living long enough to actually collect the Stone."

Oliveah took that in worriedly. Should she send Taleb with Madi? Getting him out of the country for a time might help keep him safe, but further prove disastrous should he fail to return by the time he was needed. She finally decided her wisest move was to ask Sabian Reif for further guidance on the matter, as it appeared his ghosts knew much.

"What time is Eugan's match?" she asked now, not bothering to disguise her dread. Eugan Reif was Lord Guerin's son, and someone she'd known for most of her life. Entertaining the possibility that he might die today left her feeling physically ill.

"Tenth-hour," Madi informed her. "His match is the fourth."

Her troupe was slated to perform between the third duel and the fourth, meaning she'd have to sing before learning Eugan's fate. She decided to speak with Fajen, and also Taleb and Nathon, before having to take the field, since her nerves would be shaky enough without having these confrontations looming over her.

"All right," she said, gathering her determination and rising to her feet. "Let's get to it then, shall we?"

They found Sabian and Eugan awaiting them downstairs, along with Reavis who'd apparently decided to join them. Oliveah was glad for his company, for his light-hearted and fun-filled approach to life would surely be in need today. Leaving the inn, they found the streets bustling as hundreds moved toward the arena to witness the days' matches, with the surrounding chatter a recount of yesterday's duels. Overhearing snippets of this, Oliveah suddenly remembered that she'd yet to ask Madi how the Jennite had fared.

The diviner grimaced slightly at the question, prompting Reavis to answer.

"It was the quickest fight in the history of the Challenge," he said with an amused snort. "Kale defeated his opponent in about two breaths."

Oliveah glanced at Madi in surprise, then back to Reavis. "Did he kill him?" she asked.

"Yes," he told her, "and were I entered in the games, I'd now be praying to all the Patrons not to be drawn against him."

Oliveah looked at Madi again, and the diviner just shrugged back. Oliveah hoped this meant her friend now intended to keep her distance from the Jennite, as clearly he was an exceedingly dangerous man.

Madi shifted her gaze onto Eugan. "Who are you facing today?" she inquired.

"A Dhan'Marian from the east, here from the mountain regions," he replied in an even tone. Eugan was twenty-six years old and yellow-haired like his cousin Sabian. Trained with the sword since his youth, he nonetheless wasn't here on the well-wishes of his father, Lord Guerin. Evidently an epic row had taken place over the matter.

"Are you nervous?" Madi pressed, still watching him.

Eugan grinned at her. "Should I be, diviner?"

She smiled back. "I would tell you if I knew."

Oliveah sidled closer to Sabian as they continued through Aralexia's streets, seeing no sense in wasting the opportunity.

"Sabian," she said to him quietly.

He turned to her, his dark eyes locking onto her gaze. "You understand who he is now," he stated with certainty.

"Yes," she nodded, "and I was hoping your ghosts could assist me in regard to his future safety."

"How so?"

"Once this week has passed, am I to send him with you and Madi?"

Sabian smiled slowly. "An interesting thought—but no, and rest assured the question of his well-being has now gained the attention of a much higher authority. Do not meddle, friend Oliveah; so long as he survives the Challenge, he'll land on the path he's meant to."

She interpreted do not meddle to mean don't stand in his way, and she glanced over to see Madi, Reavis, and Eugan still lost to their own conversation before turning back. "I believe I understand, Sabian. But then who is the guardian meant to journey with you and Madi to find the Stone?"

He began nodding. "That answer will come to you, but first you must see her through the week alive. Accomplish this successfully, and the matter will become clear." He paused to then acknowledge her look of exasperation. "You desire a name, but I cannot provide what I do not know."

"Your ghosts won't tell it to you?"

"I'm afraid this answer eludes even him."

Oliveah didn't ask after the identity of him, nor speak again until they arrived at the grounds just outside the arena, the makeshift marketplace thronging with thousands of spectators eagerly awaiting the days' first match. Easily spotted was the large, dark-blue tent erected at its center, the place where everyone knew the Thieves conducted their gambling business. Eyeing this tent, she then professed hunger due to missing breakfast, and urged everyone to continue into the forum and find seats while she sought something to eat.

"We can wait," Reavis told her.

She shook her head. "Given the look of these lines I'll be at least ten minutes, and I don't want you to miss the start of the match. Best if you all just go on ahead and secure decent seating."

Madi caught on to her intentions and immediately began waving herself with the small cloth fan she'd pulled from her satchel. "I'd like to sit down," she said, fanning away. "This heat is stifling, and the walk has left me a trifle fatigued."

"We'd best get you inside then," Eugan nodded.

Sabian was looking from Oliveah to Madi with a small smile.

"Reavis," Oliveah spoke up, preemptively cutting off his next protest, "go with them so you know where they're sitting. Then you can return and lead me."

"Very well," he agreed.

Oliveah waited until they'd disappeared from sight before turning and making straight away for the Thieves' tent. The crowd was thinning rapidly now as more people made their way into the arena, but a swarm remained about her destination and she was forced to push her way through the main flap, elbowing several people aside in the process.

It was uncomfortably warm within and she paused to cast a quick glance about. In the direct center of the tent the Thieves had posted a board listing the names of the days' combatants as well as the times of their duels, and all five persons manning the booth were busy taking bets. Flynn Fajen was easy to identify and Oliveah made her way toward him, waiting impatiently as he finished with the man before her.

The Thieves' commander completed the bet, and then fixed her in his blue gaze as she stepped forward. "Who do you favor?" he asked, clearly having no idea who she was.

She stared back at him. "My name is Oliveah Oslund, and I believe you made a visit to my family's vineyard a few weeks back? I think we'd best speak."

His reaction surprised her.

"They've sent you after me now?" he snorted, rolling his eyes. "Let me guess, you're to lead me into an ambush of some sort? This is pathetic."

She was confused. "Ambush? No, of course not."

"Well, your men have been stalking me ever since I arrived in the city. I'm not normally so pretentious, you should know," he waved.

Oliveah turned to follow his gesture, seeing men positioned in every corner of the tent and all watching her with undisguised suspicion. Beginning to understand, she looked back.

"This is precisely why I've come to speak with you. Together, I think we can find a way to free you of this . . . inconvenience," she told him.

Fajen raised a dark eyebrow. "You know the truth of this? Because I don't."

She lowered her tone considerably. "I've spoken with Devlin Alvik, yes."

He blew out a breath. "All right. Come with me." He then proceeded to vault over the countertop and start toward the tent's rear flap, waving away his guard as they moved to follow. Holding back the canvas, he gestured for Oliveah to exit.

Back outside, the marketplace was now almost deserted, a telling sign that the first match was about to begin. They moved several paces away from the tent and then faced each other.

"First and foremost," Fajen began, looking down at her with his arms crossed over his chest, "whatever the jester told you, you can keep it to yourself. I want nothing to do with his sorts of business."

Oliveah nodded, thinking Flynn Fajen a wise man. "I'm sorry if Taleb and Nathon have been a nuisance to you," she then told him, "but they know nothing more than that a couple of Thieves infiltrated the lands they swore to protect."

"So tell them the truth of it and let them go after the jester. This is his mess, after all."

Oliveah paused. "I'm afraid that isn't possible."

"Why not?"

"I thought you didn't want to know?"

He sighed. "Do you have some manner of solution in mind, or are you just wasting my time?"

"I'm seeking a reason to divert their interest in you, one they'll accept without fuss."

"Well," Fajen mused, "Knoxx said he attempted misleading them, saying he was only in the vineyard to hide out from Justice."

"Knoxx is the mage? When did this happen?"

"I believe while one of your men was trying to run him down with a sword."

Oliveah gestured in sudden excitement. "This is perfect!"

"Yes?"

She nodded. "As you must know, there's now a law banning all Thieves from Tyrell. It would only be sensible to say your mage was taken unaware, too afraid to reappear and risk being hanged by the Legion. He bolted into the vineyard in fear for his life, but upon discovery, sent for you in a desperate bid for rescue."

"Well, the last part is accurate enough."

She nodded again. "I believe I can make them accept this. Just be certain to inform your mage—Knoxx, is it?—of the circumstances, in the event they still feel inclined to question him. But this should certainly eliminate any further threat of violence."

The Cejan looked unconvinced. "Given the fact they're War-born, I wouldn't count on that," he told her. "And in that same vein, you're forgetting the reality of our exchanged wounds, which takes the situation to an entirely different level."

She raised an eyebrow, blatantly observing his Secondary of Revenge. "Are you truly seeking a rematch?"

"Against men crazy enough to enter the Challenge?" he came back. "No. But if they don't back off soon my associates may take matters into their own hands, and I won't feel especially compelled to stop them. Consider this a warning, should your plan fail."

"It won't fail," she snapped. "Besides, even Thieves wouldn't dare harm Challenge participants."

He shrugged back at her in a non-committal fashion, and she stalked away before her irritation got the better of her. Until she found a way to diffuse the situation, it looked as though she had cause to worry about Nathon and Taleb's safety both on and off the field. Curse Fajen and his entire lot of Thieves.

She was still storming blindly away when she heard her name called, and she turned distractedly to see Reavis hurrying toward her

"Have you still not gotten any food?" he asked with a frown as he closed in. "What have you been doing all this time?"

"I ate everything already," she quickly lied.

"Oh. Well, if we hurry, we can still make the start of the match."

Oliveah nodded and followed after him wordlessly, through the marketplace and into the teeming forum. Madi and the Reifs, she discovered, had found relatively fair seating, near to mid-field although atop one of the highest rows. Oliveah didn't mind the distance, as she had no desire to be any nearer the impending violence than necessary. Sliding onto the bench beside Madi, the two shared a quick glance.

"I caught sight of Nathon before we found our seats, and we exchanged a quick word," the diviner murmured. "He and Taleb will meet you after the second match."

"Where?" Oliveah fired, relieved.

"I told him The Bouncing Beggar. It's a small tavern just a couple blocks over. I thought you might prefer a more private setting."

"That will do nicely. Thank you, Madi."

The diviner nodded absently.

Any further conversation was then silenced as the official bell-ringer called the first combatants to the field. One was a Justice officer, and the other a Dhan'Marian no one seemed to know anything about. Oliveah wondered if Devlin Alvik did; she could see him down there, sitting beside King DeSiva in the box of royal seating and no doubt exuding nothing of his many internal burdens. She was torn between having a great sympathy for him and loathing his very existence, and since she had reason to do both, was left in a place of mixed emotions. But her personal opinions mattered little now, in any case.

Tearing her eyes from the jester, she looked to the duelists and began steeling herself; knowing she would be watching Nathon at this tomorrow, she figured she'd better prepare herself as best she could. Nevertheless, she found herself wincing when the bell-ringer officially began the duel.

The opening match, as it was, did not prove painful to watch. It lasted only five minutes or so, and resulted in the Justice officer's merciful victory. After successfully disarming his opponent, he simply held his sword point to the other man's throat for a few beats and then backed away, allowing him to live. By the sounds of the crowd around her, Oliveah determined many approved of the honorable conclusion, while others found disappointment in the lack of bloodshed.

The second match had a very different result. It pitted a foreigner from the country of Kolasa against one of the knights of King DeSiva's royal guard, and with the first clash it became clear both men intended to kill the other. The knight eventually prevailed, slashing open his opponent's middle, but not before taking a serious injury that required immediate care from the Healers.

Oliveah was happy to leave the arena directly following this, trying to erase the mental image of the Kalasian's guts spilling out of him. She thought there was something very wrong with their world that so many people found this sort of thing entertaining—or with their king, who not only allowed, but encouraged, these brutal rules.

Leaving Madi, Reavis, and the Reifs behind, she immersed herself in the crowd and started for The Bouncing Beggar. Her anxiety over confronting Nathon and Taleb had by this time completely vanished, a direct result of her urgency to deter them from confronting the Thieves. It was very tempting to again begin cursing the jester for this mess, but knowing he was risking his life to protect Taleb wasn't something she could ignore, and for this reason couldn't bring herself to hate him.

Reaching the tavern, she stepped inside and glanced about. It was a small establishment presently keeping few customers, although this was likely to change now the time had fallen between matches. Not seeing Taleb or Nathon, she settled into a corner table and gave the barmaid an order of two ales plus a glass of blueberry juice for herself. Yet to eat anything today, she found she had no interest in food.

The beverages were brought to her in short time, and just minutes later Taleb and Nathon moved through the door. She waved them over, and then studied their expressions as they drew near and took seats across from her. Nathon appeared wary, probably anticipating another furious demand for them to withdraw from the Challenge. Taleb seemed at ease, but carried a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. She found herself staring at him for a long moment, as what she now knew tumbled about in her mind. What an unfair hand fortune has dealt you, she thought. He finally raised his eyebrows at her scrutiny, looking amused.

"Madi said you wished to see us?" Nathon asked cautiously.

Oliveah took hold of her jumbled thoughts and nodded back at him. "First," she began, "let me assure you this has nothing to do with your participation in the games. The futility of that argument has already been realized."

Nathon sighed. "You left us in an unfair position, Oliveah."

She held up a hand. "I'm not here to discuss that either."

The two exchanged a look, which she was unable to interpret.

"I asked you here," she started again, "to talk about the Thieves. I know you've been stalking Flynn Fajen, and it needs to stop."

"We'll stop once we know why he and his lackey came onto the vineyard," Taleb told her, frowning faintly.

She gave him a tight smile in return. "Then we have no issue, for I spoke with Fajen myself this very morning."

"Alone?" Nathon demanded.

"What were you thinking?" Taleb followed quickly, his frown now severe.

"I wasn't in danger," she told them. "A calm, reasonable discussion seemed the best way to handle the matter, and so it was. Perhaps you shouldn't always be so quick to take to violence."

Nathon turned his eyes to the wall for a long moment, saying nothing, and Taleb took a long pull of his ale. She watched them curiously, not understanding their silence, then said, "Are you not curious to know what I discovered?"

"Of course," Nathon replied somewhat shortly, dragging his eyes back to her.

She noted both now seemed irritated, but went on. "It seems the situation was nothing more than a misunderstanding," she started again.

"Tell that to my leg," Nathon muttered.

She ignored the remark, as well as Taleb's smirk, and continued. "The mage found himself threatened by the ban on Thieves," she explained. "He panicked and decided to conceal himself within the vineyard until he could discern a safe escape from the area."

Nathon stared at her, clearly trying to find a way to not accuse her of being an imbecile. "Oliveah," he began slowly, "the man's gifted with invisibility. It would've been a simple thing for him to make his way from Tyrell without notice."

She nodded, having expected this. "Certainly, had he not been on the very verge of exhaustion and unable to make it much farther without becoming visible. Finding himself near the vineyard, his desperation caused him to sneak onto the grounds, where he intended no harm."

Now Taleb was staring at her. "Then why didn't he just rest long enough to regain his strength, and then sneak off in the same manner he snuck on?"

"He tried," she insisted, now improvising on the fly, "and was very near to making his exit when I ran into him, the act that ultimately led to his discovery. He sent the crow to Fajen for help, and surely you're familiar with the remainder of the tale." She paused to take in their skeptical expressions. "Still you're in doubt? Then explain to me why no one was harmed, or nothing even stolen, the entire time he was present?"

When neither offered a response, she nodded, even while hoping desperately that this had been enough to convince them.

"Regardless of your explanations, evidently I again need to remind you that I was, in fact, stabbed," Nathon finally pointed out.

She glared at him. "Yes, but due only to self-defense! Correct me if I'm wrong, but you incited the violence."

Nathon looked back at the wall.

Taleb was rubbing his forehead.

Sensing she was very near to gaining their acceptance, she decided to change tactics. Widening her eyes, she stared at them. "Don't you understand that I went to Fajen for your own benefit? So there would be nothing to distract you from your duels?" A tear began to dribble from her eye, starting down her cheek. "Now, your entire focus will be free to concentrate on surviving the week."

Nathon was the first to relent, which didn't surprise her; it was a rare occurrence indeed when the sight of her tears didn't weaken him.

"All right, Oliveah," he sighed. "We'll stay clear of the Thieves."

She slid her gaze over to Taleb. Predictably, he was proving more stubborn, just staring back at her in silence. But he'd always been this way, unrelenting and defiant, although these were traits she could now only hope would be of aid to him when it came time to embrace his future. Tears didn't work quite so well with him, but he wasn't immune to them either, and she squeezed out a few more while continuing to hold his eye.

"Please Taleb," she then implored him. "I have worry enough for your upcoming duels, and can't carry the burden of yet another threat. My heart simply won't bear it."

He looked like he wanted to punch something, but finally gave in and swore to stay away from all Thieves—at least until the conclusion of the week. Oliveah felt a crushing wave of relief at her victory, and entertained not a shred of guilt for manipulating them as she had. When it came to the matter of their very lives, she'd use any means necessary to keep them safe.

With this issue settled, she finally acknowledged the hunger she'd been ignoring all day and suggested lunch. While sharing a platter of sandwiches and vegetables the conversation remained light, an obvious attempt on all their parts to avoid mention of the games or any other potentially inflammatory subject. One further matter also remained unacknowledged, and Oliveah was certain they were just as aware of it as she was given the sense of tension in the air. Naturally, they were still waiting on her decision.

But this was something now out of her hands, a choice made for her, and while such a conclusion should've brought relief she found herself feeling precisely the opposite. Sneaking glances at Taleb, she was forced to stifle a spike of panic at realizing she might never see him again after this week, and in an attempt to counter-balance her despair she tried envisioning her life with Nathon. It didn't entirely work, and she had to admit, to herself at least, that she still couldn't bear the thought of losing either of them.

They started back to the arena after their meal, finding Madi, Reavis, and the Reifs in their seats drinking flagons of juice. Squeezing in, Oliveah settled herself between Nathon and Taleb to observe the third match of the day. The combatants in this duel included a Dhan'Marian born to Death and a Jennite born to Justice. The native prevailed, and the Jennite left the field alive but minus his left arm; the Healers on the sidelines rushed in to cauterize the wound, eliciting a long, tortured scream.

"We'd best start down, Oliveah," Reavis spoke up, leaning across Taleb to take her in. "Everyone's already convening on the field."

Oliveah stared at him, then blinked in realization before glancing to take in her troupe-mates gathering below. She'd completely forgotten about their performance. "Do you know the song list?" she demanded frantically, bolting to her feet and pushing past Taleb.

Reavis dug around in his pocket as they descended to ground level, finally withdrawing a crumpled piece of parchment. She snatched it out of his hand and unfolded it quickly.

Reavis laughed at her. "I thought I was the disorganized one."

She ran her eye down the list of musical numbers. Seven songs in all would be performed, with she and Reavis taking the lead for four, in addition to one she was to sing alone accompanied by a small choir. Seeing this particular song on the list, she couldn't help but give a small smile.

"I know all these as well as my own name," she told him with relief. Flubbing a performance not only in front of an audience this size, but before the very king himself, would've been a devastating blow for her entire troupe, but mercifully these were all songs she could perform in her sleep. Upon reaching the field she strode forward with renewed confidence, no longer the least bit nervous and just wanting to get this over with so she could shift her thoughts back to more important matters.

The entire royal council remained in their boxed seating to view the performance, and as she drew near she couldn't help but glance at Devlin Alvik. He didn't appear to notice her, but she wouldn't have wagered on that being true. Next to him, the king was drinking wine and watching the assembling performers, and then she inadvertently caught the eye of his son, Prince Luken. She quickly averted her gaze and dropped into a curtsy, to which he responded with a smile and nod.

Turning away, she saw Reavis already nearing center field and hurried to join him. Her harp—a replacement for the one smashed at the Tulan ball—already sat awaiting her, along with a various assortment of other instruments meant for her fellow musicians.

Oliveah took her place next to Reavis, a position at mid-field but facing the king and his council, and moments later, they began the first number.

With the notes and lyrics so familiar to her Oliveah gave very little thought to her performance, knowing only that she was delivering without fault, having given herself over entirely to the music. Nothing made her feel so alive as this, allowing for no thoughts or feelings but those the music itself brought forth.

They ran through the first six numbers flawlessly, and then she moved to take the forefront, alone with her harp for the final song. Reavis remained a few steps back, positioned to lead the small choir positioned behind. She paused slightly before plucking the opening note, wondering if Fate was now sending her a message, one meant to reassure her of the decision that had now been taken from her. For while the deeper tale behind the song had long ago been lost and forgotten, every country the world over recognized swans as the symbol for eternal love, and never could she hear this song and not think of Nathon.

Oliveah struck the harp string and began to sing Angus and the Swan, knowing he would be smiling as he listened.

"Angus asleep, she came to see him

From her knew the sweetest tune

Then, when he begged her to take his hand

She spread away from his dream

He stared that morning, he couldn't tell

Where she had gone, where she was from

Sick at his heart

Falling in love with the bird from the fairytales

Seeking advice from Fergne

"It is fated for you to love only her."

Where did she fly?

Seeking the truth in these dreams

They tell him to love only her

Where did she fly?

Where did she fly?

Where does she hide?

"Swan" he called her

Three times fifty swans around her

Two swin through the gates of eternity

Three times fifty swans around her

Two swin through the gates of eternity

Through the gates of eternity."
Chapter 30

"You look deranged when you smile like that."

Nathon glanced over as the final notes of Angus and the Swan faded out from below. "I like this song."

"So do I, although I've never understood what a "swin" is meant to be."

"A soul-twin," Nathon explained.

Taleb shrugged. "In any case, Oliveah could sing the vineyard's weekly inventory report and make it sound good. In fact, I had her do it once just to prove the point."

Nathon didn't doubt it; her voice had brought her much renown from even the farthest reaches of Dhanen'Mar, and the crowd was now cheering wildly while raining flowers onto the musicians below. He watched as Oliveah and her troupe took their bows, turned to make a brief show of obeisance to the king and his council, and then drifted from the field. Continuing to follow her with his eyes, he was left to wonder if she'd specifically picked that song to sing today, or whether it was a random selection of her troupe-master. Finally he decided it didn't matter, as it boded positively either way.

"We'd best start down, cousin," Sabian Reif's voice then slid through the lingering shouts of the crowd. "Tenth-hour draws near."

Nathon looked over at the Reifs. While true he found Sabian mildly unsettling, he considered Eugan a friend, having known the man for many years due to the close relationship of Lords Ean and Guerin. He was searching for signs of nervousness in Eugan now, mostly in an attempt to anticipate his own feelings when this moment came for him the following day.

Eugan appeared calm but focused as he got to his feet. Nathon knew he'd entered the competition mainly just to bring some prestige to the Reif name, and wondered if Eugan was now rethinking that strategy. His face gave no hint.

"Wait!" Madi suddenly cried, leaping to her feet.

Eugan paused, turning back to the diviner with a quick smile. "This might not be the best time to finally answer if I've reason to be nervous."

She shook her head as her hand disappeared into her satchel. "It isn't that. I wanted to give you something for luck." Her hand emerged holding a small, dried sprig of sea lavender, and she held it out to him. "It's known to aid its wearer in success whatever their venture," she explained.

"A token of fortune from Lady Madilaine herself," Eugan smiled, taking the purplish-blue flowers. "Certainly, there's now little cause to doubt my victory." He tucked the sprig securely into his waistband.

Madi smiled and nodded at him.

Sabian rose to start down to the field with his cousin, and both Nathon and Taleb wished Eugan luck as he moved past. Once the Reifs had vanished into the crowd, Nathon resettled himself onto the bench and turned to the diviner.

"You wouldn't happen to have any more of those, would you?" he asked her with utter seriousness.

She studied him a moment, her look discerning, before smiling widely. "I'm afraid not. Feeling nervous?"

He thought truthfully on his answer before replying. "Not nervous precisely. More so, curious."

As it happened, much of what Oliveah had screamed at him and Taleb back at the vineyard was true; while both were gifted with the sword, neither had ever truly be tested. The games of the King's Challenge, however, were commonly regarded as the test of all tests, and Nathon looked forward to finally revealing an accurate determination of his skill. So far, and with the likely exception of the Jennite Rydin Kale, he felt he could've pulled off a win over any of the combatants to have yet dueled.

Madi appeared to contemplate his response before her eyes shifted past him to Taleb. "And you Taleb?" she asked. "Your match takes place in two days, yes?"

"Yes, although I'd have it now if I could," he responded forthrightly. "In all truth, I look forward to getting past the first round so those of us left can get on to the more serious fighting."

The diviner seemed at a loss for words following this statement, simply staring at him for a long moment before looking back to Nathon. "Confident, isn't he?" she murmured.

Nathon grinned. While his own participation in the Challenge sought little more than peace of mind, Taleb seemed possessed of a need to prove himself before the very world. Nathon was very much hoping they wouldn't be made to face each other during any of the rounds, for he doubted he'd be coming from the match the victor.

"Don't sell him short," he replied to the diviner in a low tone. "I wouldn't be surprised to see him take the gold."

Her look turned cryptic.

"I heard that," Taleb spoke up. "But if you truly meant it, why haven't you place a wager on me?"

Nathon turned to him with a frown. "That isn't likely to happen. Especially now."

The two shared a disgruntled look. Neither was happy with the promise Oliveah had cleverly wrangled out of them, dictating they stay clear of all Thieves for the remainder of the week. Nathon still didn't know what to think of her story explaining their presence at the vineyard, but it was true he could discern no other likely scenario. For the time being, he was willing to let the matter go.

Although, his curiosity over the mysterious Elvin Vikdal would not be so easily quelled, the man who'd spoken to Oliveah during the Ardin's Pride festival and claimed knowledge of both Lord Ean and either Taleb or himself. This puzzle grated at him, refusing to completely leave his mind.

"In any case," Madi was informing them now, "it's not permissible for the combatants to gamble on each other."

Nathon frowned again. "But technically, the betting is all illegal anyway."

"True," she nodded. "But the blind eye given by Justice doesn't extend to the participants. A few got caught at it several years ago and were banned from the competition, as well as fined. They were driven out of Aralexia in disgrace."

Taleb looked at him. "I guess you'll just have to find another way to earn your fortune."

"Regardless," Nathon responded, "I wouldn't have been foolish enough to wager on anyone before seeing the warlord take the field. In case you've not heard the talk in the city, most are simply assuming he's going to win."

Taleb seemed to consider, then looked to Madi questioningly.

"The warlords always win," she said in reply.

"And in what sorts of conditions do they typically leave their opponents?" Nathon asked.

"Warlords won't kill if they can avoid it," she told them. "I believe they view it as dishonorable." She paused. "However, it's extremely rare for the final match to conclude with both men still alive, whether a warlord is amongst the pair or not."

Nathon nodded. Should he be selected to face the warlord entered this year, knowing his kind didn't kill unnecessarily would certainly prove comforting. Her words regarding the final match of the games, scheduled to occur on the last day of the week, were somewhat more concerning, although not a surprise. Naturally it would be this duel, a fight between the last two men standing, that would prove the most brutal.

Pulled from his thoughts, Nathon spotted Oliveah and Reavis now moving toward them, squeezing through the crowd to reclaim their seats. Her face carried the familiar glow of post-performance exhilaration, her eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed. Watching her, Nathon couldn't determine whether she was ready to give up this life that, despite its constant mix of highs and lows, brought her such overwhelmingly joy. If not, he saw no issue; so long as he knew she planned on returning to him, he was perfectly willing to wait a few more years until she was ready to settle and begin a family. But that decision still lay ahead, and it was clear she didn't intend to voice it before the conclusion of the week; something he was grateful for, as he had to admit he probably wouldn't be in the best frame of mind to duel should matters not fall his way.

She was now settling herself between him and Taleb, the look in her eyes taking on a sheen of nervousness as she glanced about.

"Did I miss Eugan?" she fretted. "I wanted to wish him luck before his match."

"Yes, but not to worry, for Madi presented him with some sea lavender," he assured her.

"Oh—yes, all right then," Oliveah nodded.

Nathon didn't truly believe the token would lend any impact to the outcome of the duel, and doubted Oliveah did either. Influencing a situation such as this would require items vastly more substantial than only a few flowers, although he couldn't speak to what they might be. Little question the diviner could tell him if he asked.

Eugan's duel began just minutes later when the bell-ringer struck his brass bell. Nathon saw Oliveah wince before the first blow was even dealt, and felt an immediate flash of guilt at realizing what he and Taleb would be putting her through when taking the field for their own fights. It was too late to change things now though, and the best they could do was simply try to keep themselves alive.

Eugan landed a deep slash across his opponent's shoulder early on, drawing an excited cheer from the crowd, but then failed in making a successful block and took his own wound across the back of his thigh. Both men were dripping blood as they paused briefly to regroup, circling slowly. Oliveah, by this time, had a death grip on Nathon's arm, and after a quick glance he saw she had a similar grasp on Taleb to her other side. He was seriously considering telling her not to even be present for their upcoming fights, but suspected she wouldn't listen.

Eugan and his opponent were now back to trading blows, and to Nathon's eye, looked to be possessed of a similar skill—well-trained and practiced, but somewhat short of exceptional. Eugan managed to land another strike to his opponent's side, blocked the retaliation, and then swept his blade in toward the other man's neck.

The crowd seemed to almost gasp as one as sudden silence reigned, all waiting to see if Eugan would follow through with the strike or let his adversary, whose movements had now frozen in place, live. Eugan held to the position several moments, and then stepped back and withdrew his sword with a flourish.

The majority of spectators cheered him, the more bloodthirsty booed him, and Oliveah's fingers slowly prised themselves from Nathon's flesh.

"Oh—sorry," she said, looking surprised to see the bloody marks her fingernails had left on his and Taleb's arms.

"I'm thinking it might be wise to don armor tomorrow, once Nathon takes the field," Taleb commented, inspecting his arm.

Nathon grinned. "A shield might not be a bad idea either."

Oliveah glared at them. "Could the two of you be any more insensitive?"

"With ease, actually," Taleb said.

She threw an arm up at him. "I don't want to hear it! Now, I'm going to give Eugan my congratulations, and then start back to my inn. I've seen enough violence for one day." She stood and looked over. "Madi, Reavis? Are you coming or staying?"

The diviner rose on Nathon's other side. "I've no reason to stay, now Eugan's fight is over."

Reavis was also rising. "I'll see you both back to the inn."

Nathon looked up and over at him. "We can escort them, if you want to stay for the remaining fights."

Reavis shook his head. "The first round bores me."

Nathon didn't really understand how anyone could find a single aspect of the games boring, per se, but then he tended to understand very little when it came to Reavis. "Very well," he nodded.

Oliveah turned to him. "Yours is the final duel tomorrow?"

"Yes. At Eleventh."

"All right," she muttered.

"We'll come for you a little after Tenth," Taleb told her.

She nodded in wordless acceptance and started off, following Reavis as he pushed his way toward the aisle. Madi trailed after them, looking, as she often did, lost in her own thoughts.

As it happened, Nathon was glad Oliveah hadn't stayed to observe the final two duels of the day. The first saw a Justice officer paired off with a man from Veron, a country on the opposite side of the continent, and resulted in being one of the most brutal fights of the Challenge so far. The Justice officer eventually prevailed, leaving his opponent decapitated on the field below; an act which evidently proved too much for some of the women in the audience, for Nathon saw at least a handful of them sicking up at the sight.

The final match saw two Dhan'Marians face off, and both fought with the hearts, if not the skills, of warriors. Each were riddled with an incalculable number of wounds, both minor and serious, as well as drenched in blood, by the time one finally grew sloppy due to his obvious exhaustion. The other pounced on the opening, and then it seemed his foot slipped in some spilt blood, causing him to unintentionally bore almost completely through the other man's chest.

It was a grim conclusion to the second day of the first round, seeing three men dead and bringing the total to six already killed in the competition. Basically, this evidenced fully half of the men defeated could expect to die here. Nathon found such odds alarming.

They departed from the forum with the rest of the crowd, lost in the crush of people now spilling into Aralexia's streets in droves. Nathon was unused to such activity and having difficulty adapting to the way of things here in Dhanen'Mar's largest city, but also trying to keep an open mind. He suspected that come weeks' end, however, he'd be very happy to start back to the vineyard.

Finding the streets more or less a maze when awash with so many moving bodies, he was basically trusting to Taleb's sense of direction and just following his lead as they swept across one street to start down another. There remained several hours before the onset of dusk, and it seemed most citizens were now heading for their favorite taverns to rehash the events of the day over a goblet of wine or tankard of ale.

After rounding onto the street Nathon recognized as host to their inn, Taleb suddenly pulled up short, creating a small pile-up of people behind them.

"What is it?" Nathon frowned, stopping next to him and trying to follow his line of sight.

"The mage," Taleb said. "I see him."

Nathon glanced back. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Also, he appears to be alone."

"Well, his timing is inconvenient. We've been searching for him the past two days, and now that we're denied an approach he appears," he grumbled.

Taleb drew his eyes from their target to briefly shoot Nathon a look. "We promised not to seek them out. Nothing was said about one of them walking straight into our hands."

Nathon considered briefly. "An excellent point," he then agreed. "Although I'd like to know what you propose we do exactly, given we're standing in the middle of a crowded street."

Taleb glanced about. "We'll grab him and pull him into that alley, there," he gestured with a nod. "So long as we're quick, I doubt anyone will notice."

"If he sees us coming he'll vanish and we'll lose him," Nathon pointed out.

"Then we'll have to grab him fast. Once we have a hold of him, it won't matter if he turns invisible."

"All right. Let's move."

The mage, who Nathon was only able to identify by way of Taleb's gesture, was moving along the opposite side of the street. As already noted he was alone, and his movements looked a bit jerky, causing Nathon to think he wasn't entirely healed of the wound he'd taken in the vineyard.

After circling around behind him, he and Taleb then rushed forward and each grabbed onto one of the mage's arms as he drew up beside the mouth of the alleyway. He gave a startled grunt as they hauled him within and slammed him against the wall, but he didn't vanish as Nathon had been expecting.

His blue eyes regarded them humorlessly as he glanced from one to the other. "I was under the impression," he began, "that Flynn and Oliveah worked all this out."

"We still have some questions," Taleb told him.

The mage winced. "Fine, but could you ease up?" He paused and looked pointedly to Nathon. "I'm not completely healed yet, in case you're curious."

Neither Nathon nor Taleb relaxed their hold.

The mage frowned. "What do you want to know, then? Flynn already explained how I was only hiding out in the vineyard to avoid Justice, yes?"

Nathon glanced at his medallions. "Thieves is your Secondary. Why didn't you just reverse it and conceal the truth?"

"Because I'd just spent the entire week of Ardin's Pride walking about with it on display. Any number of Tyrell's Justice officers could've identified me for what I am."

Taleb frowned. "That sounds a little weak."

The mage looked to him stonily. "With my life in the balance, I didn't feel especially inclined to take any chances."

Nathon thought this reasonable. "So you attended the Ardin's Pride festival? Are we to presume you further took part in the events now being blamed on your kind?"

The mage paused. "Actually," he finally said, "that's why I returned to Tyrell. That and the melee at the Tulan ball."

Taleb frowned quickly. "You were there?"

"Yes."

Nathon quickly determined he'd had some involvement in the theft of the Tulan's horses and diamond. Fajen had most likely masterminded the scheme, and also been present on the grounds that night.

The mage went on. "I returned to try and find some explanation for what happened. True, we Thieves might've begun the trouble, but what resulted fell far beyond our ability to manipulate."

A moment of pause followed this, during which Nathon exchanged a long look with Taleb. There was a lot their captive was intimating but not outright saying, namely that his compulsion to return to Tyrell had most likely been motivated by guilt. Consequently, Nathon was able to conclude that this wasn't an evil man standing before them. A thief, yes, but one unpossessed of a dark nature.

Nathon loosened his grip and took a step back. Taleb, he saw, wasn't yet ready to do the same.

"What did your efforts uncover?" Nathon asked. Having witnessed first-hand the brawl at the Tulan ranch, he was very interested to know if the mage had found some manner of explanation.

But the man was shaking his head. "There wasn't much to find, unfortunately. Although we hold to the theory that Magic was somehow responsible."

"You mean, the incident could've been caused by a spell?"

"It's possible. Perhaps a rogue mage was present and escaped my notice, or someone wearing a Secondary of Magic. Although in the latter case, I imagine an element of Chaos would've helped it along." He looked at them.

"The Jennite wears a Chaos Birth medallion," Taleb said quickly.

The mage nodded. "He crossed our minds too, but since his Secondary was inverted, there's no way of discerning whether he's a viable suspect." He paused a moment. "Moreover, having now witnessed his initial duel, I've become . . . hesitant to investigate him further. I don't envy either of you if you're selected to face him, although I do find it interesting how he happened to emerge here and enter the Challenge after attending Ardin's Pride."

Nathon and Taleb had also found that interesting, but not necessarily concerning as these were two of Dhanen'Mar's biggest events of the year, and it wasn't so strange to think Kale had decided to attend both so long as he was in the country. But the mage certainly had a point, and it brought some new suspicions to light.

"Perhaps we should look into this," Nathon muttered now, while again catching Taleb's eye. Dhanen'Mar and Jennen maintained a shaky peace, and the possibility of Kale being here to stir up trouble and cause damage wasn't entirely inconceivable. Entering himself in the games would actually be a fair way of accomplishing this, to say nothing of what he'd done in Tyrell, if he was in fact responsible.

Taleb, by this time, had also relaxed his hold on the mage. "At the very least, we could report our suspicions to the Legion," he mused.

"It's a little late for that," the mage told them. "Kale's a participant in the Challenge, meaning no one, including Justice, is going to touch him. At least not until the end of the week, unless he's defeated and ejected sooner. But reporting him might be something to consider should he survive. Naturally," he went on, eyeing them, "I'll leave that task in your capable hands."

Nathon gave him a wry look of understanding and nodded. Obviously, the Legion of Justice would not receive such a report with any amount of seriousness were it to come from a known thief.

Taleb was also nodding. "We'll take care of this—one way or another."

The mage looked from one to the other, a gleam of amusement alighting in his eyes. "If you don't mind my saying," he began, "you're much like a pair of hunting hounds. That said, I'm relieved to no longer be the target of your obsession."

Nathon now felt mildly guilty for having stabbed and nearly killed this man. Under the circumstances he could forgive himself, but was glad the mage hadn't died of his wound. He offered his hand and waited for the other man to take it.

Taleb rolled his eyes at the display, but followed Nathon's lead.

"Now," Nathon said, "why don't you tell us your name, so we don't have to keep referring to you as "the mage"?"

"I imagine you've had much less favorable terms for me these past few weeks," he grinned, taking Taleb's hand. "Knoxx Alvik," he said.

For some reason, this reminded Nathon of the one matter continuing to plague him, and he figured it wouldn't do any harm to inquire into whether the mage—Knoxx—could shed some light on this mystery.

"The name Elvin Vikdal doesn't mean anything to you, does it?" he asked. "A man you may have chanced upon during the week of Ardin's Pride?"

Knoxx Alvik looked him full in the eye while responding. "Sorry," he said. "I've never heard that name before in my life."
Chapter 31

By the next morning, Knoxx was still thanking the sun and stars for the timing of yesterday's events. As it happened, he'd spoken to Flynn only an hour before being accosted by Nathon Wythe and Taleb Okin, a confrontation that would've played out a lot differently had he not been privy to his commander's exchange with Oliveah Oslund.

It was a relief to know he no longer needed to worry about those two finding, and perhaps killing, him. In fact, the situation had been rectified far more smoothly than he ever could've hoped, and assumed it was because his brother had now joined Oliveah to his cause. The fact of Nathon asking about a man named Elvin Vikdal wasn't even as worrying as it might otherwise have been; since only Oliveah could identify Devlin as being this man, something she clearly had no intention of doing, there was no chance of Nathon and Taleb ever connecting the jester to the events in the vineyard. Knoxx had further distracted the two with the woes of Tyrell, a stroke of brilliance on his part if he did say so himself.

On a personal level, he still didn't know the truth behind his brother's motives, but had decided to remain content in his ignorance primarily to make his life easier. He was fervently hoping Devlin wouldn't ask anything more of him, for he honestly wasn't sure how he'd respond. Flynn's warning against getting any more deeply involved hadn't been made lightly, and Knoxx was viewing it with all the seriousness it deserved.

It was nearly Eighth-hour by the time he left his room in The Dancing Damsel and headed downstairs in search of food. Not in the habit of waking early, he completed a series of yawns while settling at a vacant table in the common area. Actually, nearly the entire inn was vacant—unsurprising given the hour, as most people were now at the forum watching the third day of duels. Knoxx intended to head that way himself just as soon as he'd eaten.

He was halfway through a buttercream pastry when he spied Flynn descending the staircase from the second floor. "What are you still doing here?" he mumbled around a mouthful.

Flynn took him in as he reached the bottom stair. "I was out all night meeting with buyers. Every piece but for one has now been sold."

Knoxx nodded in understanding as he swallowed. His commander had recently retained the services of a professional gem-cutter, a man who'd broken down and re-fashioned the Tulan diamond into six separate pieces of jewelry. The mage wasn't surprised to learn Flynn was having little trouble offloading them.

"I suppose this explains why I couldn't find any sign of you last night," Knoxx said, reaching for his tea.

Flynn pulled out the chair across from him and sank down. "I didn't get in until well past Third. Why?"

Knoxx gave a cursory glance about the room to reassure himself they were alone, then said, "I had an encounter with our two War-born acquaintances yesterday."

Flynn looked him over. "Given your lack of fresh injuries, I'm guessing our truce with Oliveah Oslund is holding."

"Not only that," the mage told him, "but I sicced them on Kale. Should it happen he is responsible for what occurred that final night of Ardin's Pride, I image they'll discover some sort of proof. And if he's not, we'll know to start looking elsewhere."

Flynn looked amused. "How did you manage this, exactly?"

Knoxx gave a quick reiteration of his conversation with Taleb and Nathon, only leaving out Nathon's inquiry about "Elvin Vikdal". Although his commander already knew of Devlin's involvement, Knoxx was trying to mention his brother as little as possible since Flynn remained disgruntled with the situation.

"Excellent move setting them on Kale," Flynn was nodding to him now. "It saves us the bother, as well as the inconvenience of dying should Kale have caught us nosing about his business."

Knoxx tended to agree. Even putting aside the possibility of the Jennite possessing Magic, he'd witnessed the man's fight on the Challenge's opening day and immediately lost all interest in investigating him further. Knoxx was now more than happy to sit back and let Taleb and Nathon handle the matter.

"It'll be interesting to see if either will have to face him in the games," Flynn went on, musing. "You know, just before Kale's match, I had a Jennite come into the tent and make a hefty wager on him to win the entire Challenge."

Knoxx's eyebrows went up. "A Jennite? Could be he knows something of Kale, then. Something we don't."

"I figured the same, but he wouldn't elaborate on his reasons for the bet. Although he did appear very certain of it."

"I'll be curious to know if Taleb and Nathon uncover anything about him," Knoxx said.

"So will I," Flynn replied. "If we can prove the mess in Tyrell was his fault, perhaps we can get that ban lifted."

Knoxx thought that sounded fantastic, but wasn't hopeful. For one, the presence of Magic would be a very difficult thing to prove after so much time had passed, and secondly, Tyrell's Justice officers seemed determined to blame Thieves for the disaster. The mage didn't think any of his kind would be setting foot inside the home city of the Arts for a very long time.

But he voiced none of this, simply offering his commander a shrug.

Flynn pushed back his chair and stood. "I need to get over to the gambling tent and relieve Tishan. She wanted the afternoon off to watch the duels, and I told her I'd be there by Ninth."

Knoxx crammed the remainder of his pastry into his mouth as he got to his feet. "I'll walk over with you."

They left The Dancing Damsel and began winding their way east through the streets. Activity was minimal until they drew near the forum, as most people tended not to stray far between matches lest they miss the start of the next. Pushing their way into the gambling tent, Knoxx was unsurprised to observe the frenzied activity within, with scores of people pushing and shoving their way to the counter to place their bets.

Knoxx hung back and waved at Tishan as Flynn threaded his way toward her. She, as well as the additional four Thieves on duty, looked harried and irritated. It wasn't common for Flynn to leave them without his supervision, and his presence had obviously been missed this morning. Knoxx couldn't relate personally to the frustration of his fellow Thieves, as he was so terrible with numbers his commander wouldn't let him anywhere near the figures. Tishan had some skill in this area though, and would be taking shifts in the tent all week long. She waited until Flynn had taken her place behind the counter before starting through the crowd.

"This city is comprised of brutes and imbeciles," she issued in greeting.

Knoxx held the tent flap open for her and then followed her outside. "Many of these people are guests to Aralexia and only here for the games, so a more accurate claim might be that Dhanen'Mar is comprised of brutes and imbeciles," he replied.

She turned to start for the arena. "Or perhaps this city just manifests such behavior."

Knoxx didn't reply. Tishan despised the royal city, and he was the only one who knew why. Armed with this knowledge, he couldn't argue her reasons.

"How went the matches this morning?" he asked as they began looking for seats. These were the only two duels he'd so far missed, having witnessed all twelve comprising the first two days of the competition.

Tishan spotted a few feet of unoccupied bench down near the field and leapt forward, shoving a pair of young men out of her way. They called apologies after her.

"The first," she answered, sliding triumphantly onto the bench, "was a man from Gaitlin versus a knight. The knight conquered, but didn't kill."

Knoxx carefully positioned himself next to her. Despite Yalla's tremendous efforts, his wound still pained him from time to time.

"The second," Tishan went on, "was between two Justice officers. And again, no resulting death."

Knoxx figured the audience would now be impatient for bloodshed, having only three opportunities left to see it happen today.

"Next up," she continued, digging into her pockets, "are two Dhan'Marians." She then frowned, apparently not finding what she was looking for. "Do you have anything to eat?" she asked. "I should've grabbed a snack before we left the marketplace."

Knoxx did a quick check of his person and came up empty. "What would you like? I'll run back and get it for you."

"Surprise me."

"All right."

He got to his feet and began fighting the crowd back toward the market area. With Ninth-hour almost upon them, most were hurrying to their seats to ensure they caught the start of the match. The lines at the vendors, therefore, had almost completely dissipated, and in only minutes he'd procured a couple of giant, fresh-baked salted pretzels and two flagons of lemonade. He was just turning to start back into the arena when his eye caught on something that brought him up short.

"Son of a bitch," he said quietly, taking in the figure conversing with another man behind a cart of grapes and blueberries. Knoxx's concern then grew tenfold as he gave a closer look to the second man. He would have to warn both Flynn and his brother as soon as possible.

Turning on his heel, he began striding back toward the gambling tent. Finding it almost completely deserted within, he took only a few steps inside before pausing and looking to his commander.

"Flynn!" he called, raising a hand to beckon.

Flynn looked over and zeroed in on the pretzels Knoxx carried. "I hope those are for me," he said, starting over.

Knoxx was unwilling to sacrifice his own pretzel, and wouldn't dare give away Tishan's. "I'm afraid not," he told his commander. "But you might want to consider reinstating your guard. I just saw Aris Sylvain."

The Cejan's blue eyes narrowed. "Where?"

"Here in the marketplace, just across the way."

Flynn pulled a knife from his waistband and made a move to leave the tent.

Startled, Knoxx leapt after him, catching hold of his arm. "Wait! You can't make a scene! Not here!"

Glaring, Flynn looked back at him.

"There's Justice officers crawling all over the place out there, and you know the Legion's been looking for any excuse to incarcerate you since you came to Dhanen'Mar. They'd love to pinch you for murder. Also, the identity of Sylvain's companion further impresses the need for discretion."

Flynn irritably shook off his hold. "Who's his companion?"

"Cadien Stavrakos."

"The royal treasurer?"

"That's the one."

Flynn paused. "You may want to share this information with your brother."

"I intend to, just as soon as I have the chance," Knoxx assured him.

The Thieves' commander was quiet another long moment as he considered, idly rolling the handle of his knife through his fingers as he thought. "Sylvain isn't stupid enough to try getting at me here. He knows he'll be taken down if he tries."

"I'd still advise remaining vigilant. I don't need to tell you how much he despises you."

"No, you don't," Flynn responded dryly.

Aris Sylvain was a man born to Thieves, his Secondary unrevealed, and one who'd harbored every intention of becoming the commander of the Thieves network. A native Dhan'Marian, he'd made a notorious name for himself during his thirty years of life, known for his ruthlessness as well as his skill. When Flynn arrived in the country four years ago, and been pledged to take the commander title, Sylvain had not reacted well. After numerous attempts on Flynn's life, the entire Thieves network of Dhanen'Mar was called to Corbit's Canyon to partake in an official vote, which, despite Sylvain's threats to its citizens, Flynn won by a staggering margin. Exiled from the canyon for life, Flynn had informed Sylvain that he'd kill him should he ever lay eyes on him again.

"He knows you oversee the gambling on the Challenge," Knoxx said now, "so there's no question he knows you're here."

Flynn nodded. "He's never lacked for courage, I'll give him that."

"So how do you want to handle this?"

"I'll have him watched, for now."

Knoxx was quiet a moment, and when he spoke again his words were soft. "If you'd like this dealt with cleanly, I've heard there's presently several men for hire in the city."

Flynn snorted. "I'd prefer to take care of this myself, although I doubt your brother will allow me the chance."

Knoxx nodded slowly. Whatever Sylvain's business with Cadien Stavrakos, there existed a good possibility Devlin was already aware of it, or if not, he wouldn't be long in learning it. It was further unlikely the jester would approve of such business, a circumstance that wouldn't end happily for Sylvain.

"I'm meant to meet up with him tomorrow, following the days' matches," Knoxx said. "Let me discover his intentions before we take any further steps."

Flynn agreed, and just moments later the mage left the tent to rejoin Tishan. The bell-ringer was just issuing the gong to bring the next two opponents forward as he slid back onto the bench beside her. "Here," he said, handing over one of the pretzels and a flagon.

She thanked him and bit into the salty dough, her eyes remaining on the field. While an avid supporter of the games, she favored less gruesome outcomes; yesterday's decapitation had elicited a grimace and proclamation of disgust. Knoxx, in turn, had nearly lost his lunch.

Another gong commenced the third fight of the day and the clashing sounds of steel upon steel rang out through the air. Knoxx chewed mindlessly on his pretzel as he watched the combatants. While not the most exciting match-up thus far, it had its share of thrilling moments as the two Dhan'Marians swung and hacked at each other. It concluded when a sudden move by one of the men allowed him to successfully run through the other.

Tishan frowned faintly as Justice officers spilled onto the field to remove the body. "That makes seven dead so far. Already this seems a higher count than usual for the first round."

Knoxx was eyeing his brother, who was now upon the field and raising the arm of the survivor while officially declaring him the victor. "They do seem more brutal than what I recall of last year," he admitted.

"This entire summer season has been strange," she remarked.

"You don't know how true that is. I caught sight of Aris Sylvain while I was getting our pretzels."

She turned to take him in. "Did you inform Flynn?"

"Of course. He started after him with a knife, but I reminded him that taking such action in Aralexia would be unwise."

Her brows flickered in a faint show of surprise. "That doesn't sound like Flynn." This was true; their commander was typically a level-headed man who never acted rashly.

"I know," he told her. "But if anyone's capable of getting under his skin, it's Sylvain."

"So what are we going to do about it?" she asked, her hazel eyes gleaming slightly.

Knoxx paused, aware of the many people within earshot, and then leaned in close to speak into her ear. "I saw him in the company of Stavrakos. I'll find out for certain tomorrow, but it's likely my brother's already on top of the matter."

She took this in and nodded, her gaze moving briefly to the box of royal seating at the opposite side of the field.

To prevent losing their seats, they kept to the bench and spent the next hour discussing their recent spoils while waiting for the next match to begin. Flynn typically cautioned his Thieves to avoid pulling any significant jobs during the week of the Challenge, and this year had proved no exception; their gambling web was permitted only so long as no trouble could be traced back to them while they remained in Justice's home city. Most Thieves found the directive inconvenient, but few challenged it. Those who did answered to Flynn, and in this area he had little tolerance.

Tishan admitted to having cut only a small number of purses so far this week, but she'd found great fortune by discovering one held a pair of gold and emerald earrings, complete with matching bracelet. She figured with the right buyer she could likely retire for the next five years—not that she would. Knoxx had found no comparable luck, his biggest score thus far amounting to nothing more than a few measly silver pieces.

The fourth duel of the day began promptly at Tenth-hour, pitting a Justice officer from Commerce's home city of Fortunia against a Jennite named Beynon Ansell. This fight concluded when Ansell successfully ran his blade through the throat of the officer only minutes after the gong of the bell.

Tishan frowned. "I'm noticing a trend among the Jennites. I don't believe any have left a foe alive."

Knoxx simply grunted in response, for almost all his concentration was now focused on keeping his pretzel in his stomach.

When at last his nausea passed, his thoughts turned to the last match of the day, set to begin at Eleventh-hour. In this fight, Nathon Wythe would face off against a fellow Dhan'Marian, most likely a criminal. Because Tishan knew nothing of this matter, an attempt on Knoxx's part to keep her safe, he remained silent while pondering the question of whether his brother would've manipulated the match-up for or against Nathon's favor. If he'd gained Devlin's interest by way of an unfavorable circumstance, chances were he was about to be killed. But Knoxx thought it far more likely this duel would either see him the victor, or ousted from the competition. He didn't think Devlin wanted Nathon—or Taleb—dead, at least not until they'd fulfilled whatever purpose he had for them, a conclusion Knoxx based wholly on Devlin's reaction to discovering they'd entered the games.

The bell-ringer signaled the top of the hour and the two combatants came forward. Knoxx scrutinized Nathon, looking for signs of nervousness. He didn't find any, but further figured that, somewhere in the surrounding audience, Oliveah Oslund was suffering deep distress.

Nathon and his opponent took up their places and crossed blades to await the official gong. It came a moment later, and the duel began.

Nathon stepped back and swung out, raising his shield to block his opponent's thrust. Their blades crossed, once, twice, three times as they maneuvered in small steps over the grass. It was obvious almost from the outset who held the upper hand here, and Nathon proved it just a minute later when he not only sent the other man's sword soaring out of his hand, but then dropped his shield to catch the weapon as it fell to the ground.

Interesting, Knoxx thought as his brother emerged from the section of royal seating and started onto the field to declare Nathon the victor. The mage had assumed Devlin, in the interest of keeping Nathon and Taleb alive, would pair them against foes who would dominate but not kill them. But if this was the case, Devlin had made a serious miscalculation with this match, for Nathon was now moving on to the second round where the choices for safe opponents would be drastically reduced. Knoxx figured he'd gain a clearer understanding of his brother's motives tomorrow, once Taleb took the field.

"That man looks familiar," Tishan was saying now, squinting across the field to where Nathon was standing with Devlin.

Knoxx looked over at her without replying.

"I think I saw him at the Tulan ball," she went on thoughtfully.

"It's possible he was there, but I don't recognize him," he said, hoping she'd drop the matter.

Mercifully she did, her eyes now returning to the seats of the royal council. "Let's go," she then demanded moments later, rising to her feet.

Knoxx stood and followed wordlessly, anxious for his meeting with Devlin the following day.
Chapter 32

Devlin settled himself amongst the other members of the royal council just a few minutes before Seventh-hour. The first match of the day was to begin momentarily, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Primarily, he was wondering if Oliveah Oslund was somewhere in the surrounding stands, cursing his very existence and preparing to unleash another unmitigated wave of fury upon him.

If so, he couldn't blame her. He had, after all, given his assurance that Nathon and Taleb would both be ousted from the competition as quickly as possible, and while he hadn't guaranteed this would occur in the first round, such had been his intention. Evidently he'd underestimated Nathon Wythe.

The man Devlin had selected to face him was a Dhan'Marian of about thirty years, and while little was known of him publicly, the jester was well-apprised of his nature. A few years ago, this man had come to Aralexia with the intention of joining the knights of King DeSiva's royal guard, and made it far through their testing process. What eventually foiled him was his refusal to take lives, stating plainly to Captain Poage that while he possessed no qualms over incapacitating or wounding, he would not, under any circumstances, deliver a deathblow. In light of this, Captain Poage had had no choice but to deny the man admittance to the knighthood, regardless of his talents.

Taking all this into consideration, Devlin had deemed this man the perfect instrument to fulfill his plans, pairing him against Nathon and then viewing the matter as settled. Witnessing the ease Nathon demonstrated in overcoming him had therefore proven an unpleasant surprise, as well as given rise to a fair amount of anxiety. He could only hope for more favorable results today, when Taleb fought at Eighth-hour, although he couldn't deny his deepening nervousness. He did not want to imagine Oliveah Oslund's wrath should his strategies fail again.

Devlin nodded across the field to the bell-ringer, who gonged his bell to call the first combatants of the day to their places. The seats encompassing all sides of the field were densely packed, with loud cheering hailing from all directions as the fighters emerged onto the scene. Devlin looked away and made a quick glance to take in the expressions of those around him; Captain Poage and Commander Catala appeared their usual stoic selves, while the king ate grapes and looked to the field with anticipation. Prince Luken, whose own enthusiasm to engage in the fights had been visibly dwindling by the day, was staring ahead with a grimly determined expression, probably counting down the hours to his own match, which would not occur until Sixth-day, the final day of the first round.

To his other side the jester took in Dusan Galaz, seeing the seneschal's face expressing its typical calm look, and Cadien Stavrakos. The treasurer, he noted with interest, appeared irritated. This was unusual simply because Stavrakos, like Devlin himself, made it a point to never reveal even a hint of his inner thoughts or emotions, which implied he must be extremely vexed now.

Stavrakos noted Devlin's glance, and his lip curled into a brief snarl. Devlin grinned back at him, even while making a mental note to discern the cause of the man's irritation. It was possible the reason was something he could exploit, but even if not, he found it prudent to keep himself informed of as much of Stavrakos's business as possible.

The second gong of the bell commenced the day's first duel, and Devlin quickly looked back to the field. A Justice officer was now trading blows with a fellow Dhan'Marian who, Devlin knew via his assistants, made his living as a hired thug. Apparently there was little the man would not do for profit or pleasure, including murder, rape, and robbery, and while he remained a suspect in many crimes all across the country, the Legion had yet to find enough evidence to have him jailed or executed. Devlin was hoping the Justice officer he now faced would kill him, but unsurprisingly, the fight soon began leaning the other way.

Many in the crowd gasped in disgust several minutes later. Devlin kept to his neutral expression, but a wave of revulsion rolled through his stomach. The Justice officer was now dead, and his face all but unrecognizable as his opponent's sword was buried in it almost to the hilt. More gruesome than even the beheading of two days earlier, the jester surmised there was already a much higher body count this year than what was normal. Truly, for there to be nine dead even before the conclusion of the first round, this year's games were on track to be the bloodiest yet; not a thought to put him at ease, seeing as he had several men to get through the rounds alive, one of them scheduled to appear in the next fight.

Of the entire royal council, only Cadien Stavrakos opted to leave his seat during this first intermission, and Devlin watched with suspicion as he started away. He was extremely tempted to follow the treasurer, thinking he could perhaps discern a clue to explain the man's foul mood, but he ultimately forced himself to ignore the urge and remain seated. It was possible one of his spies would take note of Stavrakos's movements and keep with him, but if not, Devlin would just have to hope that he'd receive another opportunity to learn the source of Stavrakos's discontent.

The remainder of the hour passed quickly, but for the twenty minutes King DeSiva used to expound upon the danger of pockets, voicing his theory that they existed only for devious purposes. He came very near to outlawing them from all clothing worn in Aralexia, relenting only after Devlin smoothly interceded to remind him that pockets were, in fact, invented by one born to Healing, and for the express purpose of carrying medicinal supplies without having to be bogged down by numerous satchels and purses. In short, he finished, there was nothing devious about them whatsoever.

After a healthy silence the king finally agreed, but only because he feared offending all Healers, Devlin presumed. In any case, he'd managed to avoid another crisis, and shared a long look with Prince Luken directly after doing so. The prince, he knew, had grown extremely worried over the fate of the realm, and his worry was entirely warranted so far as the royal jester was concerned.

As the hour of Eighth drew near, Devlin found himself growing increasingly nervous, barely even glancing at Stavrakos when he returned to his seat. It was uncommon for him to feel such anxiety, but under the circumstances, completely understandable. After his miscalculation with Nathon, he now feared a similar result with Taleb, although there was more to it than only that. In truth, he was nearly positive Taleb was the man he was looking for, and solely because of their Choice medallions; while Nathon wore Harvest, and according to Knoxx, had little desire for a life beyond the Oslund vineyard, Taleb had chosen Destiny and aimed to travel to Lutarre Keep. The latter was the precise move Devlin expected of the man he searched for, and it was to the warlords he would've initially gone had the diviner not steered him toward Oliveah Oslund. Until he could say for certain that this was the truth of it, however, he'd hold to his word and do his best to protect both men.

As the bell-ringer tapped his bell at the top of the hour to call the combatants to the field, Devlin discovered that he had a rather tense grip on the armrests of his seat. Hoping Stavrakos hadn't noticed, he relaxed his hands into a loose hold and watched as the two men came forward.

What if you chose wrong, and he's killed? his thoughts lashed out at him. All Dhanen'Mar will suffer for it!

He fought to stifle this voice, focusing instead upon the duelists. His first look at Taleb, at least from this distance, showed a similar physique to Nathon's, although Taleb held himself differently. His movements were more assured, although Devlin allowed that this might simply be an attempt to mask his nervousness. Furthermore, Nathon Wythe had not killed—or even seriously wounded—his opponent. The jester would be very interested to see if Taleb did the same, should the unthinkable happen and he gain the upper hand.

It had been with the greatest of care that he'd selected Taleb's opponent, a foreigner and the sole participant to come from the country of Kathwei, which lay upon the northern continent. It was extremely rare to find a Kathwein here in Dhanen'Mar, and never had one committed himself to the Challenge, or at least not during any of the years Devlin had been running them. He'd taken the presence of this one, here and now, as a gift from the Patrons.

The Kathwein were an interesting people. While known throughout the world for their speed and stealth in combat, this information had only been realized after the sole two occasions that had given them cause to fight. The Kathwein were a peace-loving and harmonious race, and because of this had twice been mistaken for an easy target—once over a century ago by the Cejans, their western neighbors, and then only a score past by the Kolasi. On both occasions the Kathwein annihilated their attackers, actions which more or less shocked the world and made any think thrice before trying any such similar endeavors. Peace-loving the Kathwein might be, but interfering with that peace brought swift and certain death.

Devlin could think of no reason why a Kathwein had come to Dhanen'Mar and entered himself in the tournament. Indeed, it was rare for any of their race to venture beyond their country's borders, making it especially odd that one had come all this way to participate in something so far removed from his people's way of life. Even so, the jester could be relatively certain of one thing, which was this man wouldn't kill to confirm his victory, for the Kathwein revered all life and regarded the killing of any man or animal as sacrilege. They killed only in battle, and only to preserve their chosen way of life. Left alone, theirs was a race of extreme passivity.

Devlin regarded the Kathwein now taking his stance opposite Taleb. The two men were near the same age, although while Taleb carried a typical Dhan'Marian sword and shield, his opponent's blade was thick and slightly curved. The foreign man was swathed entirely in black, including the scarf he'd tied about the lower half of his face.

Looking at them, Devlin again tried to detect a reason why a Kathwein would've come to Dhanen'Mar and entered the games, and he began to grow very uneasy when he still couldn't find one. His instincts began to rattle, informing him that something wasn't right, but not even a glimmer of understanding would come.

Not that it mattered now, in any case. His time to interfere had run out, a realization reinforced by the bell-ringer as a resounding gong began the match.

The Kathwein immediately began a dizzying display of speed, rolling the hilt of his sword through his fingers in a maneuver obviously meant to confuse. His weapon was little more than a blur as it whirled through the air before him, and Devlin found himself disoriented just trying to keep up with the path of its movement.

Taleb appeared to be sharing the same difficulty, as he'd yet to make a strike himself. By the looks of it, he was trying to prepare a defense against an attack that was almost impossible to anticipate.

The Kathwein at last moved to land a blow, stepping forward and extending his sword in a sharp arc.

Devlin was barely aware of the fact that he was holding his breath, transfixed as he saw Taleb lift his shield in time to block the slash that likely would've severed his arm. He retaliated with his own thrust, which was met and deflected with stunning speed. The Kathwein moved to deliver another fatal blow, which Taleb avoided only by throwing himself to the ground and rolling.

The crowd was cheering wildly in excitement.

What is happening here? Devlin thought frantically, staring. It was obvious the Kathwein was out for blood, which made no sense at all. The assistant sent to gather information on this man had turned up nothing of interest, but because of his race Devlin had been unconcerned. This had clearly been an error on his part, as it was now evident he'd put one of the men he needed to protect in a staggering amount of danger.

Taleb had so far managed to avoid taking any hits, but seemed to be growing frustrated with the blindingly quick movements being launched at him. He also wasn't making any offenses of his own, his concentration focused entirely on defending himself, until finally he appeared to lose his patience. Leaving his left shoulder open in sacrifice, Taleb allowed himself to take a slash as he angled his own blade toward its target, sinking it deeply into the Kathwein's thigh.

The foreign man bellowed in rage and swung at Taleb's throat.

Taleb blocked with his shield and simultaneously raised his boot, kicking the man in his freshly wounded leg. This appeared to utterly enrage the Kathwein, who began swinging wildly, his blade flashing about more quickly than ever. Taleb crouched slightly just before him, awaiting his opportunity.

Devlin didn't see an opening, but apparently Taleb did—moving at a speed to rival the Kathwein's own, his sword shot straight out as the enemy blade whirled outward, landing dead center in the Kathwein's chest. Still Taleb pushed, thrusting his weapon in further until the foreign man was fully impaled and fell limp.

Devlin abruptly found himself capable of breathing again, and struggled not to pull in a great breath of relief. He casually pried his fingers from about the armrests and made certain his expression was in check as he continued to watch the events on the field. Taleb at last seemed content his opponent was dead, pulling free his sword and letting the body drop. The audience roared their approval, to which he paid no notice.

Devlin suddenly realized he was supposed to be moving to officially declare him the victor, and forced life into his limbs, managing a graceful rise. As he strode across the field, he thought it extremely likely Oliveah Oslund was now cursing his very existence.

Taleb was still looking down at the body when Devlin drew up next to him. Despite himself, he took a quick moment to search the man's features, and in doing so realized it was neither guilt nor remorse holding Taleb's attention.

"I presume," Taleb spoke up, with a glance in his direction, "that this wasn't known?"

Devlin frowned faintly and dropped his own eyes to the dead Kathwein. Immediately, the cause for Taleb's comment became clear, and he shook his head. "Of course," he said, "his Birth medallion was recorded. But his Secondary was reversed."

Taleb looked back at him dryly. "I suppose we now know why, don't we?"

Devlin worked to fight off a grimace. The Kathwein's Secondary had flipped and revealed itself when his body fell to the ground, now displaying a grim but telling picture. Death, backed by Death. The man had been utterly and completely mad, which at least explained his presence in the competition—only an insane Kathwein would've taken such an action willingly. Wanting to curse himself for not foreseeing this possibility, Devlin pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind and grabbed a hold of Taleb's arm, raising it in a show of victory.

"Taleb Okin is declared the victor, and shall move on to the second round!" he bellowed, as thousands of voices reacted in cheer.

Taleb pulled his arm from Devlin's grasp and gave him a foul look.

Devlin couldn't blame him for his anger, but was confident it would hold no measure to the level of rage Oliveah Oslund now planned on unleashing his way. He was certain he could feel her eyes on him, searing into his very skull.

"On behalf of the entire royal council, please accept our apologies. Obviously, had we any idea the man was afflicted by madness, we never would've allowed him to take part in the competition," Devlin said.

Taleb stared at him a moment longer, and then shrugged. "I suppose it matters little now. I tried drawing the fight out for as long as I could, but truthfully, all that flashing about was giving me a headache."

Devlin stared at him wordlessly for a long moment without comprehension. "Are you saying," he finally asked, "you never deemed yourself in danger?"

"Of course not," Taleb scoffed. "He was all flash and no substance, sane or mad. His speed was impressive, certainly, but no more than my own, a fact I believe was evidenced clearly enough," he said, nodding down at the body.

The jester continued to stare at him. It must be him. His words and skills all but confirm it.

"In that case," Devlin then said, quickly gathering his wits, "your bitterness perplexes me."

Taleb flashed a grin. "I was just curious to see if you'd actually humble yourself with an apology. The royal council isn't highly thought of in Aralexia's streets, you know. The populace feels you're all rather . . . out of touch with the common people."

Devlin was staring again, now incredulous. I could shatter your world with but a single sentence, you arrogant son of a bitch, he thought savagely, even while donning a bland smile. But I'm glad to see you're possessed of such spirit, for you're going to need it. And we are going to need you.

"Words I'll be sure to take under advisement," the royal jester told him aloud.

"Until the second round then," Taleb replied, giving him a nod before turning and starting across the field.

Devlin watched him go, all doubt now erased from his mind; Taleb was without question the one he was looking for. He'd continue to do his best to protect Nathon in the second round—although his "protection" was turning out to be something of a joke—but it was Taleb who'd receive his full focus. He forced his eyes away from the man and headed back to his seat to await the next round.

Ninth-hour began a duel between a Balshan named Gliddion Xaz, a man his assistant Reagan had designated a high threat, and a knight of the royal guard. The savagery of the day continued when the Balshan managed to disarm the knight, lift him clear over his head, and then break his back by bringing him down upon his uplifted knee. Devlin heard the man's spine snap even from where he sat, and he gestured emphatically for the Healers to rush in and attend the unfortunate man. Unfortunately they were denied the chance, for Xaz then finished the duel by unnecessarily sliding his sword through his shrieking victim's skull.

Devlin could see several of the women in the audience—and some of the men—leave the forum directly following this, and didn't think they'd return for the day's final two fights. The jester further noted Prince Luken's pallor growing more noticeable by the hour.

At Tenth-hour a knight faced off against a Justice officer. The worst damage done in this fight was a broken arm, seeing the knight victorious and moving on to the next round, and what remained of the audience appeared to breathe a collective sigh of relief when no further blood was shed. Even the most vicious of citizens seemed to have gotten their fill this day. Unfortunately, the final fight was again to result in death, but the knight who finally managed to land a killing strike upon the Jennite he fought was given little choice; it had been clear from the outset that his opponent meant to kill him.

Of the five duels fought today, four of the men defeated had been killed. Devlin found this alarming, but could see no obvious reason why this year was proving to be especially deadly. Perhaps the most frightening fact was that they were only four days into the competition, with eleven more to go. He was hesitant to imagine what the remainder of the week might bring.

With the duels now over for the day, he excused himself from the king's presence, explaining he had supper plans with his brother. This was true. He hadn't spoken to Knoxx since the eve of the Challenge, and was very much looking forward to an evening free of intrigue. Making no effort to disguise his path he started into the streets toward The Dancing Damsel where they were to meet, having no reason to care if Stavrakos's spies trailed him. He found his brother awaiting him in the common room.

"We need to talk. Come up to my room," Knoxx said in greeting.

Devlin withheld a sigh and followed his brother up to the second floor. He saw no sign of Flynn Fajen as they ascended, and wondered if this had something to do with him and his threat of earlier. He wouldn't be concerned if so, as he had much bigger problems to deal with.

The tale Knoxx began to tell once they were settled into his room, however, involved a matter much more interesting than Fajen's dislike of him.

"I don't know what Sylvain's looking to accomplish here in Aralexia," Knoxx summed up, "but whatever it is, rest assured he isn't someone you want conspiring with Stavrakos."

Devlin wondered if this could in any way explain why Stavrakos's mood had appeared so very sour today. "I'm not certain what business he could have with a thief, but trust I've every intention of finding out," he vowed.

Knoxx looked at him somewhat askance. "And do you intend anything further?"

Devlin took him in expressionlessly. "I suppose that will depend on what I discover."

"I'd advise you not to wait."

He paused. "Because of the threat he represents to me, or to Fajen?'

"Both. Don't underestimate this man, Dev. He's always lusted for power, and I can only imagine his reasons for colluding with Stavrakos. A worse pairing I'd be hard pressed to find."

Devlin considered this in silence for a time, which Knoxx apparently interpreted to mean he wasn't going to respond.

"One further matter of interest," the mage finally went on. "I had an intriguing encounter a couple of days ago."

The jester listened as his brother then recounted his run-in with Taleb and Nathon. He was pleased to learn the two seemed to be adhering to Oliveah's oath by causing no harm to the Thieves, but he didn't perk up until Knoxx began explaining how he'd turned them on Rydin Kale, and why.

"That matter in Tyrell," he spoke up, "was brought to us here in Aralexia. You aren't the only one suspicious that Thieves aren't wholly responsible."

Knoxx looked surprised. "Really?"

Devlin nodded. "Several highborn sent messages, requesting further investigation into the matter. I find the events of the Tulan ball especially concerning."

"So, has anything been done about it?"

"Not as yet. I'm afraid the Challenge has kept most of the council distracted, but I plan on readdressing the matter once the week has concluded. Although your theory regarding this Jennite is interesting." In truth, he wasn't very happy about Knoxx setting Taleb and Nathon on Kale, for whether gifted with Magic or not, the Jennite was obviously dangerous and Devlin didn't want to have to start worrying for their safety off the field as well as on.

However, he had no intention of telling his brother the deeper truth of the matter and therefore kept his silence. But from here on out, he'd be keeping a much closer eye on Rydin Kale.
Chapter 33

By and large, Baiel was not impressed with the royal city of Aralexia. Accustomed to a quiet and tranquil life in Lutarre Keep, he was finding the home city of Justice loud, abrasive, and for the most part, downright rude. He'd attended most of the duels to have yet occurred over the first four days of the Challenge, and been stunned by the ferocity and viciousness of the populace. He honestly didn't understand how so many of them regarded these fights as entertainment, particularly those resulting in heinous injury or death. Truth be told, these observations left him feeling somewhat disgusted with humanity.

His own fight was scheduled for Ninth-hour, the third match of the day. He was neither looking forward to nor dreading the prospect, simply viewing it as something he needed to do. He was not concerned for his safety. So far, he'd witnessed little from his fellow combatants to interest him, although a couple had gained his curiosity and warranted further observation.

Had it not been for Reagan, he'd be finding his stay here in Aralexia entirely unpleasant. As it was, his reunion with her was enough to keep even the ugliest facets of the week from souring his mood, so much so that his fellow warlords had commented on his obvious happiness.

Baiel was in the stands of the arena with his sister now, just as they'd been the previous four days. Accompanying them were the two warlords he'd brought from Lutarre Keep, Yuri Filbon and Geves Corth, as well as the young warlord-in-training, Qyn. These three seemed not so put off by the reality of Aralexia and its people, and Qyn in particular hadn't been able to contain his excitement at any time since their arrival. Entranced by the city, he'd further taken a great liking to Reagan, and questioned her constantly about life here in Aralexia.

"Have you ever met the king?" he was presently asking, as jelly from his pastry dripped down onto his breeches.

"Not yet," she replied, smiling faintly.

Reagan was seated between her brother and Qyn, and Baiel looked over at her interestedly. He'd noted, over the course of the past few days, that any mention of King DeSiva brought a certain cadence to her tone, a gleam to her eye. Baiel wasn't certain what this implied, but couldn't ignore the truth of her Birth Patron. There was little doubt his sister desired revenge for what had befallen the Maves family, and any fool could piece together that the king's blind eye was much to blame—but she couldn't truly be contemplating the dark suspicions his mind was now whispering, could she?

He fervently hoped not, but after taking another glance at her and seeing that now-familiar gleam alight in her blue eyes, he vowed that before days' end, he and his sister were going to have a serious discussion. And should he discover his worst fears to be true, he'd simply have to find a way to make her reconsider her reckless schemes.

"In fact," Reagan was now going on to Qyn, while handing him a handkerchief so he could wipe up his mess, "there's an annual ball on the eve of the final duel, hosted by the king, and as one of the royal jester's assistants I've been invited to attend this year."

Qyn appeared impressed. "What fun you will have!" he exclaimed, then added wistfully, "I've never attended a ball."

Reagan smiled at him regretfully. "Would that I could bring you along, but I'm afraid I'm not permitted an escort."

Qyn looked briefly disappointed, but then shrugged. "I imagine we'll be invited to the castle when your brother wins the Challenge."

"Perhaps," she nodded, still smiling as she glanced at Baiel.

Baiel said nothing, not caring if he ever received an invitation to the royal castle, or even if he won the competition. Truthfully, he wouldn't mind in the least losing his duel today, for that would mean he wouldn't have to take the field again in any of the subsequent rounds. He also knew this was extremely unlikely to happen; he wouldn't fight below his abilities simply to have himself tossed out, and from what he'd so far seen of the other contestants, it was doubtful any of them had the skills to match, much less best, him. Baiel was giving very little thought to his upcoming fights, instead trying to focus on simply enjoying the week with his sister.

"Tell me more about this ball," he said now, looking to her. He'd deduced that were she really in Aralexia for the purposes of seeking revenge on the king, this affair would present her the perfect opportunity.

Her blue eyes, so like his own, appeared clear and guileless as they looked back at him. "I imagine it'll consist of nothing more than a crowd of highborn conversing about which of them gained the greatest income this past season. I'll be bored to tears, I'm sure," she confessed.

"Perhaps you shouldn't bother attending, then," he suggested, watching her carefully.

She gave a slight shrug. "An enticing option, but I wouldn't want to insult the jester by not appearing."

Baiel nodded and sat back. He really wasn't certain what to think, but the exchange reinforced his intention to partake of a private discussion with her, and as soon as possible. He couldn't imagine her surviving any attempt to murder the king, particularly in a setting such as the one she was describing, not to mention the horror surrounding the very act of regicide. No, she couldn't seriously be considering it.

He turned away to take in his other side, where fellow warlords Yuri and Geves sat. "Any sightings?" he asked in a quiet tone that wouldn't carry to Reagan.

"None as yet," Geves replied just as quietly.

Baiel pursed his lips together and nodded. "Hopefully this means we've seen the last of him," he remarked.

For the past few days, all three warlords had been catching glimpses of a black-haired man who appeared to be shadowing them. At first, they'd simply presumed him to be a fellow guest at their inn, The Dancing Damsel, but when they further began spotting him all about the city, their speculations turned suspicious. Particularly as this man took obvious pains to go unnoticed, so far managing to keep any of the warlords from getting a clear look at his face.

Baiel didn't know what this man might be after, but was quickly losing patience with his games. The next time he took note of him, he had every intention of getting to the bottom of the matter, and by any means necessary. He had enough on his mind this week without having to deal with this nonsense.

When talk around them began falling to a muted silence, Baiel turned his gaze to the field below. The bell-ringer was now making his way into position, ready to call the first combatants of the day forward. Baiel knew nothing of either man but quickly identified one as a knight of the royal guard, which was a slight point of interest since he'd be fighting a knight himself in just two hours' time. He'd been curious to see these men in action, and while so far had to admit they were greatly skilled, he couldn't imagine any of the warlords falling to one. This didn't come as a surprise, and explained why the many generations of DeSiva kings tended not to anger those dwelling in Lutarre Keep.

The match began with the second ring of the bell, and Baiel watched with interest as the knight quickly began to dominate the fight. Beside him, he could hear Yuri and Geves discussing the moves of the combatants they agreed with, as well as those they felt were unnecessary or stupid. Baiel swiveled his head to take them in.

"I'd be curious to know if this commentary will continue once I'm on the field," he said.

Yuri grinned. "Of course it will."

Baiel shook his head with good-natured exasperation and looked back to the field. The knight was now completely overpowering his opponent, and evidently decided not to draw the drama out unnecessarily by way of sending the other man's blade flying from his hand with a perfectly-timed swing.

The crowd cheered, and Baiel was pleased to see the knight keep to a clean victory by causing no further harm to his opponent. The fights of the day before had been savage and brutal and, for the most part, he hadn't enjoyed watching them. He'd been surprised by Reagan's insistence to stay until their finish, even more so by the fact that their gore seemed not to bother her. Occasionally he wondered if she'd really told him the truth of her life after she'd been taken by those Jennite raiders.

With nearly an hour until the next fight, Qyn asked if they could now walk about the marketplace outside the arena. Baiel agreed, and he and Reagan began escorting the boy through the crowd, leaving Yuri and Geves behind to hold their seats.

"I think you may lose this one to city life, once he reaches his fifteenth year," Reagan murmured with a nod at Qyn, who was closing in on the brightly-decorated booths just ahead.

Baiel smiled but shook his head at her. "Little chance of that. Qyn's pure warlord, and will never leave the keep."

She looked over at him, her expression questioning. "How can you be so sure?"

"We can always predict which of the boys will stay on and which will go. It isn't difficult."

Reagan accepted this with a nod and then hurried forward to meet Qyn at the booth of a glassblower. The vendor hailed from the deserts of Navosa and was displaying all manner of glass items, ranging from candle holders to delicate stemware to knives.

Baiel halted a few paces back and took a quick glance about. He was looking to see if the black-haired man he'd been catching glimpses of was anywhere in the surrounding crowd, although if he was, he was doing a considerably better job of concealing himself for Baiel saw no trace of his presence. But he did spot another figure, one that immediately gained his interest.

She was standing twenty or so paces away, petite in stature, and with her head and shoulders covered over by a purple scarf—a curious adornment to be wearing in the summer heat. Turned his way, she appeared to be staring at him.

At first Baiel took this to be just another example of the female attention given to all Challenge participants, but as he continued to look back, he began feeling this was something altogether different. Curious, he began moving toward her.

She didn't break her stare as he drew near, her wide, gray eyes remaining on him as he drew to a pause before her. He took in her face, seeing she wasn't much older than he, and that she wore a Birth medallion of Destiny. He noted her Secondary was inverted before lifting his gaze back to meet hers.

"I know why you're here in Aralexia," she said.

Diviner, he instantly thought.

"Our paths were meant to cross in Tyrell the week of Ardin's Pride, but Destiny has given us this second chance," she went on.

He took this in, surprised but thinking quickly. "Then you know why Stahl sent me to enter the games?" he asked.

Her eyes were revealing things he didn't understand, but speaking the name of the Patron of War seemed to unbalance her.

"Yes," she said, sounding hesitant now.

"Tell me," he said, feeling a rush of excitement. He'd initially believed finding Reagan was the answer, but his instincts had never adhered to this. But if anyone could provide the true meaning, who if not a diviner?

She appeared to be considering her next words very carefully, and he forced himself to remain patient. At last, she spoke.

"You're to take him back with you, to your keep," she told him. "You must ensure he'll be ready."

Baiel frowned, confused. "Take who back with me? I don't understand."

She didn't answer, looking increasingly upset, which only deepened his confusion.

"Diviner, please," he insisted, watching as her eyes began to grow frantic. "I will follow whatever guidance you lend, but you must be clear."

She finally looked away, exhaling heavily as she struggled to get herself under control. After several moments, she looked back, now calm.

"Stahl sent you to collect a man that you're to bring to Lutarre Keep. I will present him to you before week's end."

Baiel remained perplexed. "And then? Who is this man that he couldn't have simply traveled to the keep himself?"

The question caused her to consider, her look becoming faraway and thoughtful. "Oliveah would've sent him away with me, to act as my protection," she then murmured. "But Stahl sent you to ensure he reaches the warlords." She continued nodding to herself, with much more surety now. Noting Baiel's look of exasperation, she held up a hand.

"Return with him to your keep, and then train him. You, specifically. Everything you know of combat, it must be shared."

He frowned but nodded. "If such is Stahl's wish, trust it will be done."

She nodded once in return and took a step back. Moving to turn away, she then paused and looked back at him.

"Baiel," she said.

Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him that she knew his name, but it did.

"Something else, diviner?" he asked.

"Just that . . . it was an honor to meet you."

He didn't know what to make of such a comment. Watching as she turned and slowly started off, he was left with a decidedly chilled feeling that he didn't at all understand.

Musingly, he eventually started back to where he'd left his sister and Qyn, seeing both now standing before a cart selling sausages.

Reagan turned at his approach, holding a sausage on a bun out to him. "Did you at last find one to your liking?" she teased, adding a nod to where he'd been standing and talking with the diviner.

Not wanting to explore the details of the conversation here and now, he simply shrugged, saying, "Not exactly."

She seemed to take his quick dismissal for embarrassment and went on, grinning. "You don't need to spend every waking moment of the week with me, Baiel. If you'd like to be free to seek out your own pursuits this night, you've only to say so."

He frowned. "Reagan, I spent the past twelve years believing you might be dead. Don't misconceive my priorities."

The response appeared to please her, and her grin widened into a smile as Qyn rejoined them. The boy was carrying a sausage in each hand, and had a flagon of lemonade tucked beneath his arm. Unused to such foods, as the warlords and their trainees followed a strict diet, he'd been eating almost constantly since their arrival in Aralexia, apparently determined to sample everything. Baiel was allowing it only because he knew Qyn would be sorry for his gluttony once they returned to Lutarre Keep and he again took up his training.

They continued strolling about the marketplace for the remainder of the hour, then started back toward their seats. Sliding down onto the bench, they handed over the food and drink they'd brought Geves and Yuri just as the bell-ringer gonged to bring the next two duelists onto the field.

The combatants were again both Dhan'Marians, one a Justice officer. From all Baiel had so far observed, the individual talents of the Legion's men seemed to vary widely. Three officers had so far been killed in the competition, and it looked as though all opponents but for the knights were utilizing this opportunity to kill the officers without incurring any punishment. Probably because many of the men entered in the games were in fact criminals.

This fight, Baiel then went on to note, proved the exception. Both men delivered relatively skillful blows, and both took minor wounds, but it was obvious from the start that the Justice officer was not going to prevail. His opponent solidified his victory in only minutes, inflicting a deep slash across the officer's calf rather than hewing through the entire limb. The first defeated Justice officer to be left alive, aside from those facing knights or their own kind, the man limped off the field, leaving his foe behind to be officially declared the victor by the royal jester.

Baiel was pleased no deaths had yet occurred this day, and knew his own fight would prove no different. Warlords did not kill if they didn't have to.

He waited until only ten or so minutes remained until the top of hour, then began making his way down to the field. He allowed Qyn to accompany him, but left Reagan behind with Yuri and Geves; she didn't appear to mind, simply giving him a smile while stating she'd see him soon. Clearly, she maintained full confidence in his abilities and wasn't worried he was about to be maimed or killed.

Fighting their way through the crowd took longer than expected, and Baiel was still collecting his sword and shield from the officers he'd been forced to leave them with that morning when the first gong sounded. Evidently, the weapons of all combatants had to undergo testing to ensure they'd not been magicked in some way, and while he hadn't favored the idea of handing over his sword, he'd had little choice in the matter.

"You're clear to engage," one of the officers at the edge of the field told him, giving over his weapons.

Baiel didn't reply, taking his sword and shield and turning away.

"Await me here," he instructed Qyn.

The boy nodded quickly, nearly vibrating with excitement.

The audience made their presence known as he strode onto the field. Many of them, he noted, were cheering him, while others seemed to be wishing him a swift and brutal death, made evident by jeers such as "Die, warlord scum!" He ignored them all and drew to a stop before the bell-ringer and his opponent.

He quickly scrutinized the knight. The man was about his own height, but somewhat heavier and near to twenty years his senior. His eyes were calm and determined as he looked back at Baiel, sizing him up in kind.

They set me against one of their veterans, he realized. He knew the pairings of the Challenge were supposed to be devised randomly, but was suddenly very much in doubt of this. Whether simple defeat or actual death was their aim, it was clear the royal council wanted him out of this competition, and as quickly as possible. Annoyed, he aimed to make their supposed champion look like a fool.

The knight raised his sword, assuming the starting pose.

Baiel did likewise, crossing their blades with a light touch.

The bell-ringer leapt to safety.

Baiel lost focus of all sights and sounds around him, intent only on the blade in his hand and listening for the chime that would give him the allowance to move. When it came, he reacted instantly.

Circling his wrist to the left, his sword blade rounded over and underneath the enemy steel. Putting a slight angle to his weapon, he then brought his arm up, bringing the knight's sword with it. With both weapons momentarily above their heads, Baiel twisted to slam his shield into the knight's unprotected right side, simultaneously bringing his sword arm down to smash his elbow into the man's face. The knight's sword dropped from his hand, and Baiel brought the hilt of his own weapon down atop his skull, knocking him senseless.

As much of the crowd erupted in cheers, Baiel turned toward the royal council and simply stared at them. The royal jester, Devlin Alvik, started toward him.

"Your prowess is surprising, even for a warlord," Alvik said in greeting, drawing near.

"I'm sure it is," Baiel told him dryly. "Clearly you would've selected a different opponent had you foreseen the joke I'd make of this one. Or was he the best of the lot?"

The jester paused, taking in his defiant stance with blatant amusement. "You might find it prudent to speak with more care, Sir Maves," he warned. "Certainly you realize your kind aren't appreciated here, and such behavior will earn you no allies."

Baiel shrugged. "I think I can do without the sorts of allies to be found in this city."

The jester's smile widened as he continued to watch him. "In that, perhaps you would be surprised." He took another step forward, grasped Baiel's arm, and bellowed to officially declare him the winner.

"Until the next round then, jester," Baiel said a moment later, taking back his arm. "Perhaps in the future you'll consider providing me a challenge."

Alvik snorted but said nothing more, turning away to start back to his seat amongst the rest of the royal council. Baiel left the field and found Reagan, Geves, and Yuri all awaiting him next to Qyn.

"If your intention was to piss off every knight in Aralexia, consider your mission accomplished," Geves remarked in greeting.

"Not to mention the royal council," Yuri added, "who are never happy with our presence here."

Despite their words, Baiel discerned neither were especially bothered. Reagan, however, was looking at him interestedly.

"I saw you exchanging words with Master Alvik," she began.

He waved off the inquiry, not wanting to admit his rudeness to her employer. "It was nothing," he said. He looked about briefly. "But I've about had my fill of the arena for the day. Stay if you like, but I'm going to head back to the inn."

Qyn wished to remain, as did Geves and Yuri, to witness the day's final two fights. Reagan was undecided, but agreed to depart when Baiel mentioned his desire to speak with her privately. The statement seemed to make her apprehensive, and she remained quiet as they threaded their way from the forum into the city streets.

Baiel kept his silence as well, not wanting to broach the subject on his mind while they remained in public. He was further using the time to carefully select his words, figuring the wrong approach would only offend or enrage her. Either way though, he was determined to discover the truth, and finally learn Reagan's real reason for being in the home city of Justice.

The silence between then continued until they were securely sequestered in his room within The Dancing Damsel. Reagan sank into the chair by the window and took him in expectantly, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts.

"What's on your mind, brother?" she asked.

He came to stand before her, looking down. "I would know why you're truly here in Aralexia."

She said nothing for some time, holding eye contact. "It's obvious you already know," she finally replied, reaching up to idly finger her Revenge medallion.

He sighed, feeling a surge of disappointment. "So you intend to do what, exactly? Kill him? The thought is madness, Reagan!"

Her eyes blazed as she glared up at him. "Madness, you say? How many lie dead because of his neglect, all of them citizens he was sworn to aid and protect! With our own parents among them, how dare you oppose me for wanting to make him pay?"

"Because you will fail!" he came back, just as heatedly. "And then you will die!"

Her eyes narrowed further. "Do not underestimate me," she hissed.

His eyebrows rose. "Underestimate you? How can I not? He's surrounded by a constant guard, one that'll cut you down at the very hint of a suspicious move. Don't you understand, you cannot get to him! Not now, and not ever."

She stared at him in silence.

Observing nothing to indicate she might relent, he withheld another sigh and crouched down before her. "Reagan, please let this go. It was a terrible thing that happened, but you must have faith that the Patrons, in their wisdom, will make everything right in the end. It might not be you holding the reins, but Fate will ensure he receives his share of the blame for what happened. Please," he repeated, "let this go and start living your life. Otherwise you'll forever be chained to a past that holds nothing for you but ghosts and heartbreak."

Keeping her eyes on his, she released her Birth medallion and reached for her Secondary. "I will be the one holding those reins, Baiel," she told him, slowly flipping the bronze circle to reveal her Choice Patron. "No matter how many years it may take, or if the task claims my very life—it will be me."

He stared in horror at her identical medallions of Revenge, his mind struggling to accept that she'd willingly done this. To have risked madness, simply to pursue a vengeance that would, in all likelihood, claim her life—he could not make himself understand, and only acknowledge that her desire for this must run far deeper than he'd ever imagined.

At last he found his tongue, and moved his eyes back to hers as he spoke. "What really happened to you all those years you were kept in Jennen?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing you'd care to hear of, Baiel," she snapped back, flipping her Secondary so it again faced inward. "Furthermore, I had no intention of asking for your help with my plans, but I'd at least hoped for your support."

"That is something I can never give you," he told her sadly, shaking his head. "Not for this."

She shot to her feet and stormed toward the door, nearly knocking him over in her wake. "Just return to your precious keep and go on ignoring the rest of the world. Leave the matters of the realm to those of us who actually care about them!" she yelled, disappearing through the door and slamming it behind her with monstrous fury.

He stared after her, completely dumbstruck. After only days, the sister he'd been searching for a dozen years had again just vanished from his life. And all in the name of Revenge—shallow, spiteful revenge, a desire most loathed by all warlords.

He didn't go after her.
Chapter 34

The sixth day of the week began the last day of the Challenge's first round, seeing the final ten men yet to fight taking the field to determine which of them would move on, and which would be defeated or killed. Oliveah had been seated in the stands since early morning, had now witnessed the first four duels—and consequently two deaths—of the day, and was determined not to leave this arena again until Devlin Alvik did.

Despite making three trips to the bookshop over the past two days, and leaving him urgent messages each time, he appeared to be ignoring her demands to meet. Likely, he anticipated her fury over the result of both Nathon and Taleb moving on to the second round, but she would tolerate being ignored no longer. It was her intention this day to stalk the royal jester until he agreed to face her—something he'd have no choice but to do if he didn't want her drawing unwanted attention to them both.

At present, she was seated with Madi, Taleb, Nathon, and Sabian and Eugan Reif. Reavis had been making appearances on and off all day, but currently wasn't with them. Their position, due to Oliveah's insistence on arriving early as well as to the fact that three of the men in their party were first-round victors, was about as favorable as it could get; they sat front-row at field level, and directly across from the seating of the royal council. She'd consequently spent much of the day glaring across the grass in the general direction of Devlin Alvik. Whatever game he was attempting to play with her, she was determined to put a stop to it today.

To her right side, Taleb, Nathon, and Eugan were discussing the combatants who'd be moving on with them to the second round. Eight knights and eight Justice officers had so far conquered, as well as five foreigners, including the much-discussed Rydin Kale, several Dhan'Marians who for the most part represented the country's criminal population, and the warlord. This young man had fought the day before, with his victory causing a great amount of apprehension to erupt in his fellow participants. Oliveah had specifically overheard Nathon and Eugan discussing how neither felt even the slightest desire to face him. She was of an entirely different opinion, figuring any match-up with Baiel Maves would prove the most effective way of enacting the task the jester had so far failed to accomplish.

She remained unsure of Taleb's opinion of the warlord, but after speaking to Madi the night before, now knew he'd be departing Aralexia in Sir Maves' company. If nothing else, this had convinced her that she could not attempt sending Taleb with Madi and Sabian when they set out to begin their quest for the Ruby Stone. Sabian, of course, had already told her as much, but knowing Stahl, the very Patron of War, wanted Taleb in Lutarre Keep with the warlords forced her to give the matter a more serious consideration. Apparently, the Patrons themselves were now interfering to be certain Taleb would be ready when the time came—a fact she was regarding with absolute terror.

But despite learning the truth of Stahl's objective, Madi continued to remain ignorant to the deeper truth of Taleb. She had, however, glimpsed something else that upset her greatly, remaining quiet and lost to her own thoughts for much of the previous evening. She hadn't offered to share whatever this information was, and Oliveah knew better than to ask. It was a difficult path the diviner was often forced to walk, and by way of experience Oliveah knew the best thing to do was simply let her be.

Taleb, Nathon, and Eugan were now discussing how they would configure the match-ups of the second round were such decisions in their power, an activity they all seemed to find highly entertaining. Oliveah tuned them out while looking to her other side.

Madi was seated on the bench to her left, and Sabian next to her. The two were speaking in low tones and Oliveah caught the word "ship". While Sabian had yet to reveal the exact location of the lost Catalyst Stone he and the diviner would soon be seeking, he had spoken that their destination lay upon another continent. This information made Oliveah nervous, and gave her a clearer understanding of why Stahl had directed one of his warlords into Taleb's path; had he not, and despite Sabian's warning, she still would've been tempted to send him to act as Madi and Sabian's protection—something they might be in dire need of, depending on which foreign realm they'd have to enter. Oliveah knew Nathon would do it if she asked it of him, but she was hoping to avoid this possibility. Losing Taleb would be difficult enough, but sending Nathon off at the same time would devastate her. She would proceed with the option if it was her only hope of keeping Madi and Sabian safe, but in the meantime aimed to keep her eyes and ears alert for an alternative.

"I don't know why we're even bothering to stay for this," Taleb was saying now, drawing her attention back. "No chance will this be a fair fight."

"I still can't believe the king allowed Prince Luken to enter," Nathon added, shaking his head. "Perhaps the rumors of his madness have some truth behind them after all."

Eugan snorted. "I hope it isn't the royal council's intention for him to win the tournament. For once they've run out of knights and Justice officers to pair against him and take the fall, only uncertainty and danger will remain."

Nathon looked at him. "Are you saying you wouldn't hold back, if drawn to face him?"

Eugan was quiet, giving the question serious consideration. "My pride demands I proclaim the fight would be fair, that I'd approach it with every intention of seeing it out to the best of my ability. But truthfully, once I found myself facing him, I think I would throw the match. I don't believe I could truly risk harming our future king."

"I would likely do the same," Nathon admitted.

"I wouldn't," Taleb broke in, turning to shoot them a frown. "He entered this willingly, with a full understanding of the rules. Whatever befalls him now is his own doing."

Oliveah's eyes were fixed blindly on the field ahead as she took in Taleb's words, her limbs locked within the chill they'd just sent coursing through her.

Eugan, however, was chuckling faintly. "You're clearly a braver man than I, Taleb."

"Or one far more foolish," Nathon added, sounding perturbed.

Taleb's tone was amused when he replied. "My bravery or foolishness aside, I believe there's at least a handful of combatants who'd not only enjoy crossing blades with the prince, but who wouldn't hesitate in the slightest to kill him. The Balshan in particular comes to mind," he said, referring to the man who'd snapped the spine of the unfortunate knight who'd been paired against him.

"None of the Jennites would think twice about it either," Eugan added. "In fact, King Stoneburn would likely reward the one responsible."

Oliveah was still listening to them silently, their words giving her reason to ponder. Since she'd been told by the jester himself that he was manipulating the pairings of the duels, she figured there was little cause for concern when it came to Prince Luken's fate. Still, it would be interesting to see if the knight he was about to face had been instructed to take the fall and let the prince advance, or to conquer quickly and oust his highness from the competition unscathed. In any case, she finally decided, the royal jester certainly had his hands full this week, not that this excused his failures.

The first ring of the bell called the days' final two combatants to the field just minutes later, and the reception of the crowd appeared to indicate that much of the audience had come to the same conclusions put forth by Taleb, Nathon, and Eugan. The consensus seemed to be that Prince Luken had been included in this year's Challenge for the sole purpose of manipulating his win, and the populace wasn't at all happy about it. Although not bold enough to heckle or jeer at their future king, no cheering pervaded the field at his entrance either, leaving an eerie and dense silence throughout the entire forum.

When the match began just a minute later, even Oliveah had no trouble discerning the obvious sham of this duel. In fact, she was soon wincing, feeling embarrassed for both the prince and the knight as they carried out their dance. Although, in Prince Luken's defense, it didn't appear as though he realized the truth of the matter, as he seemed to be putting his full effort into the fight. And to her eye at least, the prince was not wholly unskilled, just utterly outmatched.

After several painful minutes of observation, the knight at last stepped into a thrust and went down. The injury would be minor, yet he kept to the ground, giving a clear signal of defeat. Prince Luken was the only person in the entire forum to appear surprised by his victory, and the strange silence continued to reign even as Devlin Alvik loudly proclaimed him the victor of the fight.

Finally, a small splattering of applause began. It grew in momentum, circling its way about the stands, but remained nothing more than a polite show of appreciation that lacked all feeling. Prince Luken seemed not to notice, smiling as he waved to the crowd before turning back to rejoin his father and the rest of the council.

Oliveah sighed and put her head in her hands.

"Just as I thought, an utter waste of time," Taleb was now commenting.

Oliveah felt a nudge and turned to regard Nathon.

"Are you all right?" he asked, frowning slightly.

She thought quickly, as she now needed to distance herself from her party if she was to have any hope of cornering the jester before he escaped her.

"I'm fine," she told him. "But I have a performance tonight, and need to start back to my inn so I have time enough to prepare." This was true, although the performance wasn't until Fourteenth-hour—almost three full hours away.

"Where is the performance?" Nathon asked her. "If possible, I'd like to attend."

"I'm afraid you'll have to miss this one," she responded promptly. "It's to happen at a private residence."

Nathon looked disappointed. "Well, perhaps the next one then. But very well, I'll see you to your inn," he added, rising.

She'd anticipated this. "Thank you, but that's unnecessary. I bid Reavis to meet me just outside the arena." He frowned at her and she went on. "But if you could ensure Madi gets back safely, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course."

She got to her feet and began moving down the aisle, only to stop and repeat the entire conversation again with Taleb. Finally, she put them behind her and pushed herself into the crowd now converging on the exit. Rather than leave the forum entirely, however, she instead loitered at the wall, her eyes upon the royal council. The seven men making up this party were now being surrounded by a large group of knights, the security detail that would escort them back to the castle, she knew.

Most of the crowd had dispersed by the time the royal party began to approach, and those remaining were quick to make way. Oliveah donned the manner of an impatient woman awaiting someone as the group finally drew near, and the knights seemed to pay her little mind as she went on tapping her foot and sighing.

But she did manage to catch Alvik's notice, very briefly as he filed by, and she filled her eyes with all the wrath she could muster in that fleeting moment when their gazes locked. He gave no reaction to seeing her, but she nevertheless remained confident her message was received.

She waited until the knights bringing up the rear had marched through the exit, and then moved after them. Never venturing closer than fifty paces, she followed the royal procession out to the street, heading west.

She hadn't considered the possibility that the king deemed it beneath him to walk the ten or so blocks back to his castle. Spying the two ornate carriages awaiting his majesty and his entourage at the end of the street, her heart dropped as she realized the jester was going to escape her.

Cursing violently under her breath, she drew to a halt and watched as King DeSiva, his son, and the captain of the royal guard stepped up into one of the carriages. The commander of the Legion, the treasurer, and the king's seneschal moved to the other. Frowning quickly, she realized she'd lost sight of Alvik.

Desperately she scanned the street, finally seeing him as he rounded the block on foot. Deciding he must've taken her silent threat seriously, she hurried after him.

She followed as he led her through a maze of streets, up one, down another, across one block and then over two, always remaining a safe distance behind. Not once did he look back to ensure she followed, clearly assuming she was. At last they turned onto a street that looked vaguely familiar, and she was just beginning to panic, having lost sight of him again, when she realized this was the same street that kept to the bookshop. Spying it just ahead, she closed in quickly.

There didn't appear to be any customers within the small shop, only a lone man sitting behind the counter making figures in a ledger. He glanced up briefly when she entered, jerked his head toward the door behind him, and returned his focus to his task.

Oliveah said nothing, moving past him and pushing open the door to the tiny room where she'd spoken with Alvik previously. He was already within and waiting for her, seated at the table with his hands folded neatly before him. He held his silence until she closed the door behind her.

"Before you begin shouting at me," he started calmly, "I feel compelled to relay the danger of what you just did."

"I don't want to hear it," she snapped, pulling out the chair opposite him and dropping herself into it. "And in any case, if you'd done as you vowed, it wouldn't have been necessary."

He nodded blandly. "I can see this is going to be a rational discussion."

She glowered. "Explain yourself."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Now," she added, refusing to be intimidated.

His expression turned completely unreadable. "You might've warned me," he began, "as to the depths of their talents."

Pausing, she reminded herself to tread carefully here, suspecting the jester wouldn't hesitate to use any opportunity to trick her into slipping up and revealing Taleb's identity.

"They're both born to War," she told him. "I thought it would be obvious they possessed a certain level of skill."

Actually, and according to what she'd been overhearing throughout the city, it appeared both Nathon and Taleb were a fair amount more adept that she'd ever given them credit for. Although in Taleb's case, she now realized, this made a hideous sort of sense.

"Perhaps," Alvik responded to her now. "But even so, I matched Nathon with a man known to have a knight's abilities but a refusal to kill. I truly didn't anticipate him winning, especially with such ease."

Oliveah thought about this. She didn't see any reason for the jester to be lying, especially since he'd already placed his very life in her hands by revealing what he knew of Taleb. Plus, it made no sense for him to want Taleb and Nathon continuing in the competition.

"Well, what of Taleb, then?" she persisted, not yet ready to abandon her fury.

The jester blew out a breath. "I had no way of knowing the Kathwein was mad. Surely you understand why I'd thought him the perfect adversary."

She nodded grudgingly. Had the Kathwein not be insane, he indeed would've made a wise choice. Apparently not wise enough, however—for mad or not, Taleb had beaten him.

She sighed, frustrated that she could no longer, in good conscience, blame the jester. Quite likely, he was just as distressed as she was.

"All right," she said, relenting. "Let's concentrate on the second round, then."

He leaned back in his seat and spread his hands. "I'm open to suggestions. For besides the knights, I don't know of any but the warlord with the possible skill to best them without making the final blow a fatal one. Our options are running thin, Lady Oslund."

"The warlord," she then said, "could've taken at least one of them out in the first round. Why didn't you make such a pairing?"

He rubbed his forehead. "Had I to do it over, I would've. But I honestly believed the would-be knight and Kathwein had the matter covered. The council themselves wanted the warlord pitted against that knight, a veteran who they thought had a fair chance of ousting him." He laughed faintly. "They're not particularly happy with the disgrace Sir Maves made of their champion, if not the entire knighthood."

Oliveah narrowed her eyes at the jester, sensing a dark connotation in those words. "Exactly how unhappy is the council?" she asked.

He regarded her silently in response.

"You can't allow this to happen," she came back, suddenly panicked. "Just yesterday, Madi divined that Baiel Maves is meant to take—" she cut herself off abruptly, just in time. "To take him back to Lutarre Keep once the week is over. Stahl himself specifically sent the warlord here to carry out this task, although Maves was unaware of the reason until Madi happened across his path."

To her surprise, these words appeared to have a profound effect on Alvik.

"Maves isn't privy to the full truth of this though, is he?" he demanded quickly.

"No. Madi doesn't know, and neither does the warlord." She frowned at him in confusion.

He gave her an impatient look in return. "Do you truly think the warlords would accept him, if they knew?"

She considered for a moment before answering haltingly. "But . . . for the very safety of the realm . . . would they really turn him away?"

Alvik sighed. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. I would not take the risk." He paused, then went on. "But worry not for the safety of Baiel Maves, for I've already seen to the matter."

Looking back at him, Oliveah finally began to realize what she'd not allowed herself to fully comprehend until this moment. Not only was the man seated across from her incredibly dangerous, but obviously willing to cross whatever lines were necessary to see out his aims. And so long as he was careful, he carried the power to step over those lines with utter impunity. In other words, to cross Devlin Alvik was to earn yourself a death sentence, and she suddenly found herself wondering just how many people he was responsible for killing throughout his many years upon the council.

"Lady Oslund?" he was now calling to her.

Blinking quickly, she saw he now had several sheets of parchment spread across the surface of the table.

"The lists?" he said pointedly, gesturing.

Lists? She scrambled to pull her thoughts together, reminding herself that she needed all her wits about her to deal with this man. Not even for a moment did she want him suspecting she was off-balance.

The lists of the round two combatants, she then quickly supplied herself.

She reached for the nearest piece of parchment, pulling it toward her. A quick glance informed her that her guess was correct.

"All right," Alvik said, taking up another of the pages. "Let's get to work."
Chapter 35

Seventh-day was governed by Ehle, the Patron of Destiny, and Madi awoke that morning with all the suddenness of someone who'd just been hit with a bucketful of cold water. She shot upward to a sitting position, her eyes wide with the shock of her abrupt awakening.

"Oliveah!" she called urgently, looking to the other side of the room.

Oliveah was burrowed in her blankets, with only the spill of her hair visible upon her pillow. She mumbled but made no obvious signs of movement.

"Oliveah!" Madi tried again, kicking away her blanket and leaping to her feet. She hurried across the room, silently cursing her friend's typical stubbornness to rise. Mornings weren't Oliveah's favorite time of day.

Madi reached down and tore away her blanket. "You need to wake up!" she insisted. "Something's wrong!"

Oliveah made a growling sort of noise as she rolled over and slit open an eye. "Hmm?" she mumbled.

Madi crouched down next to the bed to put them on face-level. "Something terrible is going to happen today! It might've happened already!"

Clarity was blinking its way into her friend's gaze as Oliveah opened her mouth to respond. "What?" she asked. "What's to happen?"

Here Madi paused, uncertain of how to explain. The feeling she'd awoken to remained a seething mass of dread roiling about her stomach, and while she wasn't able to name its cause, she'd experienced something similar twice before; once when one of her young cousins had wandered off from the family, only to fall into a nearby pond and drown, and again when her favorite horse had been killed in an accidental barn fire.

Consequently, Madi didn't consider the feeling a warning exactly, because neither instance previously had allowed her the time or understanding to thwart the disaster. Instead, it seemed a prelude to grief, a conclusion that now had her near to panic.

"Madi?"

She realized Oliveah had now pushed herself into a sitting position, and was looking at her worriedly. Madi shot up and turned, dashing back across the room to one of her pouches.

"We might not be able to stop it, but perhaps we can discover what to expect, at least," she said, her hand closing about the item she sought. She then hurried back to Oliveah, gripping her deck of fortune cards while saying, "I'll have to read you."

Since Madi didn't yet know what this feeling predicted, she couldn't say whether the matter directly involved Oliveah or only herself. Unfortunately, diviners could not perform readings upon themselves—the results tended to be inaccurate as well as deeply confusing—which left her with no choice except to make Oliveah her subject. But with luck, she hoped the cards would at least lend them a clue in regard to whatever dire circumstance was slated to occur this day.

Oliveah still seemed groggy, as well as confused, but she nodded and drew her legs up to make room for the diviner on the bed. Madi dropped down across from her and thrust the fortune cards into her hands, instructing her to shuffle and then cut.

Oliveah did this wordlessly before setting the stack down between them. Madi snatched the first card from the top of the pile, then proceeded to lay out a basic spread. Eyes narrowed, she hunched forward and scrutinized the revealed symbols.

Instantly, she saw this matter, whatever it was, not only involved Oliveah, but that she stood at the heart of it. It also centered around a man, one who also wore an Arts Birth medallion.

Reavis?

She dismissed that idea almost immediately.

The jester?

"What are Devlin Alvik's medallions?" she fired quickly. "Arts and...?"

"Justice," Oliveah supplied.

Madi nodded. "Yes, of course—it would be nothing else given his seat on the council. But this confirms that the situation involves the two of you."

Oliveah frowned. "Are we in danger?"

She was quiet a moment as she slid her eye further down the layout of cards. "I do see Death as the final result, but not yours or his. The influence of Thieves sits between. Something has been stolen, or rather replaced, and this act will result in . . . several deaths." She looked up fearfully.

Oliveah's own eyes were widening in sudden horror. "The list of pairings we devised last night! It took us much time, but eventually we found a way to safely oust both Taleb and Nathon from the competition. Who took it?" she demanded furiously.

Madi shook her head. "I see only Thieves. Perhaps the better question is, who would want it? Certainly whoever this thief is, he must know that the jester, at least, is manipulating the Challenge."

"Which means he must also know why." Oliveah's expression of alarm was deepening by the moment. "I have to warn Devlin!"

Madi glanced to the window. "The first match is little more than an hour off. Can you reach him in time?"

Oliveah appeared to be thinking furiously, even as she bolted from the bed and reached for the nearest piece of clothing. "No," she said, her voice muffled as she tore off her nightshift, dropped it to the floor, and began pulling on a wrinkled dress. "I'll never find a way to speak to him before the first match, not without drawing a great deal of attention."

Madi was also now dressing hurriedly. "Then what else can we do?"

Oliveah tugged her dress into place and started on the laces, her harpists' fingers working with rapid speed. "I won't be able to get near him, but his brother will. We'll have to use him as our intermediary."

Madi paused in shrugging into her blouse and looked over. "Do you know where we can find him?"

"No, but I'd wager Taleb and Nathon do."

Madi nodded and turned her attention back to buttoning her blouse. Taleb and Nathon would likely know this because they'd been stalking the mage for the first couple days of the week, before Oliveah had stepped in and spoke with Flynn Fajen. How she and Oliveah were going to extract this information without divulging why they wanted it was the problem, but after a quick glance over, Madi figured Oliveah was already assessing their options.

They flew from their room and down the stairs the moment they were decently attired. It had become a habit over the past few days for Nathon and Taleb, as well as the two Reifs, to come to their inn in the mornings so they could all take breakfast together before heading to the arena, so it wasn't a surprise when Nathon met them at the bottom of staircase. Failing to stop quickly enough, Oliveah tumbled into him as Madi pulled up just behind.

Nathon steadied Oliveah before taking them both in. "Rough night?" he asked curiously, eyeing Oliveah's wrinkled dress and un-combed hair, still tousled from sleep.

Madi shot a quick glance over into the common room, spying Sabian, Eugan, and Taleb seated upon the couches. In the midst of a discussion, it didn't appear any of the three had yet taken notice of them. She turned back just in time to see Oliveah grab hold of Nathon's shirt with both her fists.

"At which inn is the mage staying?" she demanded, bringing her face close to his.

Watching, Madi saw Nathon was as stunned by the move as she was. Apparently Oliveah had decided to sacrifice subtlety and deception for the sake of expediency—a decision rather easy to understand, given the circumstances. Since today began the second round of the Challenge, any of the thirty-two men remaining in the competition could be called forth, and generally, this information was received by the town criers little more than an hour or so before the first duel. Clearly, Oliveah was terrified that those called would no longer be the men she and the royal jester had selected them to be.

"What happened?" Nathon was now demanding, staring back at Oliveah as she continued to cling to his shirt. "Has he done something further?"

Oliveah pulled herself in closer, and spoke so that Madi, still standing just behind, could barely hear.

"Nathon," she said, "I need you to name his inn, and I need you do it now, without any further questions. He's done nothing wrong, but if I don't find him, and quickly, someone is going to die today. Now please, just tell me what I need to know."

Nathon plainly wasn't sure what to make of this. "I will take you there," he finally replied.

Oliveah released him, but with a violent shake of her head. "No!" she insisted. "Just tell me where I can find him. Please, Nathon. Please trust me."

His expression remained indecisive, but he gave her what she wanted. "The Dancing Damsel," he said.

Oliveah was already moving past him toward the door as she yelled her response. "We'll meet you at the arena. Do not come after us!"

Madi charged out the door just behind her. "East," she then directed when Oliveah paused, uncertain of which way to go.

They hitched up their skirts and ran for the end of the block. "Do you really think they won't follow?" the diviner called as they rounded onto the next street.

"No," Oliveah shouted back. "We'll have to try to stay ahead of them."

Madi didn't believe this was likely. "I expected you to try deceiving the information from him," she huffed.

"With Taleb I would have," Oliveah panted in return. "But lying to Nathon is next to impossible. If he detects any untruth, he just keeps asking the same questions, in a hundred different ways, until you trip yourself up. And we hardly have such time to waste."

Madi glanced over as they went on weaving through the thickening crowd. "You'll need to tell them something so they don't start poking their noses into this."

"I know. I'll think of something once I have more time."

Their words fell away as they continued east, and Madi found she needed all her breath just to keep up their pace. Her lungs were burning when they finally rounded onto the street housing The Dancing Damsel, and she could do nothing but silently point Oliveah to their destination, too breathless to speak.

Sweaty and panting, they closed upon the inn's front doors just as a brown-skinned man and golden-haired young woman stepped through. The Thieves' commander was easy to identify, but as she skidded to a halt before the two Madi realized the female was also familiar, having seen her at the Tulan ball. In fact, it was she Lord Beran had accused of stealing his family's famed diamond. In light of the woman's present company, Madi quickly deduced that this had likely been the truth of the matter all along.

"Master Fajen!" Oliveah managed between gasping breaths, stumbling toward him. "We must see the mage!"

Madi paused next to her, nearly bent double and furiously trying to blink the perspiration from her eyes. She blearily noted Fajen and his companion observing her and Oliveah with mild interest.

"Lady Oslund," the Cejan then greeted flatly, his look to Oliveah turning decidedly unfriendly. "I was under the impression that our mutual business was concluded."

"Please, this is a most urgent matter," Oliveah told him with obvious desperation.

Fajen continued to appear unimpressed. "Did the jester send you? For I already made it clear to him that none of my Thieves were to have anything more to do with his schemes."

Madi straightened and leveled her breathing as best she could, realizing they required a different approach. It appeared Fajen and the royal jester weren't on the best of terms, and that she and Oliveah had just blindly stumbled into the midst of their animosity.

"Master Fajen," she started, catching his eye and holding it. "I am a diviner by the name of Madilaine Savannon. Just this morning I performed a reading, revealing that without your mage's aid, lives may be lost this day. Please, let us see him."

The Thieves' commander looked surprised for a moment, and then his blue eyes narrowed back at her suspiciously.

"It's true," the golden-haired woman next to him then spoke up. "She's a diviner as she claims, as I remember her from Tyrell."

Fajen absorbed this before looking back to Oliveah. "So this doesn't involve the jester?"

Oliveah hesitated. "I cannot, in all honestly, claim that. But the diviner speaks the truth in that lives are at risk this day."

"There always are when he's involved," the Cejan replied irritably.

Madi exchanged a quick glance of desperation with Oliveah. Would Fajen truly not let them pass? She tossed a quick look over her shoulder, relieved to see no sign of Nathon and Taleb closing in. She looked back just as the golden-haired woman issued her own question.

"Whose lives are at risk, exactly?" she asked, looking at Madi.

Madi paused, glancing to Oliveah again. "The combatants," she finally replied, seeing no choice but to answer.

Both Thieves seemed to find her response interesting.

"Can you tell us who's going to win the tournament?" the woman next asked.

Madi hesitated again, aware that even Oliveah had now turned to her with curiosity, anticipating her answer.

"I believe," the diviner started slowly, "it would be unwise to favor any but the warlord." She had not, in actuality, foreseen Baiel Maves' victory, but what she had glimpsed of him gave her every reason to be confident of her analysis. Unless the Patron of War himself took the field against him, she couldn't conceive of anyone besting this young man.

The female thief looked bored with her response. "Everyone in the city says the same."

"Not everyone," Fajen returned. "I took an incredible wager on Kale the first day of the games."

Oliveah's nerves had apparently reached their limit. "Are you going to help us or not?" she all but yelled at the two.

Fajen blinked at her slowly. "Room 214. But be forewarned, given the early hour he's likely still abed. Also... do not make me regret this, Lady Oslund."

Oliveah didn't reply, bolting through the doors of the inn without another word. Madi remained where she was, her eyes now narrowed on the Thieves' commander. "You have an enemy here in Aralexia, Master Fajen," she told him.

He exchanged a glance with his companion and then took a step forward. "Can you tell me something of him, diviner?"

"Only that he'll come for you before week's end. Remain cautious."

He nodded slowly. "I appreciate the warning."

She sent him a nod in return and then started into the inn after Oliveah. The common room was busy, crowded with those enjoying their breakfasts, but there was no sign of her friend. Deciding she must've already started upstairs, Madi approached the staircase but then paused with her hand atop the bannister, looking back into the common area.

As if speaking of Baiel Maves had somehow brought him forth, her gaze landed on him now, seated with two other warlords and a boy she presumed was their squire. They had a table to themselves and appeared to be finishing their breakfasts, likely preparing to depart for the forum in the event Baiel was called on to fight today.

He caught her stare and held it, clearly recognizing her despite her shawl, and she remained unmoved for a long moment, wondering if his mere presence would again trigger her second sight. She was relieved when it didn't, since she just didn't have time to further comprehend the truth of him at this moment.

Finally he simply offered her a nod. She smiled in return, then turned away and forced both her feet and her mind from the path of Baiel Maves, ascending the steps as quickly as her still-aching legs would allow.

Reaching the top of the staircase she turned right, following the sounds of shouting now coming to her ears. Arriving at room 214, she peered inside and quickly assessed the cause for all the noise. Oliveah had evidently found trouble in rousing the mage, prompting her to dump an entire pitcher of water over his head. He was presently on his feet, completely drenched and wearing nothing but his smallclothes as he yelled, making clear his discontent.

Madi hurried inside the room and shut the door behind her. Looking closer, she then realized Knoxx Alvik was familiar to her—she'd seen him in Tyrell the week of Ardin's Pride. Oliveah, she further recalled, had actually spoken to him.

"Is this some demented form of revenge for my spying? Because as far as I was aware, that matter was settled!" the mage raved, shaking droplets from his dripping yellow hair.

Oliveah had retreated to a safe distance, but stood regarding him with crossed arms. "Be quiet and listen to me," she demanded, looking over to note Madi's presence. "I need to get a warning to your brother immediately, and you're the only one who can deliver it without arousing suspicion."

He paused in his ranting and looked at her with sudden wariness. "You didn't by chance encounter Flynn on your way up here did you?"

"Outside," Oliveah told him. "He gave us your room number."

Knoxx groaned and sank onto his sodden bed. "Have you any idea the trouble you've gotten me into?"

Madi looked to him sympathetically, presuming this related to the conflict between Fajen and the jester. "We're sorry," she told him, "but this is important."

He glanced over, and by his look took notice of her for the first time. "Diviner," he nodded.

"How much do you know of this matter?" Oliveah cut in, drawing his attention back.

He frowned. "The matter of your two War-born, you mean? Nothing but that they've somehow caught my brother's interest."

Madi and Oliveah shared another look. He knows even less than I do, Madi realized. The implications of this were rather frightening; while Madi knew Taleb was the man in question, only Devlin Alvik and Oliveah truly knew what Fate held in store for him, and for the mage to have been told so little it seemed obvious the jester was trying to protect him. Not for the first time, Madi was grateful Oliveah hadn't yet confided to her this secret.

"All right," Oliveah said, taking a few steps toward him. "Suffice it to say, your brother's interest includes a strong desire to keep them both alive. He and I spent a substantial amount of time devising the combat lists for the second round last night, and for this express purpose."

The mage failed to look surprised at learning his brother was manipulating the Challenge in this fashion. "I'm with you so far," he said, nodding.

"Discovered by way of a divination just this morning," Oliveah went on, "we've learned that an unidentified thief has taken our lists and replaced them with his own. We—"

Knoxx cut her off and spun to take in Madi. "What more can you say of this thief?" he demanded.

She noted his alarm. "I know only that this person is male and born to Thieves."

He began muttering under his breath, even as he reached for a pair of trousers lying in a heap on the floor and began pulling them on.

Oliveah was watching him carefully. "You can identify the culprit?"

"I believe I can make a fairly good guess," he replied shortly, standing and reaching to extract a shirt from a cloth bag sitting on a nearby chair. "And if I'm right, this is much, much worse than you realize."

Oliveah gazed at him, her eyes distressed. "So you believe this man may know the truth your brother and I are protecting?"

Knoxx glanced at her as he buttoned his shirt. "It's possible, I suppose. But this could just as likely be a plot against the prince."

Madi felt her eyes widen. With all the worry over this being a move to eliminate Taleb, she hadn't even considered the possibility that the true target here might be Prince Luken. Looking at Oliveah, it was clear her friend hadn't entertained the idea either.

"Go!" Oliveah urged, putting her hands to the mage's back and shoving him toward the door. "And if your brother doesn't want me stalking after him again, make certain one of you gets back to me before days' end! We're staying at The Green Rose."

Knoxx didn't argue. In fact, he was racing through the corridor and plummeting down the stairs within a matter of blinks. Glad he was aiming to waste no more time, Madi nonetheless found his urgency worrying, as clearly this unnamed thief, whoever he was, was capable of great damage. She was then completely disconcerted to look over and see Oliveah trembling in panic.

This wasn't a sight Madi had ever beheld before. In fact, excluding the long-ago days when Oliveah suffered from performance anxiety, the diviner couldn't ever recall seeing her in a similar state. Whatever the truth of the secret she now labored under, its toll was already proving heavy.

"We need to get to the arena," Oliveah muttered, pushing her hands back through her hair in an obvious attempt to get herself under control. "We need to know if today's fighters have yet been announced."

Madi led the way from the room, hurrying down the stairs and through the common room. Many were still present, enjoying their breakfasts, which meant there remained some time before Seventh-hour, when the first duel was set to take place. Baiel and his company, Madi saw, had now departed.

Oliveah pulled in front of her when they hit the street, running for the arena. Madi did her best to keep pace, her lungs quickly blooming with fire again. Reaching the busy marketplace outside the forum, they then had no choice but to slow as the crush of bodies became overwhelming.

Madi quickly latched onto the nearest arm, and then asked the man it belonged to if the day's fighters had yet been announced.

"The list will be delivered to the criers any moment now," he told her excitedly.

She released her hold and turned to Oliveah, who was much taller than she and already scanning for sight of any such town criers. "There!" her friend then exclaimed, throwing herself into the throng ahead.

Madi made a wild grab for Oliveah's arm and kept hold as they pushed and shoved their way forward. By the time they reached the hard press of bodies surrounding the crier, a swarm of leaflets were already passing from hand to hand, revealing the information all were waiting for. The crier was also now shouting the list, but due to the size of the crowd about him Madi couldn't make out a word from where she stood.

She turned back in time to see Oliveah rip a leaflet out of another woman's hand. The woman appeared not to appreciate the gesture, and let this be known by shoving Oliveah in the chest. Madi then felt her jaw drop as she watched her dearest friend launch a retaliatory fist into the woman's face.

Oliveah's victim stumbled back, her nose dribbling blood. Oliveah herself was paying her no further mind, staring down at the leaflet in her hands. Madi was therefore the only one to see the scowling Justice officer now making his way toward them; public fighting in Aralexia was an offense worthy of arrest, and it was clear he had this in mind as he closed in.

Madi grabbed hold of Oliveah's wrist and furiously began pulling her through the crowd.

"What are you doing?" Oliveah bellowed at her.

"Keeping you out of jail," Madi shouted back, still dragging her through the press with all the strength she could muster.

It seemed Oliveah looked back and saw the officer, for she said nothing more and added her own efforts to their movement. Since they were now trying to escape the arena rather than enter it, they were pushing against the flow of the crowd and this made the going extremely difficult. The Justice officer, however, appeared to lose sight of them, although he continued scanning the faces all about him.

Madi was forcing her way through, pushing people aside as quickly as possible, when she found herself encountering a familiar face. Pulling up short, she stared into the gray eyes of her cousin Mika, who she hadn't seen or heard from since the final day of Ardin's Pride. She'd been relieved to learn he'd escaped the carnage unharmed, and now sent him a quick smile.

He showed no reaction to her greeting, his eyes remaining blank and his expression fixed, but there remained no question he saw her.

Madi then remembered the edict her Uncle Eward had proclaimed to the entire Savannon clan, barring all members from having any contact with her for an entire year. This adequately explained Mika's cold reception, although not so much as suddenly seeing Eward himself standing behind her cousin. His gaze was positively frigid, and Madi turned away from him instantly, plunging herself into the surrounding crowd.

At last they escaped back into the street, which at least provided breathing room. Madi paused to catch her breath even as she tried to push the encounter with her uncle and cousin from her mind, and then turned back with amazement. She still couldn't believe Oliveah had hit that woman.

"Well?" she gasped out. Oliveah was again peering at the leaflet in her hands, which she'd taken pains to protect during their wild tumble through the crowd. She was just opening her mouth to respond when a hand reached down and lifted it smoothly from her grasp.

"Here she is, and thoughtful enough to provide us with the list," Taleb said, bringing the parchment around to his gaze.

Madi was half expecting Oliveah to hit him next, but apparently she'd already observed what she needed to. Her look was the very picture of relief, which Madi presumed meant neither Taleb nor Nathon would be fighting this day.

Nathon and Eugan were now crowding behind Taleb to get a look at the names on the leaflet. Madi, now burning with curiosity, pushed her way into them and looked for herself.

As evidenced by Oliveah's expression, she saw neither Taleb's nor Nathon's name listed there. In fact, she saw no names she even recognized but for the very last. Eugan Reif would be appearing in the final match of the day, facing one Gliddion Xaz.

"Who is Gliddion Xaz?" she asked.

"The Balshan," Taleb said from behind her, a statement followed by a short silence. "He fought after me," he then added.

Madi searched her memory. She recalled Taleb's match clearly enough, but was fairly certain she hadn't stayed to watch the fights that followed. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Eugan looking somewhat pale.

"So," Taleb went on, discarding the leaflet carelessly with a flick of his wrist, "did the two of you see to your business?"

Neither Oliveah nor Madi replied, sharing a quick look of uncertainty.

Taleb seemed bemused by their silence. "Nathon said you had some women's business to attend to before the first match?"

That's why they didn't follow us, Madi realized. Clearly when Oliveah had asked Nathon to trust her, he'd taken the request seriously. So seriously, in fact, that he'd lied to Taleb about where they'd gone. Glancing over, Madi saw Oliveah had reached the same conclusion, evidenced by the look she was now giving Nathon.

Taleb appeared not to notice, shrugging. "Sorry for asking," he said, feigning offense.

Realizing they'd completely disregarded his inquiry, Madi quickly blurted, "It's nothing you wish to hear of, is all."

He accepted this with a nod. Certainly, there was no quicker way to lose a man's interest than by speaking of "women's business".

"We'd better get back inside before Sabian has to defend our seats with his very life," Nathon said. "It gets pretty ugly in there coming down to the last few minutes before a duel."

Madi waited to see if Oliveah intended to risk going back into the forum, a move Madi thought would only incite further trouble.

"I'm afraid I'll have to miss today's fights," Oliveah finally answered, her face reddening.

Nathon regarded her. "Your dislike of them is no secret. Of course we understand if you don't wish to be present."

Oliveah was now torn between taking this convenient excuse so she wouldn't have to explain herself, and not wanting to offend Eugan for not staying and supporting his match. After a moment, propriety evidently won out over embarrassment.

"Of course," Oliveah began, looking down, "I wish to be present for your duel, Eugan. However...."

After a long silence, Madi finished for her, saying, "She got into a scuffle with another woman over the leaflet, and barely escaped arrest. In the interest of avoiding jail she'd best stay clear of the arena for the remainder of the day."

The three men had varying reactions to this statement.

Eugan donned a look of exaggerated shock. "You must've been very anxious indeed to get your hands on today's list. The two of you should be flattered," he smirked, glancing to Taleb and Nathon.

Taleb's expression of surprise had already turned to one of amusement as he gave Oliveah a quick once-over. "Well, you appear unhurt and your hand was left holding the leaflet. Obviously you proved the victor."

Nathon, Madi saw, had donned a suspicious look, although he said nothing. She'd come to realize over these past several days how clever he was, and figured he was now trying to connect this to their strange behavior of earlier.

Taleb continued his teasing. "Break any bones?" he asked, grinning.

"Her nose, I think," Oliveah mumbled, drawing from him a surprised snort of laughter.

Nathon sighed. "That's not actually a bone."

It seemed Oliveah had now had enough for one morning. "Madi?" she said, pointedly ignoring the men. "Are you staying?"

Madi quickly shook her head. Thus far, sticking near to Oliveah had kept her clear of trouble, and as they moved deeper into the week Madi's determination to maintain this objective only grew fiercer. Not for a moment had she forgotten her life was in danger here, that her best chance of escaping Aralexia alive was to remain with Oliveah. With the week now nearly half over, Madi's paranoia was climbing.

They said their farewells and both wished Eugan much luck on his match. Insisting they required no escort, they then started back to their inn at a lazy, exhausted pace through the now-deserted streets.

"I don't understand the list," Madi said, dragging her feet along the road. "If there's a plot against Taleb or Prince Luken, wouldn't their names have been listed to fight today?"

Oliveah was puzzled as well. "I can't explain it either. We'll just have to wait to hear from Devlin."

After reaching their inn, they tended to the washing and grooming they'd neglected earlier that morning and then dressed with significantly more care. Now feeling presentable, they settled into the common room to await any news.

At one point, Madi mentioned her encounter with Mika and Eward, claiming the affair had left a bad taste in her mouth. Oliveah counseled her to dismiss them, as they had more important matters to concentrate on this week. Madi accepted this advice happily, relieved to think no further on her cousin and uncle.

Around half-past Tenth-hour, Nathon and Taleb arrived bearing the heartbreaking news that Eugan had not survived his duel with Gliddion Xaz. They didn't offer any details, and, consumed with horror, Madi and Oliveah didn't ask for them.

It was then Madi finally understood the omen she'd awoken to that morning, a realization that increased her grief ten-fold. For all their worry over Taleb, Nathon, and even Prince Luken, it had been Eugan's life that was in danger this day, and she was guilt-stricken for having not foreseen even a glimmer of this truth.

As Oliveah labored under the same weighty conclusions, they mourned their friend with tears and prayers, and asked after Sabian. Taleb told them he was handling the situation well, probably because he continued to converse with his cousin despite that Eugan had now passed from the living realm. Oliveah expressed much concern over how Lord Guerin was to react to the news, and broke into a fresh bout of tears each time she spoke of her father's longtime friend.

At Oliveah's insistence, Nathon and Taleb finally departed at dusk. Madi was utterly exhausted by this time and longed for the escape only sleep could provide, barely able to keep her swollen eyes open. But Oliveah wasn't going to budge from this common room until receiving word from one of the Alvik brothers, so Madi steeled herself against her fatigue and stared blearily about the emptying room, unwilling to leave her friend to discover alone whatever further truths were to come.

She couldn't stop thinking of Eugan. The loss of him, and how she'd utterly failed to foresee his death, had created a terrible wound, despite that she'd only gotten to know him this past half-week. For Oliveah the grief would be much worse, for she and Eugan had known each other since infancy. Madi dreaded the next morning, knowing he wouldn't be here with Sabian to greet them. How reprehensible these games were.

It was just passed First-hour in the now-deserted common room when Madi distantly heard someone approaching from the entranceway. Turning her head wearily, she saw Oliveah already shifting to look back.

The mage was moving toward them, cutting through the deep shadows of the room as he drew closer.

"I was beginning to think I'd have to start stalking your brother again," Oliveah greeted him tiredly.

Knoxx looked wide awake as he dropped onto the couch between them. "First of all," he began, "and since you brought it up, I've been asked to issue you a strict warning against doing any such thing. You can't risk getting anywhere near to Devlin again. Should you need to relay any communication, you're to do so only through me."

Oliveah nodded impatiently. "What did you learn?" she demanded.

"Well," he went on, "Dev had no idea his list had been filched. Procedure calls for the sets of each round to be made—excuse me, randomly drawn—the night before that particular round is to begin. They're then delivered personally, by Devlin, to the Legion, and guarded until each day's list is brought to the criers in the morning. Dev said he did all this according to protocol, and sensed nothing amiss."

Madi frowned. "So he doesn't know when it was taken? Does he at least know why?"

The mage scratched his head. "The pairings of today's duels mystified him. He has no idea the aims of the perpetrator, and no way to change the lists now they're already submitted. This round is going to play out according to the thief's wishes, and there's nothing any of us can do about it."

Oliveah looked stunned. "Nothing? He can do nothing?"

Knoxx shook his head. "Short of setting fire to the Legion's headquarters—a decidedly tempting idea, but not one I can, in good conscience, advocate—we are helpless."

"What of the thief?" Madi asked, seeing her friend's mounting distress. "You said you could identify him."

His look darkened. "Rest assured, my brother and I will be looking into that. We're fairly certain we know the parties responsible, so now it's just a matter of determining what they've discovered—or aim to accomplish."

Madi took that in and studied him. Something in his tone struck her in a way she didn't understand, and it took her a moment to realize what it was.

"He told you," she said quietly.

The mage remained still, but then nodded slowly, first looking to Madi and then to Oliveah. "Yes," he confirmed. "I know what this concerns now. And I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Madi's eyes only narrowed in worry at hearing this, for it seemed Devlin Alvik was now willing to gamble with his brother's life along with Oliveah's and his own.
Chapter 36

Knoxx managed a few hours of sleep that night, waking to greet Eighth-day with the dawn. His buzzing mind quickly overshadowed any of his body's lingering fatigue as he got dressed, plotting out his movements of the day. He expected it to be an informative one, provided he survived it.

The previous day had, more or less, altered his entire life. He wasn't happy about it, but neither could he ignore its revealed truths, especially after Devlin explained exactly what was happening here in Aralexia. Turning his back on the matter was no longer an option, and he'd just have to find a way to make Flynn understand this—although with Aris Sylvain now mired in the affair, he suspected the task might not be as difficult as he was dreading. But speaking with Flynn would have to wait, since he first had more pressing matters to attend to.

Knoxx left his room, headed down the stairs, and exited The Dancing Damsel. The street beyond was brightening, but still holding to some early-morning shadows. Few citizens were yet up and about, apart from the street vendors now bustling to open their carts and shops for the day. Knoxx bought a handful of strawberries and snacked on his meager breakfast as he headed west, enjoying the early morning quiet as it allowed him to think. Another hour or so and this quiet would be obliterated in the crowds making their way to the arena for the morning's opening duel, an event Knoxx had every intention of attending just as soon as he'd seen to the first task his brother had burdened him with this day.

Two blocks from his destination, he finished his strawberries and ducked into an alleyway, promptly fading from sight. This was likely an unnecessary precaution, but one Devlin had advocated, citing that any misstep at this point would most likely prove fatal for the both of them. Knoxx hadn't argued.

He swept back into the street, now undetectable to the eye, and resumed his route. It led him to a small bookshop where his brother conducted much of his business, a location Devlin was still hoping Cadien Stavrakos knew nothing about but one he'd now personally avoid until this determination could be made for certain.

Knoxx let himself into the shop and looked about. There was a man reorganizing a shelf at the far wall, now paused with a book in his hand as he glanced about. Having heard the jangle of the bell announcing the mage's entrance, his confusion was no mystery, but after a moment he simply shrugged and returned to his organizing. Knoxx presumed this to mean his brother had either warned the shopkeeper to expect such occurrences, or the man had simply grown so used to inexplicable circumstances while acting as Devlin's spy that he no longer bothered to question them.

In any case, Knoxx paid him no further mind as he made his way behind the counter and through the door leading into a small, secret room. Within, there sat only a small table with three chairs, a lit oil lamp providing a fair amount of illumination, and shelves lined with bottles and glasses. Deciding it was too early for any of the types of beverages offered there, Knoxx settled himself onto one of the chairs and reappeared.

The man Devlin met here every morning at the hour of Sixth arrived promptly ten minutes later. He was tall, black-haired, a native of Jennen, and wearing a frown as he stepped through the door and took in the mage.

"Who are you?" Callan Ashe snapped.

"My name is Knoxx and I'm here on behalf of the jester. For the time being, all communication will be going through me."

The assassin sneered. "I don't deal with middle-men."

"You will if you want your three hundred gold," Knoxx replied. "Now have a seat. None of us are happy with the arrangement, but trust there's reasons for our caution." His words were issued without the slightest hint of uncertainty, although in reality he was quite terrified of igniting the temper of an assassin of Ashe's reputation. Although known only in certain circles, his was a name that tended to be thought of synonymously with Death.

Ashe appeared unperturbed by the command, however, dropping himself into the chair across from the mage and grinning faintly as he openly observed Knoxx's Birth and Choice medallions.

"Out of respect for my gold, I'll play along," he said. "But should you even think about disappearing with my earnings, thief, know I'll hunt you down and give your throat a smile the likes of which you've never seen."

Knoxx swallowed delicately, silently cursed his brother, and then forced himself to look back at Ashe unwaveringly. "Fair enough," he said, then hurried on. "Now, I'm aware that you've so far eliminated two men hired to kill the warlord Baiel Maves. Can you yet confirm both were hired by Cadien Stavrakos?"

"No," Ashe replied. "We don't gossip about our jobs, and I didn't bother questioning them before I killed them. That wasn't a condition of my contract."

Knoxx paused. Devlin warned him to expect such an answer, but had wanted him to ask nevertheless.

"Are you suspected among your fellow assassins?" he next questioned.

"Certainly not," Ashe told him. "No bodies have been discovered, so no one has any reason to suspect they're even dead, much less been killed by one of their own."

His brother considered Callan Ashe an extremely valuable resource, not only because he was proficient and immoral enough to hunt his own kind, but because he knew how to disguise his crimes by disposing of his marks in a way that left no trace of them. In short, the assassin was worth every piece of gold his outrageous prices demanded, and the jester needed to ensure he stayed on his side of Aralexia's conspiracies.

"Does the name Aris Sylvain mean anything to you?" Knoxx next asked.

"No," Ashe said.

Knoxx again took a moment to think. Not wanting to pull Ashe from his detail of guarding Maves, Devlin had hired another to take care of the problem that was Sylvain. This assassin had turned up dead yesterday afternoon, fished out of a drainage pipe with multiple knife wounds in his back. Knoxx had warned that Sylvain would be hard to get to, even harder to kill, and the proof of this had now surfaced in the form of a punctured and bloated body. Not wanting to risk Ashe, at least not until he saw Maves alive through the week, Devlin was pulling his efforts from Sylvain until he could work out a more refined plan. This was terrible timing, as both brothers were more or less convinced Sylvain and Stavrakos were behind the theft of the list of combatants, although the desired result of this scheme still remained undetermined. They were expecting today's designated fighters to provide further clarity.

"Do you have plans to leave Aralexia once the Challenge is concluded?" Knoxx now questioned.

Apparently Ashe's Secondary of Commerce had given him a scent for coin, for his look turned interested. "I could be persuaded to stay, depending on the circumstances," he replied.

Knoxx took hold of the leather pouch affixed to his belt and tossed it onto the table. "Consider this a retainer. Keep to protecting Maves for now, but once the week is through there will be further work for you. Acceptance of this implies you will take no jobs but for those negotiated with the jester—or with myself, if he still deems it unsafe to meet with you personally."

Ashe was now giving the contents of the pouch a close inspection, looking pleased by what he saw.

"Also," Knoxx added, watching him carefully, "you're to report on any others who try soliciting your services. We'll want their names, as well as the names of their marks, if possible."

Ashe had now pocketed the pouch, and lounged back in his seat with narrow-eyed calculation as well as a crooked grin. "Are you aiming to begin a revolution, boy? Because I've started a couple, and for someone in the jester's position, this is exactly how one goes about it."

At twenty-five, and by the looks of it only a few years younger than Ashe himself, Knoxx didn't appreciate being referred to as "boy", but he let the comment slide on account of the rest of Ashe's statement. So far as he knew, an actual revolution was not in Devlin's plans, but it was difficult to discount the assassin's experience in this matter. Particularly when one knew that Devlin never explained himself any further than what he deemed absolutely necessary. Knoxx suddenly found himself questioning his brother's motives.

Ashe continued to eye him.

Frustrated, Knoxx rapidly reached the conclusion that if he allowed himself to doubt Devlin in this area, then he'd have to doubt him in all. Consequently, he decided to hold to blind faith when it came to all matters involving his brother, mostly because he'd be of no use to anyone otherwise.

"You're being paid to kill, not question our motives," Knoxx finally responded, his tone clipped. "I would therefore suggest leaving us to our own objectives while keeping to yours."

He became incredibly unnerved as the silence following this statement stretched, with Ashe staring at him unblinkingly all the while. Deciding he'd pushed the assassin too far, Knoxx was preparing to vanish and make a dash for the door when Ashe finally looked away and got to his feet.

"Until tomorrow then," he said, turning to leave the room.

Knoxx waited until the door had closed behind him before exhaling a deep breath of relief. He had very little experience dealing with killers, and found he'd not enjoyed it in the slightest—and how lucky for him, he was going to have to repeat the process every morning for the remainder of the week. A part of the royal council or not, the mage didn't envy his brother's life here in Aralexia.

He stood and faded himself from sight, aiming to leave this safe house of Devlin's as anonymously as he'd entered. The jaded shop owner gave no reaction to the opening and closing of doors that saw Knoxx from the back room and then out onto the street, which was now buzzing in the early-morning anticipation of the day's first match. He headed for the arena, keeping an eye out for any leaflets announcing the days' fighters.

Still invisible, he reached the marketplace outside the forum and jostled his way recklessly through the crowds, finding it unlikely anyone would notice feeling him within such a press. While his feet were stepped on a number of times, he managed to make his way to a crier without receiving or inflicting any serious damage. Several Justice officers were now handing the stack of leaflets to the crier, who began distributing them to the hundreds of eager hands now trying to get a hold of one.

Knoxx smoothly pulled one such object from a woman's hand and vanished it, then backed himself away from the bulk of the crowd. He was somewhat hesitant to examine the leaflet's contents though, and therefore spent a few moments just standing there against the forum's outer wall, trying to conquer his feelings of dread. The reaction could be explained by what his brother had instructed him to do should Taleb's, Nathon's, or Prince Luken's name appear on the days' list. Who they'd be dueling would also be a factor, and warrant further direction.

Should any of the three be called to the field today, it had been Devlin's thought for Knoxx, disguised in invisibility, to accompany them. With carefully-timed tripping and shoving, it was his brother's idea that he could secretly aid those they needed to keep alive.

Knoxx had agreed to the likely effectiveness of the plan, but the prospect of putting himself in such close proximity to two dueling swordsmen wasn't one he looked forward to. Unfortunately, neither he nor Devlin was able to come up with a better option, or at least not one that afforded more than a slim chance of success. Which was why he was now cowered against a wall, fearful of looking at the piece of parchment clutched in his hand and wondering how he'd ever gotten himself into this position.

The sense of responsibility was not one he—or anyone—was accustomed to, and it rankled. If Prince Luken was killed, all manner of disaster would likely follow. If Taleb or Nathon died, depending on which of the two was the man Devlin was seeking, all Dhanen'Mar would be at risk. This left Knoxx with little choice but to do what his brother asked, regardless of the danger to himself, and he finally turned his attention to the leaflet, lifting it in his hand while withdrawing the sliver of Magic he'd used to vanish it.

The parchment reappeared, the black letters printed on it leaping into sight. Immediately, Knoxx saw he was in for a most unpleasant day.

Taleb's name was the first recorded, followed by that of the Justice officer he'd face at the top of the hour. Next would come a knight, battling the Jennite Rydin Kale. Knoxx was relieved he at least wouldn't have to get near to Kale, as he presumed such a move would be deadly whether the other man was aware of his presence or not.

The third pairing, to occur at Ninth-hour, would be between Nathon Wythe and Beynon Ansell, another Jennite who'd happily slaughtered his opponent, a Justice officer, during his first round duel. The day would've then rounded out as being the worst of Knoxx's life had Prince Luken been slated in the fourth and final duel, but mercifully, this proved not to be the case. Instead, this fight would see the warlord Baiel Maves versus Kem Maeda, the lastborn prince of the desert country Navosa.

Knoxx's first thought, after taking all this in, was that he'd have to risk himself on the field twice this day. His second, which he found strange, was a fleeting realization that no matter how frantic Oliveah Oslund had appeared to him yesterday, she was likely in a much worse condition now. Lastly, it came to him that this list, much like the one the day before, did little to discern the motives of those who'd concocted it. Or at least not as far as he could tell.

He let the leaflet fall from his hand, where it was quickly caught up in the wind and carried back into the masses, before starting into the arena. To avoid the annoyance of the crowd his steps carried him right onto the field, where he proceeded to close upon the seating of the royal council. Its seven members were themselves passing around one of the leaflets, and Knoxx figured that by this time, his brother was aware of the days' perplexing circumstances.

Remaining on the field, he halted about twenty paces back from those he regarded and turned to face them. King DeSiva, he saw, was speaking to the captain of his knights while gesturing emphatically. The knight's face remained impassive as he listened to what was most likely his majesty's inane ravings. The commander of the Legion, Valerio Catala, sat to the knight's other side, and Knoxx took the opportunity to scrutinize him interestedly, for there was something he knew of this man few did.

Pulling his gaze away, the mage next went on to take in his brother and Dusan Galaz. Knoxx glared at the seneschal, silently blaming him for this entire affair that he, and many others, were now deeply mired in and risking their lives for. It wasn't a fair judgment, he knew, but he did it all the same because glaring at the king, even while invisible, wasn't something he had nerve enough to do.

Devlin and the seneschal appeared to be exchanging a light-hearted chatter, proving themselves the excellent actors that they were, for it was doubtful either would be feeling anything close to light-hearted this day. Actually, the only relief to be found was in the final duel, when the warlord Baiel Maves would, without question, safely oust Prince Kem Maeda from the games and therefore avert any possibility of war between Dhanen'Mar and Navosa. For had Maeda been killed during the Challenge, this scenario would've been likely.

Knoxx finally took in Cadien Stavrakos, who sat in silence while surveying the field with an unmistakable glint of triumph in his eyes. Watching him, the mage wondered if his brother could find a way to explain away the matter if he were to suddenly begin strangling Stavrakos. He eventually decided it was unlikely and wrenched his eyes from the treasurer, willing the temptation to pass.

Knoxx waited with mounting impatience. While it was true there were dozens of subtle ways he could now alert Devlin to his presence, it was no secret the royal jester's brother happened to be a mage gifted with invisibility; and because of this, they would play this as cautiously as possible. They'd determined the presence of the bell-ringer to act as their signal, at which time Devlin could be certain his brother was in position and awaiting his direction.

Knoxx was finding the wait interminable, although in all likelihood he stood there for only a few minutes before the bell-ringer began striding toward center field to call the first duelists forth. He looked back to his brother. If Devlin was to tap his left foot, Knoxx would know Taleb had drawn a formidable opponent and that his aid was now required. If Devlin was to tap his right thumb upon his arm rest, however, Knoxx could presume his brother didn't foresee Taleb being under any serious threat and was going to win the fight with or without Knoxx's help. Knoxx assumed his brother would be making these predictions based on the first round performances, as well as on any other information he'd managed to glean about each of the contestants.

Needless to say, Knoxx was desperately hoping to see his brother's thumb tap rather than his foot, and when it happened this way he experienced a moment of sheer relief. Evidently Devlin wasn't concerned over the outcome of this fight, meaning Taleb wasn't going to have any trouble defeating his foe. Knoxx further realized this shouldn't be surprising, for his brother was almost positive Taleb was the man he was seeking, and if so, he certainly shouldn't be in need of anyone's help when it came to the matter of combat. On the other hand, he'd spent most of his life guarding a vineyard, as opposed to training for what Dhanen'Mar would need of him when the time came. Devlin obviously feared Taleb's skills hadn't yet been honed to what they should be, and that his death in the competition remained a possibility if faced with certain opponents.

Happily though, it didn't appear this particular Justice officer fell into the threatening category. Almost euphoric, Knoxx began stepping back to remove himself from the immediate area, only to pause at realizing he now had a perfect opportunity to discover the truth of something he'd pondered over many a time. Curious to know if any trash talk went on between the combatants when they faced each other, he figured he could easily back away to safety before the steel began swinging, and therefore moved to stand next to the bell-ringer. This man was just now gonging his piece, calling Taleb and the officer to the field.

Taleb moved in from the far side, where the mage could see Nathon, Oliveah, and the diviner standing. He felt a quick pang of guilt for not telling the women the night before about his and Devlin's plan to help the men on the field if need be, but the very thought of them knowing he was there had for some reason made him even more nervous, so he'd said nothing.

He now took a few steps back as Taleb and the officer, a young man of about his own age, assembled before the bell-ringer. Knoxx then received an answer to his years-long pondering when the officer, who'd apparently been watching his opponent on the sidelines, made a decidedly ungentlemanly comment about Oliveah.

Taleb's reply was a short remark vowing death.

"I'd hoped for an excuse to kill you," he said. "Thank you for providing."

The bell-ringer's expression remained unchanged, implying he'd been hearing the likes of this for years, but Knoxx was not so conditioned. Back-stepping swiftly to get himself clear of the imminent violence, he turned and made way for the sidelines. Reaching them, he turned back just as the second gong rang out, commencing the duel.

It quickly became evident, even to Knoxx who was no swordsman, that Devlin's estimation of this fight had been perfectly sound. Certainly, Taleb was in no danger of dying here today, instead finding great and obvious amusement in toying with the officer who'd been unwise enough to piss him off directly before their fight.

Every offense the officer made Taleb blocked with seeming ease, smoothly following up with strikes that could've all been fatal but instead proved humiliating to the one scrambling to counter them. As the officer's frustration grew, his swings became more and more wild, and Taleb took full advantage of this by twice tripping him up and then playing to the crowd while waiting for the man to get back to his feet.

The audience was enjoying the show immensely, as they often did when the law-keepers got their asses publicly handed to them. Knoxx might've been amused himself was he not suddenly recalling the fact that it was he, not long ago, who'd been the target of Taleb Okin's focus, a circumstance that probably would've seen the end of him had Oliveah and Flynn not reached an accord. Knoxx further realized he likely owed Oliveah his life for this effort, a debt he'd deem repaid in full should his brother signal for him to take the field alongside Nathon in two hours' time.

Taleb's antics, Knoxx next observed as he glanced away to the seating of the royal council, were not gaining him any appreciation from the Legion's commander, Valerio Catala. Captain Poage also appeared unimpressed, likely sharing a sympathy with Commander Catala after experiencing a similar embarrassment when one of his knights was humiliated by the warlord in the first round.

Alternatively, the king seemed to find the exchange extremely entertaining, laughing along with the crowd as Taleb continued making a fool of the officer. Next to the king, Prince Luken plainly didn't know what to think, and even more plainly was attempting to control his features lest they display something inappropriate—a rather ridiculous fear, given his father's own unrestrained enthusiasm.

The expressions worn by Devlin, Seneschal Galaz, and Cadien Stavrakos were utterly, eerily, identical. None were evincing even the slightest hint of their inner thoughts, their three pairs of eyes devoid of any emotion as they watched the event playing out on the field before them.

Turning back to the fight, the mage saw Taleb now had his opponent flat on his back on the ground, the officer's sword lying in the grass several paces from his hand. Despite his vow of earlier, Knoxx now wondered if it was truly Taleb's intention to finish this duel by dealing a death strike.

Taleb appeared to be wondering the same thing, for he was now paused over the officer with the tip of his sword leveled at the man's throat. The jocularity of the crowd had fallen into a rapid hush, as all waited to see how he would choose to end this. Knoxx glanced again to his brother, knowing Devlin would find the resolution of this telling, despite whatever end Taleb decided upon. Of course, Devlin's expression remained unchanged and unreadable.

Knoxx watched as Taleb now appeared to be speaking to the Justice officer. The mage was extremely tempted to creep up and listen in, but didn't quite dare while Taleb still had a grip on his sword.

The conversation was brief and it concluded when Taleb stepped back and upended his weapon. The majority of the crowd cheered his honorable and bloodless victory, while others hissed their disappointment. Knoxx found himself exhaling deeply with relief. It would've made it substantially more difficult to continue risking his life for this man had he just proven himself an unconscionable killer.

Seeing his brother now coming forward to declare Taleb the victor, Knoxx moved in to eavesdrop, curious to know if Devlin would attempt any sort of dialogue with this man he was all but moving mountains to protect. While the officer dragged himself to his feet and slunk off in shame, Taleb watched the jester's approach.

"I was hoping for more of a challenge, now we've moved to the second round," he said flatly to Devlin. "If you recall, I at least had the excitement of madness to entertain me in the first."

Knoxx watched his brother regard the man mildly as he drew to a halt before him. "The arrogance of this year's participants is astonishing," he drawled with a slow shake of his head. "The warlord expressed much the same sentiments."

"Perhaps you'll have a mind to pair me with him in the next round, then," Taleb replied.

Setting Taleb against the warlord, Knoxx knew, was precisely what would've occurred this round had Sylvain not somehow pilfered Devlin's carefully-constructed list. This, however, wasn't why Devlin was frowning.

"The pairings are drawn randomly, Master Okin," he said lightly. "I'm afraid your fate therefore lies in the hands of chance."

Taleb rolled his eyes. "I hope you realize no one actually believes that," he retorted. "Especially not after the prince's fight. And I do use the term "fight" loosely," he told the jester.

Knoxx winced. Setting aside the fact that the entire populace knew they were being shammed, something that had become rather evident when Prince Luken took the field, Taleb obviously knew nothing of the dangers that came from spouting off about such things to the wrong people in Aralexia. Had any other members of the royal council been close enough to overhear his words—with the assured exception of Seneschal Galaz, of course—Taleb would've been charged, at the very, very least, with rumor-mongering. Suffice it to say, his attitude could potentially become a problem.

Devlin was no doubt thinking something similar but decided to ignore the exchange entirely, for reasons known only to himself. He grabbed hold of Taleb's arm and hefted it in the air to officially declare him the victor of the match.

Knoxx turned and started off the field, aiming to reappear and rest himself for the next couple of hours. He wanted to ensure he'd be ready should his brother direct him onto the field with Nathon.
Chapter 37

Taleb started off the field, now in an agitated mood. The feeling had nothing whatsoever to do with the duel he'd just fought, but rather with the royal jester. Something about the way that man looked at him just rankled his nerves.

He rejoined his party on the sidelines where they waited. Oliveah refused to retreat to the stands whenever he or Nathon fought, a habit which seemed to annoy the Justice officers charged with patrolling the field's perimeter. Having survived his second duel—and handily so—Taleb now anticipated her relief, and while this was indeed notable in her expression, eclipsing it was a look he had no idea how to decipher. It almost seemed she was staring at him as she would a complete stranger.

Madi was the first to speak, congratulating him on his victory.

"I hope you found the affair as entertaining as I did," Taleb replied with a grin. His actions with the Justice officer had been carried out mainly for this reason, and primarily for Oliveah's sake; his intention had been to lighten the circumstances as much as possible, knowing how wrought-up she became whenever he or Nathon fought. Of course, humiliating his opponent in the process hadn't troubled him at all.

"I'm afraid there's nothing about these games I find entertaining," the diviner then murmured in reply.

This was an obvious reference to the death of Eugan Reif. His demise the day before had affected them all, and Taleb would remain eternally grateful to Destiny for intervening and keeping Oliveah and Madi from witnessing it. Eugan Reif hadn't died an easy death, and Taleb was now itching for a chance to face the Balshan himself and personally ensure the man suffered in kind. Nathon had expressed similar sentiments.

"I think you might've angered the entirety of the Legion," Oliveah informed him now, continuing to wear that strange look.

Taleb shrugged, unconcerned. Aralexia's Justice officers gave all combatants of the Challenge a wide berth, and once the week was done he had every intention of following up on his desire to travel to Lutarre Keep and join the warlords. In fact, he aimed to seek out those currently in the city and request accompanying them on their return.

Still watching him, Oliveah appeared disturbed at his professed lack of caring, but said nothing more on the matter.

With the stands emptying in the intermission between rounds, they moved to find seats and lucked out at securing a bench only four rows up from the field. Their vantage-point wasn't quite center-field, but near to it, and they settled in with the mood of their party still somber in the wake of Eugan's terrible end. Sabian hadn't joined them this morning, leaving them to presume he'd taken the day to deal with his grief.

Settled between Oliveah and Nathon, Taleb abruptly noted Nathon also eyeing him somewhat strangely.

"Yes?" he asked, turning his way with a cocked brow.

Nathon's response was issued in a low tone that wouldn't carry. "For a moment there," he said, "I thought you actually meant to kill him."

Taleb had, in truth, been tempted to do just that, but the groveled apology the officer had offered for his slanderous words preceding the match had adequately appeased the desire. Clearly, he'd made his point without having to add yet another unnecessary death to the Challenge's rising body count.

"He was a fool who deserved the scare," was his reply.

Nathon accepted this with a shrug. "I'm curious to see how Kale next performs. He obviously has no compunctions when it comes to killing." This was a reference to the Jennite's first round match, a duel that continued to remain a popular topic of discussion amongst the spectators, with many curious to see if Kale's performance had been fluke or skill. His second fight was expected to clarify the matter, an event now posed to occur in less than an hour's time.

Taleb and Nathon's own investigation into Rydin Kale and his possible involvement in Tyrell's calamities was not going well. After first tracking the man's whereabouts to an incredibly seedy inn near the waterfront, they'd arrived at the establishment only to find it had mysteriously burned to the ground the night before. Amazingly, no one had been seriously harmed in the blaze, an event deemed an accident by the Justice officers who'd been sent to investigate.

Locating Kale's new lodgings proved an incredible headache that remained ongoing. Since he didn't appear to have shown up for any of the matches apart from his own, simply following him from the forum hadn't been an option and forced Taleb and Nathon to more creative measures. When those measures failed, they'd given up and simply bribed a Justice officer for any information the Legion had on Kale. This turned up some interesting results.

Apparently this wasn't Rydin Kale's first visit to Aralexia, for he'd been jailed here once before, for fighting. The incident had occurred three years earlier, and he'd served his entire week-long sentence without anyone paying his fines.

So far this week, he'd drawn attention from the Legion on three separate occasions, once for the incident of the fire, and twice more for disturbing the peace. Details regarding the latter events weren't cited, but the officer they bribed seemed to recall one involved a wild tavern brawl Kale began but didn't participate in because no one would fight him, and the second an event that saw him hit a man in the street seemingly without provocation. He'd so far escaped any charges or jail time because he was a participant in the Challenge, but it wouldn't be surprising to learn the Legion would be waiting to pounce on him the moment the week was over.

Despite managing to gather this information, Taleb and Nathon still had no idea where the man was staying, although this was a question they hoped to answer today. Since Nathon had to remain for his own match, scheduled to follow Kale's, they'd decided Taleb would tail the Jennite when he left the forum after his duel. Taleb was very much looking forward to the prospect; he had little trouble recalling the day, five weeks ago, when he'd first beheld the Jennite behind bars in Tyrell, once again incarcerated for fighting, and how the man had manipulated Madi into paying his fines. Whatever the truth of Rydin Kale, Taleb was determined to discover it today.

The man in question made his appearance several minutes before his duel, and after receiving a nudge from Nathon, Taleb watched the Jennite as he moved onto the southern end of the field and then halted.

"What's he doing?" Taleb hissed a moment later, still staring below.

Nathon's only reply was a bewildered shrug.

Rydin Kale remained paused at the end of the field, holding a casual pose and looking perfectly at ease with himself. He didn't appear to be looking at anything in particular, and when he squinted Taleb thought he could make out a mild expression on his face.

"Perhaps he's just taking a few minutes to mentally prepare for his fight," Nathon finally speculated with a frown.

Unable to come up with a better answer, Taleb glanced to his other side to see if Oliveah and Madi had taken note of Kale's odd behavior. Apparently they hadn't.

Oliveah was looking up into the cloud-heavy sky, her expression concerned. The diviner was tucking a few stray locks of her ebony hair into the shawl that, for some reason, she'd been wearing all week.

"I hope the rain holds off," Oliveah muttered. She then turned to him. "I imagine it wouldn't do Nathon any favors if the ground were muddy?"

"He wouldn't have any more of a disadvantage than his opponent," he carefully answered.

She gave a severe frown as she looked up again. "Perhaps it'll blow past," she said, just as a fat raindrop hit her nose.

Taleb, who hadn't been paying the slightest amount of attention to the sky, now glanced up. The clouds gathering over Aralexia all morning now seemed to have coalesced into a giant mass of dark gray directly over the arena. Completely obliterating the sunlight, the area was now swallowed in shadow, and seemed to be growing dimmer by the moment. A flash of lightning lit the sky, and then the hot torrent of rain began, a sudden and violent downpour that was almost blinding.

There was an outcry from the crowd, and many jumped to their feet in search of shelter. The majority, however, kept their seats, not about to let something as insignificant as rain interrupt their viewing pleasure.

Taleb looked to Oliveah and Madi. "Do you want to stay, or find somewhere to wait out the storm?" he asked, shouting to be heard.

"We'll stay!" Oliveah hollered back, already drenched to the skin.

The diviner added her own quick nod to this, then turned her gaze to the field where she'd now taken notice of Kale. Whatever interest she'd had in this man seemed to evaporate at witnessing his display of brutality in the opening round, but her look held curiosity as she observed him now. Taleb liked the diviner very much, but thought she possessed dreadful instincts when it came to the matter of men.

Turning back, he saw Nathon's attention still riveted on Kale. Taleb glanced down and noted the Jennite hadn't moved, his stance unchanged as the rain pelted down all around him.

Taleb frowned, trying to squint through the downpour. "I don't envy him or his opponent, having to fight in this."

Nathon appeared distracted and didn't respond.

A second flash of lightning illuminated the field brilliantly to show the bell-ringer now moving into position. The sound of his bell was lost to the storm when he rang it a moment later, but evidently the combatants had been paying attention for both Kale and the knight began to make way for center field.

The force of the storm was growing ever stronger, the winds now adding ferocious gales to the tumult and causing the rain to whip wildly in all directions. Rapidly-forming summer storms weren't uncommon in Dhanen'Mar, but the speed in which this one had come together was startling. Another flash of lighting came, this time followed by a booming crack of thunder.

Risking the annoyance of those behind him, Taleb got to his feet and raised a forearm to shield his eyes from the rain, desperately trying to discern what was happening on the field. Finding no success, he pushed past Nathon without a word and made for the aisle that would take him to ground level. He all but slid down the wooden steps, and then skidded to a halt at realizing he'd actually taken a few steps onto the field.

Backtracking, he looked to where his best guess placed center field, finding aid from the next brilliant flash of white to illuminate the sky.

As he'd suspected, the match had begun and Kale was now trading furious blows with the knight. Taleb lost sight of them again when the glow in the sky faded, and was forced to wait impatiently for the next strike to occur. When it did, he saw Kale had the knight on the ground and looked to be moving in for a killing blow.

The dark and the rain kept him blind for the next couple of minutes, and he cursed violently the entire time. Finally, the sky lit again, and showed the royal jester now upon the field, hoisting Kale's arm in a show of victory. Taleb was further able to note that while he'd taken some manner of leg injury, the knight hadn't become the Challenge's latest victim. Kale, for whatever reason, had left him alive, a truth Taleb found surprising considering what he and Nathon had so far managed to uncover about him.

Plunged into darkness again, Taleb turned and began making his way toward the end of the field. Suspecting Kale didn't intend to remain in the arena, he didn't want to chance missing him when he exited. The going was slow and disorienting, and eventually Taleb realized his efforts were pointless. Unable to see more than a few feet in front of his face, he determined that unless Kale happened to walk right into him, he had almost no chance of successfully locating him while the storm continued to rage at this level of ferocity.

Still, he didn't want to abandon his objective completely, so he loitered near the gate where the forum emptied into the marketplace beyond. After several minutes the rain and wind began noticeably dying down, and the sunlight started peeking its way through the clouds.

Finally the rain tapered off completely, leaving Taleb trying to look in every direction at once as a deluge of sodden spectators converged through the exit, seeking the comforts of the marketplace. A slew of others, those who'd run for shelter at the onset of the storm, were now doing the opposite, fighting to make their way back inside the arena. The result was a seething mass of bodies Taleb had absolutely no intention of adding himself to.

He searched the field, already knowing he would find no sign of Kale, before performing a cursory glance about its perimeter, unsurprised when his luck in this proved no better. Finally he had no choice but to admit the Jennite had eluded him, meaning he wouldn't get another chance to shadow him until his match in the third round. Frustrated at being thwarted, Taleb turned and started back into the stands.

"Lost him," he muttered to Nathon as he slid back onto the bench.

Nathon appeared more distracted than disappointed. "What happened down there?" he demanded. "The last thing we were able to make out was the lightning striking the field."

Taleb was still processing this when the diviner spoke next, leaning past Oliveah.

"Did Rydin make it through all right?" she asked him worriedly.

Taleb took another moment before replying. "Lightning actually struck the field?" he finally asked, perplexed. He didn't recall seeing this happen, but supposed the second strike had probably been the bolt in question, as its illumination had been the most vivid.

"It looked as though it came very near to hitting one of the fighters," Nathon went on, "but we couldn't tell which."

Something about this really wasn't sitting right with him. "I don't think it actually hit anyone," he said slowly, looking from Nathon to Madi. "Kale won the round, and left the knight alive."

The diviner appeared pleased, and sat back with a small smile.

Nathon looked thoughtful, probably also surprised to learn Kale had allowed his opponent to live. Oliveah didn't seem to have any regard whatsoever for their conversation, most likely still fretting over the mud-filled field Nathon would soon have to fight upon.

In all honesty, Nathon's opponent in this match was a cause for concern. Talk in the city labeled Beynon Ansell a Jennite mercenary, his ferociousness already proven in the first round when he'd unnecessarily slaughtered the Justice officer he'd been dueling. Taleb felt confident Nathon could best him, but it wouldn't be an easy win, and he'd need his full wits about him to do it. Also, Oliveah had every reason to fret; the thick mud now miring the entire combat field wasn't going to do the fighters any favors. Slipping, sliding, or having your foot gripped by the suction were all menacing possibilities that could throw off a man's timing, and any one of them presented a potential error that could prove fatal.

It seemed Nathon was considering all of this as well, for he suddenly leaned in and asked him to find a way to oust Oliveah from the forum.

"I'm open to suggestions," Taleb murmured back. Short of knocking her unconscious and removing her bodily, he didn't see any way of accomplishing the task.

Apparently Nathon couldn't either, for he finally just shrugged in defeat. "Well, at least try to keep her from seeing it, should I go down."

Taleb nodded.

Nathon started down to the field just a few minutes before the top of the hour, and Taleb managed to win a small victory by preventing Oliveah from following after him and taking her accustomed position on the sidelines. He accomplished this by telling her that he found her presence there distracting, and she should remain in the stands if she didn't want to risk a similar effect on Nathon. She took his words seriously and, for once, didn't argue.

The match commenced with the expected brutality, and Taleb watched the first few passes with a concerned yet discerning eye. Holding to his opinion that Nathon should be able to win this, he nevertheless had to factor in the sea of mud the combatants were now dancing about in.

The first person to lose their footing is probably going to die, he realized grimly.

The mud was definitely a problem, and it was clear by the movements of both Nathon and Ansell that they'd reached a similar conclusion. Both were now stepping with extreme care, resulting in their strikes becoming less and less savage as both were biding their time, waiting for the other to make a mistake.

The fight had basically come down to a question of balance rather than skill, and in this Taleb didn't feel he could possibly predict the outcome. He began thinking frantically for ways to distract Oliveah should the worst happen, and was just reaching for a half-filled flagon of blueberry juice with the intention of spilling it on her dress when a collective gasp from the crowd brought his attention back to the field.

In a bizarre twist of events, it appeared both men had lost their footing and gone down at more or less the same time. Finding this strange but certainly not impossible, Taleb watched as Nathon and Ansell now scrambled to regain their balance, both determined to use the situation to their own advantage.

Ansell seemed to be having trouble getting to his feet. Actually, it looked as though one of his boots was stuck fast in the mud, refusing to pull free as he tried again and again to yank his leg lose.

Nathon, naturally, pounced on the opening this gave him, using his blade to push the Jennite's own weapon aside before bringing his steel back around to rest against the side of his neck. Beynon Ansell froze, anticipating death. The crowd likely anticipated the same, for a deep hush swept through the stands.

Taleb, however, wasn't at all surprised when Nathon simply waited a moment and then stepped back, upending his weapon. Unless under direct threat, Nathon was not a killer.

The stands erupted in cheers and, next to him, Oliveah gave a shudder of relief. The stress of the games had been taking an obvious toll on her, he'd noted, for she'd been acting very strange and out of character all week long. Taleb regretted what he and Nathon were putting her through, but not his participation in the Challenge. Inexplicably, he felt the event was somehow providing the first step in a journey he was meant to take, and he was more than willing to hand Destiny the reins and simply follow where it led.

Rising as one, they started down to the field and met Nathon at the sidelines. Covered in mud from head to toe, he had no desire to stay and await the final fight of the day, and Oliveah was anxious to be away as well. The diviner then surprised them all by stating she wished to stay and watch the warlord perform, an unexpected turn for two reasons.

Primarily, Madi's dislike for the games wasn't a secret, and her habit was to avoid witnessing any duels she didn't feel personally obligated to observe. Secondly, she'd rarely left Oliveah's side all week, and while Taleb didn't understand why, he saw the two of them exchange a long look now.

Finally Oliveah shifted her green gaze over to him. "You'll stay with her, and ensure she makes it back to our inn safely?"

"Of course," he answered, exchanging his own glance with Nathon. They'd more than once discussed the fact of the diviner's strange hesitation to go anywhere without Oliveah, but neither could explain it. There was definitely much oddness occurring in Aralexia this week, and Taleb suspected he knew the truth of almost none of it. Frankly, he was waiting for Nathon to figure it out, fully confident the man's tenacity and cleverness would eventually prevail.

Once Oliveah and Nathon departed, he and Madi spent some time walking about the marketplace, lunching on sandwiches and berries as they looked over the wares for sale. The diviner said little, which he found neither uncommon nor off-putting. Nathon, Taleb knew, found Madi distant as she was so often lost in her own thoughts, but as far as Taleb was concerned, anyone who dwelt within the folds of Destiny as she did had the allowance to pretty much act however she pleased. He had a great deal of respect for her station as a diviner.

He waited until they'd made their way back into the forum and found seats for themselves before indulging his curiosity.

"I was surprised by your desire to stay for this fight," he said, looking over. "I didn't think you wanted to spend any more time in the arena than necessary."

Her gray eyes blinked back at him as she nodded. "That's true, but I did strike up an acquaintance with Baiel Maves, and am curious to see him perform. I didn't attend the day he took the field in the first round, but encountered him in the marketplace."

Taleb remembered that day. Oliveah and Madi had met up with him and Nathon, as well as the Reifs, in the marketplace between matches, but hadn't ventured into the arena as none of the three had been fighting that day. He was surprised to hear Madi had made contact with the warlord, and now presumed her reason for staying was because she'd taken a fancy to him. Finding this a vast improvement over her interest in Kale, he further saw this as a convenient opportunity.

"You know," he began, "it's my intention to travel to the warlords' keep once the week has concluded. Perhaps you could introduce me to Maves so that I might journey with him and his party when they make their return?"

Madi's expression was serene as she responded. "I believe I could arrange that," she told him.

Pleased, Taleb moved his attention to the field and watched as Baiel Maves and Kem Maeda stepped forward to answer the bell-ringer's call. Maeda, he knew, was a prince of Navosa, the country lying to the east of Dhanen'Mar. His presence here was the cause of much talk in Aralexia, with many wondering what was to happen should he be killed during one of his duels. Taleb's suspicions over the matches being rigged were only compounded at seeing Maeda's pairing with Maves, for the outcome of this fight was all but certain. Maeda would be ousted safely, and any risk of inciting a war with his native lands gently laid to rest.

Taleb strenuously disapproved of these manipulations, but even he had to admit that in this case, the strategy was wise.

Maves and Maeda crossed blades, and then the match began. Having been greatly amused by the warlord's success in humiliating the veteran knight in the first round, Taleb saw nothing of this behavior now. Maves effortlessly blocked and parried a few strikes, perhaps using this time to assess whether Maeda's intentions were deadly. Finding they were not, he simply disarmed the man with a spectacularly quick flick of his wrist, his sword striking Maeda's hand and sending his weapon flying. Maves then stood back, clearly intending no further harm.

"He's quite remarkable, isn't he?" Madi was now murmuring beside him.

Taleb glanced to her curiously, for her tone wasn't that of an admiringly smitten nature, as he would've expected, but one of deep thoughtfulness.

"Yes," he told her. "Truthfully, I'd much like to match with him for a duel, but wouldn't disillusion myself into thinking I had any chance of emerging the victor."

She glanced at him, and for some reason found cause to smile.
Chapter 38

The second round of the Challenge consisted of thirty-two men and sixteen duels, occurring over a period of four days. By the third, Devlin Alvik was completely and utterly perplexed.

Both he and his brother were convinced Cadien Stavrakos and Aris Sylvain were responsible for the theft and replacement of the painstakingly-composed list devised by himself and Oliveah Oslund. And naturally, Devlin's initial fear was that Stavrakos had somehow discerned the truth of either Taleb Okin or Nathon Wythe, and now aimed to halt Devlin's attempts by ensuring the young man in question was killed during the competition. But the pairings to have yet occurred gave no credence to this theory, nor to any of the others the jester had so far managed to concoct.

Taleb's opponent the day before had given him little trouble. Nathon's had proven somewhat more concerning, and while he might've fallen to Beynon Ansell if not for Knoxx's intervention, his death had only been a possibility not a certainty. The conclusion Devlin drew from this was that whatever Stavrakos's intentions, they didn't include knowledge of the two men he was trying so very hard to protect.

The next logical theory drew him to Prince Luken, although this way of thinking contained a major flaw; the jester could think of no possible reason why Stavrakos would wish the prince harmed or dead. In fact, coupled with the reality of the king's deepening madness, Prince Luken's death would only bring about a civil uprising where the Major Houses would then put forth a battle for the throne. The result of this, no matter who conquered, would undoubtedly see Stavrakos—as well as the entire royal council—ejected right alongside their demented king. And so, unless it was his goal to lose any and all power he now possessed, it didn't seem likely Stavrakos was looking to bring any harm to Prince Luken either.

Devlin had also dismissed the theory that Stavrakos might be plotting with one of the houses that would make a play for the throne should King DeSiva suddenly lose his only heir, and the reason for this was also quite simple. With Redgar DeSiva half-mad but still relatively young and in good health, the treasurer was at the pinnacle of his power. Chances were slim he'd desire any change of circumstances, for he, along with Devlin, was basically running the country already. It just didn't make sense that he'd wish harm to the prince and risk threat to his own power.

This particular logic had been confirmed just this morning when Prince Luken's name appeared on the day's list, slating him to fight a knight in the final match of the day. No knight would dare harm a member of the royal family, so this pairing effectively established that the prince wasn't the one in danger here. Devlin was relieved but more confused than ever.

He could think of only one other reason why Stavrakos might've wanted to manipulate these games, and that was Kem Maeda, the lastborn prince of Navosa. Devlin had made it a priority to see Maeda alive from the Challenge, and Oliveah Oslund had readily agreed, noting the threat of war should he die here upon Dhan'Marian soil. But Stavrakos had apparently agreed with this strategy also, wasting no time in ousting Maeda from the games by way of the warlord. This made sense, for he would gain nothing by inciting a war with Navosa, and while it came as a relief to have no further worry about Maeda, the circumstances had voided Devlin's final theory over why Stavrakos had taken and changed his lists.

The royal jester could not remember ever feeling as frustrated as he was now. Sitting there amongst the rest of the royal council, he paid very little attention to the day's first three duels, carrying out his duties mindlessly as he declared a Dhan'Marian criminal, a knight, and then a foreigner, the matches' victors. The first duel was the only one to result in a killing, which also gave Devlin reason to ponder. Under the pairings he himself had devised for the first round, fourteen men had been slain. So far, under Stavrakos's manipulations, only two had so far met the same fate. Clearly, a high body count was not the treasurer's goal either.

Devlin's last hope was that Knoxx, who wasn't needed on the field this day, would turn up some possible clues. At his direction, his brother was right now disguised with invisibility and snooping about Stavrakos's private quarters in the castle. It was a last-ditch effort and quite possibly a dangerous one; the jester had warned Knoxx that it was likely the treasurer had traps in place to guard his most secret dealings.

Sending his brother into such a situation hadn't pleased Devlin, and neither had directing him onto the field to aid Nathon Wythe the day before. But by confessing the entire truth of the matter, he'd made a decision, one he was now committed to seeing out. Along with many others, Knoxx's life now also hinged upon the jester's ability to keep their intentions unknown.

Devlin was still looking about more or less blankly, his mind on other matters, when it came time for Prince Luken's duel. Idly watching the prince take his position, and having no more cause to be concerned with his fate, the jester went on with his ceaseless pondering. Frankly, not being able to come up with a single motive to explain why Stavrakos had taken his list was driving him crazy.

It was then, just as the prince and knight began their "duel" that Devlin began to take note of the faintest inkling at the back of his mind. He slowly grasped the idea and examined it from every angle, testing it for feasibility. After several minutes he began feeling a rush of elation, for unless Knoxx discovered something to the contrary in Stavrakos's quarters, he at last felt he'd discerned the likeliest explanation for all this.

The revelation brought relief as well as worry. For while it seemed unlikely Stavrakos possessed even the slightest idea about Taleb and Nathon and the circumstances surrounding them, Devlin knew it was possible he'd let something slip over these past few days, despite being incredibly careful to keep his interests hidden.

Stavrakos knew he'd been manipulating the Challenge. But beyond a desire to oust the princes of both Dhanen'Mar and Navosa safely, he hadn't known why. The treasurer, just as adept at sniffing out intrigues as Devlin himself, clearly smelled a deeper conspiracy here, and the jester would now be willing to bet that he'd had Sylvain steal the lists simply to rattle him and see what shook loose. Stavrakos was fishing, and Devlin could only hope that he'd let nothing of his true reactions show—giving him even greater cause to be grateful that he'd begun taking more caution with his movements. Chances were, the treasurer now had his spies watching him more closely than ever.

Abruptly, Devlin realized the match playing out before him was over. Not surprisingly, the knight was on the ground, with Prince Luken standing victorious over him and wearing a pleased look of surprise. The man honestly seemed to believe he was winning these fights fairly.

The jester got to his feet and made his way forward. He again noted the apparent lack of enthusiasm from the crowd, this time picking up on more than just a faint note of hostility. Clearly Taleb Okin hadn't been understating matters when he'd claimed the entire city knew they were being shammed by these matches featuring Prince Luken.

A faint spattering of applause responded to his shout naming the prince the victor of the duel. Luken still appeared oblivious to any negativity, but Devlin knew they were about to have a serious problem when a few pieces of trash began hitting the field. A low grumbling was starting to resonate its way through the stands, growing louder in volume as it circled its way about the field.

"I think we'd best be off now, my prince," he said quickly to Luken, starting him back toward the rest of the council as well as the royal guard waiting to escort them back to the castle.

Their exit from the forum bordered on ugly. While most of the populace seemed to be holding themselves to a simmering silence, the braver souls continued throwing garbage onto the field and some even began shouting disparaging comments that even Prince Luken could not misconstrue. He shot the jester a worried look as the royal guard hurried them through the marketplace.

"Why do they mock me, Devlin?" he asked, appearing genuinely wounded. "Don't they understand that I do this for their approval?"

Devlin withheld a sigh, imagining how very different matters would be if this man's father wasn't such an insufferable ass.

"Obviously, they're simply jealous of your startling fighting prowess," he told the prince.

Luken looked at him dryly. "I'm not a complete fool, Devlin. Whatever you're doing, it needs to end now. The people expect better of their royal council, and in that they should not be disappointed."

Hiding his surprise, Devlin merely nodded. Of course, this wasn't an order he planned to follow, but he did think it was time for Luken to be safely removed from the competition. Once the devising of pairings was back in his competent hands, he would ensure this happened early in the third round.

The knights of the royal guard hustled them into the pair of carriages waiting to bring them back to the castle, where Devlin was informed upon arrival that the king, who'd been riding in the other carriage, requested his presence in the council chamber immediately.

He stifled another sigh and headed there straight away, annoyed this would delay his meeting with Knoxx, who by this time would be awaiting him in his own chambers two floors above.

Devlin was not the only one summoned. In fact, the entire council but for Prince Luken converged within minutes, all taking seats about the table as the king stood before them. He appeared in a foul mood, and Devlin braced himself. He felt he knew what was coming, and had, in fact, been anticipating this for days.

"I would know," the king began, glaring at Stavrakos, "why the warlord continues to live."

Stavrakos appeared legitimately aggravated as he replied, which was not surprising.

"I've sent two separate assassins to take care of the problem, my liege," he insisted. "Both, however, seem to have suspiciously vanished from the city limits." He then shot the most fleeting of glances to Devlin—a clear signal that he was aware Baiel Maves' continued survival was solely due to the jester's interference.

The king was not pleased with his answer. "Then send more assassins!" he commanded.

"I will see to it," Stavrakos promised calmly.

Devlin noted Captain Poage and Commander Catala exchanging a glance. While neither held a particular love for the warlord, neither did they seem to approve of killing him just to prevent him from winning the Challenge. But of course, neither spoke their reservations.

Devlin did not dare even glance at Seneschal Galaz. Now aware that Stavrakos at least suspected something, the very last clue Devlin wished to give him was that the seneschal was involved. For by unveiling that truth, the field of likely scenarios would narrow considerably, and Devlin couldn't imagine a more dangerous situation than Stavrakos discerning what he and the seneschal were presently up to. There would be two ways in which the treasurer could respond if he did figure this out before all the pieces were in place—either quietly, resulting in only a handful of deaths, or by aiming for an all-out bloodbath. Devlin didn't think the bloodbath option was very likely, but it wasn't a chance he wished to take.

The king, by this time, had apparently grown bored of talk regarding the warlord, and taken his seat at the head of the table. He spent a few moments examining his hands—a move no one risked inquiring into, lest they all be subjected to a lengthy lecture about palmistry or fingernail dirt or the Patrons only knew what else—and then settled his attention on his royal jester.

"I think you've been fixing the matches, Devlin," he began lightly.

Devlin had not been expecting this. And if it wasn't for the nine years of conditioning brought from his place on the royal council, he'd now, in all likelihood, be panicking.

"An interesting theory, my liege," he responded smoothly, "but I would never dare act so bold."

Cadien Stavrakos interjected here. "For certain it's the Patrons influence, then," he began, staring at Devlin. "For while the odds of our beloved prince drawing a knight in the first round were generous at about one in five, the chances of him matching with one again were somewhat more obscure. Less than twenty to one, in fact," he said, with a grin very faint but undeniably present.

Devlin stared back at him expressionlessly. Since it had been Stavrakos himself who'd paired Luken with a knight in the second round, he was suddenly wondering if this discussion was a coincidence, or an insinuation of a deeper truth.

Redgar DeSiva was grinning as well, and evinced a glint in his eye decidedly more sane than usual. "It pleases me to hear you make such a claim, Devlin," he said, completely ignoring Stavrakos. "For I was much concerned by the public outcry just recently witnessed in the forum, and believe the best way to placate the populace, as well as prove that no such manipulations are occurring, would be to begin publicly drawing the pairings. We can commence with this strategy for the third round."

"An excellent idea, my king," Devlin nodded, even while cursing the name of each of every Patron in the heavens, both past and present. He was seriously beginning to wonder if the king wanted Luken to come to harm. He could think of no reason why this might be so, but one could hardly apply logic when trying to understand the motives of a madman.

Looking about the table, Devlin saw none of the other council members seemed especially happy with this development either. Obviously, none wished to see anything happen to their prince, at least not for any reason Devlin could determine. Still, something about the timing of this was incredibly disconcerting.

He next contemplated the reality of having to relay this new twist to Oliveah Oslund. Suffice it to say, she wouldn't be pleased. He then ran down a mental list of the twelve men who'd yet passed on to the third round—the final four would be determined tomorrow—and then began to sweat. There remained three men he considered very serious threats; one was the Balshan who'd killed to end both his matches, the Jennite Rydin Kale, and the Dhan'Marian mercenary he'd observed just this morning. He could not imagine the nightmare of any of these three being drawn to face Prince Luken, suspecting all would happily gut the prince before the entire populace. The thought of Taleb or Nathon having to face them wasn't particularly pleasant either, although they, at least, would stand a fighting chance.

Deciding this would be an excellent time to panic, Devlin calmly took in his king. "Was there anything further we could assist you with, your majesty?" he asked.

Redgar DeSiva regarded him in silence for a moment. He then did something extremely telling, and it sent a deep chill straight into Devlin's bones.

The king shifted his eyes to Cadien Stavrakos. "I believe that is all," he said. "You are dismissed."

As he got to his feet and exited the room at the most casual pace he could muster, Devlin realized he had absolutely no idea what was now occurring here in the castle. That look to Stavrakos had been very near to being one of question, and that told Devlin something had happened to place Redgar DeSiva even further under the treasurer's slimy thumb.

Whatever was transpiring, Cadien Stavrakos, and not the king, was pulling the strings. Devlin knew this likely meant his days were numbered, and as he headed up the winding staircase toward his private rooms, he silently aimed to make the most of them. If he was going down, it was within his power to bring the entire royal house down with him—a fact he still felt relatively sure Stavrakos wasn't yet privy to.

Devlin entered his chambers, making certain the heavy stone door was closed and latched before turning to face the room. "It's clear," he announced.

Knoxx appeared instantly, sitting on the couch against the far wall. His expression was telling, informing Devlin immediately that he'd had little luck in searching Stavrakos's rooms.

"It's fortunate you warned me of that man's paranoia," his brother greeted with a frown. "Had I been anyone but a trained thief, I would've twice fallen victim to concealed poisoned springs."

"What did you find?" Devlin replied, taking the chair across from him.

"Not much," Knoxx admitted. "Within one lockbox there was evidence showing he's been siphoning funds from the royal coffers."

Devlin snorted and waved a hand. "He's been doing that for years. Anything else?"

"Two things." Knoxx shifted slightly, then continued. "First, I found a contract hidden away in another lockbox and further protected by a poisoned spring. Given such precautions, I was led to believe it must be noteworthy in some way."

"Yes?" Devlin prodded with interest.

"Stavrakos spent an obscene amount of money shipping a set of jewelry here from Veron. Earrings and a bracelet, gold set with emeralds. If they're for a lady friend, I'm thinking he enjoys her company quite a lot."

Devlin frowned. Despite his wealth, Stavrakos wasn't exactly popular with the court women, with all evidence showing he felt much more at home in one of the city's brothels. And Devlin very much doubted the aforementioned pieces were meant as a gift for one of his whores.

"How much did he spend on the jewelry?" he asked, thinking.

"He paid one thousand gold for the items. I'm not certain if this included the cost of having them delivered to Aralexia," Knoxx said.

Devlin's eyes widened. Regardless that the country of Veron was some distance away, he figured those emeralds had to be the size of chicken eggs to demand such a price. He also couldn't think of a single reason why Stavrakos would suddenly be interested in women's jewelry.

"This is most curious," he murmured. "Although with Sylvain now under his employ, I'm surprised he didn't just send him to Veron to steal those jewels for him."

"I thought of that too," Knoxx nodded. "Seems to me Stavrakos realizes he can trust Sylvain only so far."

Devlin grinned faintly at his brother. "I see the credo of your kind is apt enough. Honor Only Among Thieves, isn't it?"

Knoxx wasn't impressed by the comment, simply raising his eyebrows and staring back.

"What was your second discovery?" Devlin went on. He supposed he couldn't fault his brother for having no sense of humor, given present circumstances.

"A safe," Knoxx told him. "It was hidden behind a bookcase, cut into the very wall."

Devlin found this interesting. "Could you open it?"

Knoxx pursed his lips together in frustration. "No. Picking the mechanical locks wouldn't have been a problem, but there's also numerous spells placed upon it. The safe itself was constructed by mages, and without the word they devised to act as its key, it'll be very difficult to crack."

Devlin took him in. "Difficult—but not impossible?"

Knoxx sighed. "I can try, but promise nothing. And it'll take some time. First, to learn the anti-spells I'll require, and then to physically work them on the safe itself."

"How long will you need to be alone with the safe?"

He paused to think. "A few hours, maybe."

The jester frowned, and Knoxx watched him in silence.

"Gather what you need," Devlin finally went on. "I will find an opportunity to ensure your safety for the time you require. On another note," he continued, "we need to discuss what's to happen at the conclusion of the Challenge."

Knoxx's look of worry cleared. "I assumed you'd want me to stay in Aralexia. My talents are obviously of great benefit to you."

The jester began shaking his head. "It can't be you," he said. "You're too well-known as my brother, and should you remain here it will appear suspicious. No, you must return to Corbit's Canyon."

Knoxx's eyes were now narrowed. "Then where are you going with this?"

"The talents of a thief are indeed a great asset to me," Devin nodded, "and while I regret to lose your invisibility, I think any proficient thief could handle the tasks I'll require. Someone you trust, Knoxx," he said.

His brother stared. "You're asking me to persuade a fellow thief to remain here and take orders from you? Without even knowing why?"

"Yes," Devlin answered.

Knoxx sighed and shook his head. "I suppose I could ask Tishan, if you've no objection to a woman. But she won't agree if Flynn forbids it."

Devlin had met Tishan on several occasions and thought she'd work nicely—so long as he kept her distanced from a certain member of the royal council. But Fajen might be a problem.

"However," Knoxx then went on, meeting his gaze, "I think I may have a way to gain Flynn's cooperation."

Devlin was well aware of the nightmare he was making of his brother's life. He also knew there was nothing to be done about it. Brother or not, Knoxx was now a resource, and Devlin had no choice but to use every resource within his reach.

"Tell me what you have in mind," he invited, sitting back.
Chapter 39

Flynn entered the tent housing the Thieves' gambling enterprise and looked about. It was just past Sixth-hour, Eleventh-day, and the day's opening match was set to begin in less than an hour. The activity therefore should've been jumping, lost to the frenzy always directly following the release of the day's combatants, so he was very confused to find only his four Thieves within.

"Where is everyone?" he demanded, taking a few more steps inside. The marketplace directly outside the tent, which also should've been bustling in the aftermath of freshly-dispersed leaflets, was nearly deserted as well.

Tishan was the first to answer, putting her elbows on the counter and leaning forward. "Today begins the third round, and due to the uproar over Prince Luken's fixed matches, the royal council is now drawing the names publicly, out upon the field."

Flynn took this in and quickly determined it would in no way harm his business, most likely accomplishing just the opposite. With the names drawn publicly, the citizens would no longer fear making substantial bets on outcomes that might've been predetermined. Whether any matches besides the prince's had actually been contrived no one could answer, but eliminating the possibility of such workings continuing definitely put a positive spin on future wagering. Five days of fighting still remained, a total of fifteen duels yet to come, and Flynn was determined to make the most of them.

He cocked his head at Tishan. "I'm going to observe. Join me?" As she nodded and began stepping around the counter, he looked to the three Thieves remaining. "Stay here and prepare for the mob. Don't take any bets until I return with the official listing."

Holding back the flap of the tent, he waited for Tishan to step through then followed her into the early morning sunshine. It was already hot and humid, typical of a Dhan'Marian summer but something Flynn was still getting used to. His native lands of Ceja were much drier, and the humidity here an annoyance he'd not yet adapted to. On the other hand, winters in Dhanen'Mar were much more pleasant, with only its northern regions becoming cold enough to see more than the occasional flurry of snow.

But snow was the furthest thing from his mind this morning, feeling a trickle of sweat run down his brow while he and Tishan made their way through the eerily silent marketplace. By the looks of it, even most of the vendors had gone into the forum to watch the names being drawn.

Flynn glanced over as they approached the gates leading into the arena. "I haven't seen much of Knoxx these past few days," he commented blandly. The mage appeared to be avoiding him, and Flynn was rapidly losing patience with this. Aware Knoxx had again embroiled himself in his brother's schemes, it was clear the mage was simply trying to forestall the looming confrontation with his commander. This wouldn't be permitted much longer.

"I haven't either," Tishan then replied, "although he left a note under my door stating he wished to speak with me later today."

Suspicious, Flynn dropped the matter. Clearly, Tishan knew even less than he, and there'd be little point wasting the might of his interrogation on her. Better he simply keep it in check until opportunity allowed him to unleash it, full force, onto Knoxx.

Only steps into the arena they realized they could go no farther. It appeared all those who attended the fights wished to observe the name-drawing as well, although many were loitering about rather than occupying the benches, probably so they wouldn't be caught in the mad dash to the gambling tent. Flynn quickly determined that he and Tishan would need to stay on the outer fringes to have any hope of arriving prior to their customers.

Their line of sight was largely obstructed, but Flynn managed to catch a few glimpses of the far–off field. He assumed the giant, steel goblet at its center—which, by the looks of it, took at least two men to heft—contained the names of all round three participants, with the royal jester reaching into it now. Flynn began searching his pockets for parchment, which he found a scrap of, but then had to ask Tishan if she carried anything to write with. She deftly lifted a charcoal pencil from the pocket of a nearby citizen and handed it over.

A sudden roar from the crowd implied the first names had now been drawn, but it was a few minutes before word of them trickled back through the crowd. Flynn jotted the information down in his nearly illegible scrawl, noting the Balshan Gliddion Xaz would be featured in the first duel opposite a knight of the royal guard. Flynn found himself pitying the knight, despite not being in the habit of feeling sorry for anyone suicidal enough to willingly enter the games.

Minutes later, the names of those set to appear in the second fight rolled near and Flynn added them to his list. Both these men were Dhan'Marian, one a known criminal and the other Nathon Wythe, the man who'd stabbed Knoxx upon the Oslund vineyard. Flynn found it interesting how both Nathon Wythe and Taleb Okin seemed to be doing quite well in the competition thus far; knowing these two had somehow caught the interest of Devlin Alvik, Flynn could only imagine what their appearance in the Challenge might imply.

The third duel would involve a foreigner, a man from Veron, versus a Justice officer. The fourth and final match of the day would then again consist of two Dhan'Marians, one a criminal and the other a knight.

Flynn furiously scribbled all of this down even as he and Tishan rounded back, hurrying to stay ahead of the crowd now intent on emptying into the marketplace. The first duel was less than an hour away, and Flynn figured he and his fellow Thieves would be swamped at taking wagers until its onset.

While zeroing in on the tent, he made some further determinations. With round three consisting of only eight fights over two days, the men not called this morning would instead all be fighting tomorrow, making it an easy thing to identify them.

The Dhan'Marian prince, of course, would be making an appearance, which could very well end in bloodshed now that his council was no longer protecting him. One knight and one Justice officer still remained unaccounted for, as well as a Dhan'Marian mercenary suspected of being a rapist and murderer. Taleb Okin would also be up tomorrow, as well as the warlord Baiel Maves. And then there was the Jennite Rydin Kale—a man Flynn had been watching with much interest ever since taking that stunning wager on him the first day of the Challenge. This remained the only bet yet placed on the final outcome that didn't favor the warlord, and for this reason he hoped to see Maves and Kale paired up soon, expecting their fight to be interesting no matter the result. Perhaps tomorrow would be the day.

He and Tishan arrived at the tent only moments before full-blown chaos hit, as hundreds suddenly converged within and began trying to push and shove their way to the counter. Flynn hollered for order, threatening to close the tent until the second duel. This was a bluff, but none were so bold as to test it, and with slight order restored he and his Thieves set to work.

There was no time for anything but recording names and taking bets until only minutes before Seventh-Hour. The tent then emptied at a stunning speed, leaving the five Thieves alone and able to organize the mess of pages now strewn all about the counter and floor behind them.

Because he always required official confirmation of a duel's result before paying out a single copper, Flynn next sent one of his Thieves to view the first match. Those remaining used this time to catch their breaths and shift all scattered pages into more or less organized piles, an act that would make their tasks much easier when those who'd wagered wisely began returning to collect their winnings.

On average, the duels of the King's Challenge tended to last less than ten minutes, which didn't give the Thieves much time to collect themselves between rushes. The first fight of the third round proved no exception, seeing the man Flynn had sent off to witness it jogging back through the flap only minutes after departing.

"The Balshan won," the thief reported breathlessly.

Flynn turned and circled Gliddion Xaz's name on the huge piece of parchment serving as their daily match-board. The wagers didn't wholly hinge upon the victors, however, but also, if the bettor so wished, on whether the match resulted in a kill. In this particular case Flynn felt he could make a relatively safe guess as to the answer, but asked anyway.

"Is the knight still alive?" he put forth.

"No," his thief told him with a grimace.

Flynn didn't request details, well aware of what the Balshan had done to his previous two victims. Instead, he simply made a mark to denote the knight had been killed in combat, and then told everyone to prepare for the next wave of gamblers who'd be pouring into the tent at any moment.

Since most hadn't been stupid enough to bet against the Balshan, many came to collect winnings for this duel, but for the same reason the majority of these amounts were small. The surprises and upsets paid out the most, although lucky guesses still accounted for much of the payoffs with so many fights still left before the final duel. Most appeared certain the warlord Baiel Maves would represent one of the final two men standing, but speculation surrounding who might be left to face him remained a debate. Personally, Flynn would've gone with Kale or the Balshan, but it was really too soon to be making these sorts of predictions with any degree of accuracy. A lot would depend on how the pairings matched up over the next round.

When the crowd within the tent again started to die down, Flynn estimated it was closing in on Eighth-hour and the next duel, and his morbid curiosity prompted him to tell the other Thieves to await him here while he went to witness the imminent fight. Able to explain it only because of his strange connection to them, he'd felt compelled to watch all duels yet fought by Nathon Wythe and Taleb Okin, with today proving no exception. He'd also been sure to catch both Kale's duels thus far, as well as the warlord's. While holding to the opinion that a man would have to be more or less insane to enter the games—why risk your life for gold when you can simply steal it?—Flynn did enjoy catching a match when opportunity allowed.

Nathon Wythe would now be fighting a fellow Dhan'Marian, a known criminal with an affinity for starting fires. Flynn had heard an inn down by the waterfront burned to the ground earlier this week, and now wondered if there was a connection. If so, it was of no surprise the Legion had ignored the affair, although they'd likely be set to converge on the man the moment someone defeated him, provided he remained alive.

Flynn entered the forum and took up a standing position at the sidelines. A couple Justice officers charged with preventing this sort of loitering glanced at him but ultimately let him be, much as they'd been doing all week. Obviously, they'd been ordered to steer clear of him so as not to interfere with the gambling web. Flynn smiled and flipped them a rude hand gesture simply because he could, and then turned his attention to the field.

The duel was just beginning, with the gong sounding out in the quiet of the hushed crowd. The combatants made a quick pass and then both took a step back, circling slowly. The fire-loving criminal made a feint, looking to be aiming for Wythe's side, but then reversed direction and swept his blade in low to slash a thigh.

Wythe wasn't taken in by the ploy and used his own weapon to parry, simultaneously slamming his shield into his opponent's face. The criminal reeled back but swung wildly as he did so. Wythe took a small slice to his shoulder but landed his own blade into the other man's side—but with the flat rather than the edge. With no kills or even serious wounds on his record thus far, it was obvious he wasn't a man inclined to do such things if he had any recourse. An admirable code of personal honor, Flynn supposed, although one that could potentially get him killed in a contest such as this.

It appeared Wythe had the situation well under his control, however, as he then made swift slashes to either side of his opponent, back and forth several times, that only seemed to confuse the man and cause him to begin flailing wildly again, trying to parry. Wythe carried on in this manner and then suddenly drew his sword back, swept in low, and slammed the flat of his weapon into the criminal's outer thigh. The man pitched to the ground in a tangle of his own limbs, scrambling to get his sword aloft and before him. Not fast enough, he froze as Wythe's blade then leveled at his throat.

The audience erupted in cheers, and Flynn turned away to start back to the tent, pondering. He thought Wythe's aversion to killing was strange, as he'd obviously had no trouble stabbing Knoxx earlier in the summer. Of course, Flynn further reasoned, Wythe had, at the time, been defending his lord and home, an act which tended to make most men particularly deadly. Actually, after watching both Wythe's and Okin's fights in the past rounds, Flynn felt he and Knoxx were incredibly lucky to have escaped the Oslund vineyard with their lives. He remained a bit sour over the situation, his resulting bruises and broken nose healed but not forgotten.

He entered back into the tent and posted the results of the duel on the match-board just before the next swarm of bettors descended. The rest of the day passed quickly, seeing the Justice officer prove victorious over the man from Veron in the third duel, and the knight coming out the winner in the last. The death toll held steady at one, with the Balshan proving the day's only murderer. So far, the most blood had been shed in the first round, although historically the brutalist battles tended to occur during rounds five and six, once the remaining combatants grew close enough to ultimate victory to begin smelling the prize money.

The five Thieves packed it in and left the marketplace, scattering in different directions to enjoy their freedom for the remainder of the day. Flynn remained with Tishan as they started back to their inn, The Dancing Damsel. With the day's business concluded, it was now his intention to seek out Knoxx and get to the bottom of whatever business had seen him slinking all about Aralexia for the past few days. Or rather, not seen him. Flynn suspected the mage was using his power of invisibility to get by him unnoticed, something he was going to pay for once his commander caught up with him.

They entered the Damsel's common area, which remained largely empty, and Flynn made a cursory look about for Knoxx. He wasn't surprised to find no sign of him.

"Go up to Knoxx's room and check if he's in," he instructed Tishan. "If so, bring him to my quarters immediately. If not, stay down here and wait until he decides to make an appearance."

She didn't appear pleased with the assignment, but headed upstairs as directed without comment. Flynn followed more slowly, unlocking his door and moving into his room while pondering on how to spend the remainder of his afternoon. Thanks to Knoxx, he was pretty much stuck keeping to the inn for now, which left him few options. He did have a meeting later, after sunfall, to offload the last piece of jewelry made from the Tulan diamond, but this was hours distant.

Thoughts of the diamond brought him to the large, varnished armoire in his bedchamber. The final piece was within, wrapped in a small square of silk and wedged into the pocket of one of his shirts; while it was doubtful anyone in Aralexia would have spine enough to attempt thieving from the network's very own commander, simple habit had prompted him to conceal it in this manner. He stepped toward the armoire now, reaching for its handle. He wasn't expecting to find anything but his neatly-hung garments inside, certainly not the body that came hurtling out at him.

Sylvain, he realized, even as he was hit with the tackle and began soaring backward.

He landed flat on his back, with Sylvain on top of him and moving to enclose his hands about his throat. Flynn, still startled but rapidly regaining his senses, brought his arms up and out to fend off the hold, following up with a furious punch to Sylvain's temple.

Sylvain's head rocked to the side as he took the hit, but he countered by bringing his elbow down and slamming it into Flynn's sternum. In pain but still drawing breath, Flynn twisted to get to the knife he always carried in his belt, managing to heave Sylvain off him in the attempt. Pulling the blade free he shot upward, breathing deeply as he spun to keep eyes on his attacker.

Sylvain was also lunging to his feet, but turning to make a leap through the doorway. Furious, Flynn hurled his knife after him. A moment too late, the blade thudded into the wall as its target vanished into the sitting room.

"Come back and face me, Sylvain!" Flynn bellowed in rage, racing after him. "This will see its end today!"

Sylvain apparently disagreed; he'd reached the door leading into the corridor and was vanishing through it even as Flynn pounded after him. Sylvain bolted toward the stairs, hurtling himself downward at a furious pace. Some sort of commotion then seemed to occur, and Flynn heard a thunderous crash just as he saw Tishan and Knoxx racing to meet him from the opposite corridor.

"What happened?" Tishan demanded breathlessly, as all three converged at the top of the staircase.

"Sylvain," Flynn said simply, looking down. "He was lying in wait in my room." His eyes then widened as his mind tried to form a picture that would explain what he was now looking at.

Knoxx was way ahead of him, already chortling loudly. "A pity he got away, but I imagine he'll think twice before trying anything like this again."

The warlord Baiel Maves was paused about three-quarters of the way up the stairs, looking at the three Thieves expressionlessly. "A friend of yours?" he asked tonelessly.

"Hardly," Flynn replied.

It appeared Sylvain's timing had been unfortunate, throwing himself down the stairs at that precise moment. Whether he'd actually stumbled into the warlord remained unclear, but the broken banister made it obvious Maves had proved immovable; Sylvain had been shoved clear through it, falling to the common room below where he'd evidently landed on a table, its four legs now shattered outward in every direction. Unfortunately it didn't look as though he'd been injured too badly, already back on his feet and vanishing through the doors to the street beyond, but those seated below who'd witnessed the event were now showering the warlord with applause, which he failed to acknowledge.

"He was holding something," Maves then went on, looking to Flynn and raising one of his hands. "I couldn't make it out initially, but presumed it was a weapon and thought it best to deprive him of it." He tossed the item into the air.

Flynn caught the final piece of the Tulan diamond, glanced at it briefly, and then stowed it into his pocket. He figured this had been a crime of opportunity, with Sylvain just happening upon it while waiting in the armoire to spring his assault. Flynn would've been beyond angry if he'd successfully made off with it, but as it was he found himself grinning at Maves.

"Please tell me he was hurt in the fall," he said.

The warlord seemed to find that a strange request. "Well," he replied, giving a slight gesture, "I don't think he'll be using his right arm for a while, unless he's quick in getting himself to a Healer."

Flynn felt his smile widening. While regretful he'd missed seeing Maves heave Sylvain through the bannister, the results were nonetheless pleasing. He thanked the warlord for the amusement as well as for returning his property, wished him luck on his match the following day, and then jerked his head at Knoxx.

"My room," he ordered. "Now."

All mirth vanished from the mage's face, and he paled slightly. He didn't argue though, turning to lead the way from the stairs and down the corridor toward his commander's room. Flynn followed, leaving Tishan behind with the warlord.

Knoxx dragged himself into the sitting room and sank down into an armchair. Lifting his gaze, he eyed Flynn warily.

Flynn ignored him, content to let him sit there and stew, and moved further into his bedchamber. The doors to the armoire remained open, and he gave the contents a cursory inspection. None of his belongings appeared damaged, and nothing else missing.

Sighing in frustration at Sylvain's escape, he could at least say the warning given him by the diviner had now seen fruition; although, he hadn't anticipated the man being so bold as to ambush his quarters. It was a mistake he wouldn't repeat, though he tended to agree with Knoxx in that it wasn't likely Sylvain would attempt this a second time.

Leaving Knoxx alone simply because it had to be rankling his nerves, Flynn sank down onto his bed and basically did nothing for a full fifteen minutes. Finally content the mage had suffered adequately, he rose and swaggered back into the sitting room.

He found Knoxx asleep, still sitting upright in the chair, and he stared at him incredulously for a long moment before snatching up a pillow from the couch and throwing it at his head. "Wake up!" he bellowed furiously.

Knoxx snorted awake, his eyes blinking rapidly as they opened. He then glanced about, quickly finding Flynn. "Sorry," he apologized. "It's been a long few days."

Flynn sank onto the couch opposite him. "I can imagine," he replied icily, "and it's time we discussed them."

Knoxx gazed upward for a moment, a common tell that he was gathering and organizing his thoughts. When he looked back, his eyes were shadowed but resolved.

"Listen to me, Flynn," he began. "I know you disapprove of any matter relating to my brother, but this isn't a typical game of the royal court. This is . . . much bigger than any of that. I can't speak of its details, and rest assured you don't want them. But I can't turn away. The safety of Dhanen'Mar may hang in the balance."

As not only his commander but also his friend, at hearing this Flynn instantly recognized two truths. First, there was absolutely no deceit or embellishment in his words. Second, whatever secrets Knoxx was now aware of, his resolve to either aid or thwart the situation was fixed, regardless of the cost.

It was some time before Flynn finally responded. "So you've chosen to remain here in Aralexia, and turn your back on your fellow Thieves?"

The mage grimaced at the question, replying with agitation. "That isn't what I want. I need to remain in service to my brother for the remainder of the week, but would then very much like to return with you to the canyon."

"I told you your options, and that wasn't one of them," Flynn replied flatly.

Knoxx eyed him a moment, then went on. "Things have changed. With Sylvain's possible involvement now a factor, the situation has grown even more dangerous. If he and Stavrakos learn what Devlin has uncovered, life may become unpleasant for all of us."

Flynn frowned. "What are you suggesting, exactly?"

"I just spoke to Tishan, and she's agreed to remain here in Aralexia in my stead, so long as you approve. I can't stay myself, as I'm too obvious a tool of my brother's." He then seemed to hold his breath, gazing back.

Flynn was silent. Knoxx had been clever to mention Sylvain, for it worked to strum his temper. Still, it wasn't enough to convince him.

"Tishan despises this city," he said. "Did she agree because she knows more of this matter than I do?"

The mage shook his head. "Even less, for I believe her ignorance will help keep her safe."

Again, Flynn frowned. Despite his own desire to avoid learning details of the jester's schemes, his curiosity was beginning to get the better of him. Furthermore, he was finished letting his Thieves risk their lives for reasons unknown. While he didn't believe Knoxx was exaggerating the seriousness of the matter, without full comprehension he couldn't allow any of them to get a single toe in deeper than they already were.

He sat back and regarded the mage expressionlessly. "Tishan will be returning to the canyon, and you will not," he said. "Not unless you explain yourself to me, and do so now. I've heard enough of this secrecy horseshit. Start talking, or remove yourself from my presence."

Knoxx's eyes widened in alarm. "Flynn, I can't! My brother swore me to secrecy!"

"Your brother doesn't have to know," he countered. Knoxx continued to stare at him helplessly, and Flynn looked back as he went on. "Make your choice. If you truly need my help, then tell me why. If not, you're free to carry on without it. You have one minute to decide."

The mage's agony was clear, torn between his conflicting loyalties. In the end, however, Flynn knew those loyalties wouldn't be dictating his decision; for if the situation really was as dire as Knoxx indicated, his only recourse was to confide what he knew, and thus gain the assistance only his commander could provide. Otherwise, he and the jester could take their chances alone.

Flynn watched as he finally dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes in defeat.

"There's something you need to know about one of the men we confronted in the vineyard," Knoxx began.
Chapter 40

Round three of the Challenge required only two days, and since he'd not been called upon for the first, Baiel knew without question that he'd be fighting today. The four duels set to play out would finish the round and send eight men moving on to the next, which would further consist of four fights all occurring tomorrow. Knowing he would be featured in one of them, the warlord heaved a resigned sigh and started down the stairs of The Dancing Damsel.

A brief glance took in his handiwork of the day before as he passed by the shattered bannister. He'd intercepted the other man's momentum and used it to fling him over his shoulder, throwing him into the railing—which failed to halt him—and down to the floor below. Baiel knew only that the occurrence had somehow been Thieves business, and while he had no issue with those staying here at the Damsel, it wasn't a matter he wished to become involved in.

A couple hours after the incident he'd found himself sharing company with Flynn Fajen in the common room, and expressed his desire to know nothing more of whatever matter he'd unintentionally stepped into. Fajen had complied and kept the conversation light. It seemed he'd been looking for a distraction from his thoughts, and been fairly drunk by the time Baiel bid him a good evening and retired to his quarters.

Now coming to the bottom of the stairs, Baiel noted his fellow warlords, Yuri Filbon and Geves Corth, as well as Qyn, awaiting him near the inn's front doors. He was disappointed but not surprised to see Reagan wasn't with them, for he hadn't spoken to or even laid eyes on his sister since their confrontation several days ago. Twice he'd gone to her inn, leaving messages when not finding her present, but so far she'd chosen to ignore them. It pained him to know she placed her desire for revenge above him, but he still hoped they could come to some sort of reconciliation before the week ended. He didn't want to leave Aralexia while matters between them remained so ugly.

Baiel joined his party and they started for the arena. Qyn chattered incessantly for much of the way, naming the eight men who'd be fighting today and prattling off every detail he knew about each of them.

Baiel listened with only half an ear, his thoughts still on Reagan. She hadn't appeared for his second round duel, when he'd ousted the prince of Navosa, but he was hoping she'd had a change of heart and would come to wish him luck today. If not, he'd make another round to her inn later this afternoon. He figured that so long as he kept trying, he was bound to catch her in sooner or later, although with only four days remaining to the week he should perhaps consider doubling his efforts.

Belatedly, he took note of Qyn saying something to him.

"Hmm?" he said, attempting to push his thoughts of Reagan away.

"I asked if there was anyone in particular you were hoping to face today," the boy said, evidently for the second time.

Baiel shrugged; he truly hadn't given the matter much thought. "No," he answered. "I'm content to leave the matter in Fate's hands."

Qyn was silent a moment, then shot him a quick glance as they rounded into the seething mass of the marketplace. "Will Reagan be meeting us today?" he asked hesitantly.

Baiel bit back a snappish reply. He'd explained his sister's absences by stating she was busy with official Challenge business, but this excuse was beginning to wear thin even to Qyn's ears. But none of this was the boy's fault, and he had no call to take his mood out on him.

"I'm hoping so, but we'll just have to see," he finally responded blandly.

Qyn glanced at him again, but simply nodded.

Yuri and Geves were now leading the way through the crowd pouring into the forum, a difficult and exhausting task for most of the folk involved. The warlords, however, made way more or less smoothly, gliding through the openings most citizens willingly provided them. Baiel wasn't sure if this courtesy was a result of him being a participant or just due to their station, but either way he was grateful as they moved inside and took position at the field's sideline.

If possible, the arena was packed even more densely than usual, and as he looked about Baiel realized the cause wasn't simply the progression of the rounds. One of the eight names to be drawn from the giant goblet this morning would belong to the prince, and apparently every soul in Aralexia wanted to bear witness to the result. For the first time, he found himself wondering what would happen if Prince Luken was killed on the field today.

The royal jester, Devlin Alvik, was now emerging from his seat amongst the royal council and making his way toward the goblet at center field. Baiel wasn't close enough to yet make out the man's expression, but he certainly didn't appear to be in any hurry to enact his morning duties. No doubt he too was preoccupied with the thought of what was to happen should he draw an unfortunate pairing for the prince.

Baiel shifted his weight and continued his careful observation of the jester. He wasn't completely accepting of the fact that even these public drawings weren't somehow being manipulated, but it was hard to deny Alvik's dread. In fact, he looked almost physically ill, his face pale and pasty as he finally drew up to the goblet and paused.

The crowd appeared not to share any of the jester's trepidation, now wildly cheering for him to begin the draw. Baiel frowned at the behavior but kept his attention fixed.

As had publicly been explained the day before, each days' scraps of parchment, including those presently within the goblet, had been placed there by the king himself—an act all were free to witness, but one Baiel had not arrived in time to see—done prior to the goblet being moved onto the field. Essentially, however, this method had been calculated to ensure none but the king himself had any contact with the names before they were drawn. Baiel wasn't certain if this implied the man was as crazy as rumored, or if he perhaps hated his own son for some reason, but in any case he was obviously willing to gamble with Prince Luken's life. Baiel looked toward the royal seating, interested to see the prince's reaction to this new manner of drawings, but wasn't able to make him out from his position.

The jester was now reaching into the goblet, causing the crowd to fall into an expectant hush. Alvik withdrew his arm, holding a single scrap of parchment tightly in his hand. He took his time viewing its contents, and it was with obvious dread that he shouted out the information.

"Prince Luken DeSiva!" he bellowed.

Baiel heard Geves emit a snort beside him. "If the next name belongs to one of the foreigners, Aralexia will be concluding the summer season with a royal funeral," he said, his words almost drowned out by the sound of the bloodthirsty crowd.

Baiel was forced to agree. It was pretty much a surety that any foreigner given the opportunity to kill a member of Dhan'Marian royalty—with complete impunity, no less—would take it. And if that happened, the warlords might soon be going to battle.

Alvik had now withdrawn a second piece of parchment from the goblet, but was hesitating to look at it. When he finally did so a moment later, any doubts Baiel had about this competition still being fixed evaporated at the look of relief now flooding the jester's face. Born to the Arts or not, no one was that good of an actor.

"Baiel Maves!" the jester hollered.

The surrounding crowd had varying opinions of this. While many seemed relieved they wouldn't have to watch their prince be slaughtered today, others seemed disappointed by this same fact.

Baiel himself gave no visible reaction to the information. Obviously, he had no plans to kill the prince, but there remained the question of how the situation would best be handled. Relations between the warlords and royal family weren't exactly smooth, and Baiel realized he'd now been given the opportunity to either repair the damage he'd already done this week by humiliating the knight in the first round, or make things considerably worse by doing much the same to Luken DeSiva. Generally, the warlords took any action they could to send a clear message to the royal council, this message being, You do not want trouble with us, but on the other hand, King Redgar DeSiva was rumored to be half-mad, and if so, there was no telling how he might react to such a public mockery made of his son.

If this was not all complicated enough, there remained yet another aspect Baiel was forced to consider. It was more or less assured that one day, be it sooner or later, Luken DeSiva would become the next king of Dhanen'Mar. Also just as certain was that Baiel would become captain of the warlords once Gaiden Rojek retired from the position. That said, should Dhanen'Mar ever come under future threat, it was Luken and Baiel who'd be coordinating its defenses, meaning this might not be the only time in their lives when they'd be drawn together—and those future encounters could very well be influenced by what happened on this field today.

Geves and Yuri appeared to be considering all this as well, for each was now regarding Baiel seriously.

"Tread carefully, Baiel," Yuri cautioned in a low tone. "However you decide to play it."

Baiel nodded in response but made no other reply. He had almost an hour to reflect on his options, and aimed to use the time wisely.

The crowd surrounding them was now intent upon the jester's next offerings, which named the second duel's participants as a knight and a Dhan'Marian whom Qyn relayed was an alleged rapist and murderer. The third fight would feature a War-born man named Taleb Okin, who Baiel had been keeping his eye on as he'd so far found his skills impressive, and a Justice officer. The fourth and final match of the day would then see the Jennite Rydin Kale face off against a knight.

Baiel was pleased his fight was first, despite his lingering uncertainty over how to best approach it. Afterward, he would stay to observe the remaining duels, then make another attempt to locate Reagan, although he was still hoping she'd be the one to seek him out sometime today.

As the time of his duel neared, he left Yuri, Geves, and Qyn behind in their seats and started down to the field alone. He reached it just as the first gong sounded to call the opening combatants forward, and continued to center field. Pausing before the bell-ringer, he then turned to watch his opponent's approach.

Prince Luken came forward with a measured step, his eyes likewise on Baiel. His expression was an odd mixture of relief and wariness; unquestionably aware that only chance had saved him from death this day, doubtless he now anticipated being toyed with and humiliated before all the gathered populace.

The prince drew to a stop, his eyes still searching Baiel's face. "You're even younger than I expected, warlord," he said. "Certainly yours is a rare talent, even amongst your kind."

Baiel paused and then glanced to the bell-ringer, who stood well within hearing range. Prince Luken appeared to understand.

"Step away a moment," he commanded the man.

"It's said," Baiel then responded quietly, for the prince's ears only, "that I will one day assume the post of captain."

While Prince Luken had proven himself incredibly naive these past few days when it came to the area of combat, he was clearly no fool in regard to the intrigues of court. Understanding the implication perfectly, he nodded slowly and said, "I see no reason why you and I cannot part amicably from this. The old ways are not necessarily the correct ones, and I don't intend to continue the outdated traditions of my predecessors. So long as peace within the realm is our common aim, I find no need to uphold such petty animosities."

Upon waking this morning, Baiel never would've suspected he'd soon be having this discussion with the next king of Dhanen'Mar. He was also forced to wonder if this conversation wasn't a further design of his presence in Aralexia. Although the diviner hadn't made any mention of this, he thought perhaps her sight had been limited from seeing the entirety of the matter. In any case, Baiel saw the chance to do much good here, and it wasn't an opportunity he was foolish enough to waste.

"It appears we hold to a common way of thinking, your highness," he graciously replied, adding the honorific to lend further weight to his words. "With the safety of Dhanen'Mar our collective and primary interest, I believe all within its borders to be in good keeping."

Prince Luken took this in and nodded. "I pray to never have reason to call on you, but should that day come, know I'll do so without hesitation. I wish you a peaceful reign, Sir Maves."

"And I you, my prince."

Luken stepped back and gestured for the bell-ringer to return. He then raised his sword, taking the starting position. Baiel did likewise, crossing his blade with the prince's. The gong sounded and the fight began.

In light of the preceding conversation, Baiel did his best to leave Prince Luken as much dignity as possible without turning the duel into a complete and utter mockery. Allowing the prince a few passes, which he parried thoughtlessly, he delivered no hits of his own and instead just disarmed the other man with a quick flick of his wrist, sending the blade flying.

The crowd appeared to have conflicting opinions of this, with some still likely suspecting a fix, but most cheered with at least a fair degree of enthusiasm. Baiel paid the noise little mind, instead watching as the prince gave him a parting nod and brief smile before retreating. He returned the gesture and then waited for the jester to come forth and officially declare him the winner, anxious to be gone from the field.

Alvik approached wearing a curious look.

"A gracious victory, Sir Maves," he said. "Allow me to speak for the entire council in relaying our gratitude."

Baiel narrowed his eyes at him in return. "This had nothing to do with the wants and desires of your council. Unlike the rest of you, the prince seems possessed of a favorable character as well as sound intentions. I look forward to the day he takes the throne."

The jester had an extremely strange reaction to these words, which perhaps shouldn't have been surprising; Baiel's final statement, after all, had bordered on treason against the reigning king. Rather than point this out, however, Alvik simply stared at him for an interminably long moment, saying nothing. The look in his eyes revealed only deep calculation.

Impatient, and unconcerned with whatever this was about, Baiel sighed. "Can we finish here?" he snapped.

The jester blinked quickly, seeming to pull his thoughts together. He then closed the distance between them and took hold of Baiel's arm, lifting it while proclaiming him the victor.

Baiel suffered through the process silently and then pulled himself away. "Until tomorrow then, jester," he said, starting off.

He was almost to the sidelines before taking note of the presence awaiting him there. With her head and shoulders again wrapped in a shawl of purple silk, the diviner stood by, patiently regarding his approach. Next to her stood a man Baiel recognized as a fellow combatant, and the meaning of his position instantly became clear. Taleb Okin was the one Stahl had sent him to collect and bring back to the keep. Fighting to recall Qyn's chatter of earlier, he managed to grasp the details that Okin had lived as a slave somewhere in Tyrell, and just recently gained his freedom after the conclusion of his decade-long term of service.

Baiel drew to a pause, reminded of the fact that he didn't even know the name of the woman before him. Her face was well-remembered, however, beautiful despite the cover of the shawl that kept much of it in shadow.

"Diviner," he greeted, smiling faintly.

She returned the look, tilting her head up to take him in. "Good day, Baiel. I was hoping you had a free moment to allow me the opportunity to introduce a friend of mine. He's most interested in the ways of your order, and aims to join you."

Baiel immediately noted her aversion to any mention of her divinations, which seemed to imply she didn't want her insights shared with the subject in question. He followed her lead, shifting his gaze onto Taleb Okin before speaking.

"We're always pleased to welcome one bearing a medallion of War," he began, seeing proof of this in the form of the other man's Birth medallion. Okin's Secondary, however, while turned outward, had fallen behind the other, obscuring its chosen Patron. "So long as you don't also bear Chaos or Revenge," Baiel then added.

Okin reached up and pulled forth his Secondary, displaying his choice of Destiny. "For many years my desire has been to attend your keep," he said, "but only now do I have the freedom to do so. I hope my age doesn't disqualify me from any opportunities offered within."

Baiel shook his head. "Certainly not. We're happy to train any who wish to learn, and receive several each year who are newly-freed slaves, such as yourself." He paused and regarded the other man seriously, knowing his next words might prove offensive. "I've watched you fight in these duels, and while you display a skill more impressive than one might expect from your background, we'll find much to improve on at Lutarre Keep."

While this was true, he was more or less using the statement to test the man's attitude. After watching his display with the Justice officer in the second round, it had become easy to assume Taleb Okin was possessed of a great arrogance. Although, Baiel had to admit, the performance hadn't differed much from his own win in the opening round, humiliating that knight as he had.

Okin, however, seemed unbothered by the remark. "Such is my hope," he said. "I've lost many years to slavery, and while I can't altogether regret them, I do intend to make up the time."

Baiel nodded at his evident determination. From what he'd so far witnessed, he didn't think it would be long before Okin received training enough to undertake the warlord trials, but this was a calculation he kept to himself. Not all were cut out for the sort of life found in the keep, and only time would tell if Okin was one of them.

"My party is just there," Baiel said now, gesturing into the stands where he could see Yuri, Geves, and Qyn watching him. "You're welcome to join us and ask any further questions you have regarding our lifestyle. We'd be pleased to answer them."

Okin nodded. "I would like that very much."

Baiel turned away and looked back to the diviner. "Might I entice you to join us as well? Or perhaps, at the very least, to tell me your name?"

She looked surprised, but quickly smiled. "My name is Madilaine Savannon, and I'd be pleased to join you."

The name stirred a memory, causing him to recall her previous statement about their paths having been meant to cross five weeks earlier in Tyrell. Madilaine Savannon was the name of the diviner he'd attempted seeing for a reading, in hopes she could provide some insight about Reagan. He'd been turned away, however, told by a young man claiming to be her cousin that she had no openings for the week.

Her name was familiar for another reason as well. While Lutarre Keep existed largely apart from the rest of Dhanen'Mar, the Savannon name was far-reaching and one of the most powerful in the country. She was highborn, and most certainly expected to be treated as such.

Seeing Okin wasn't making a move to do so, and for the first time questioning the nature of their acquaintance, he moved to offer his arm, which she took, and began leading her into the stands. His fellow warlords saw them approaching and moved to make room for the extra bodies, sliding down the bench.

"Yuri, Geves," he started, "this is Taleb Okin, who you'll recognize from the competition. He's interested in journeying back to the keep with us at weeks' end."

Both Yuri and Geves greeted Okin with enthusiasm, unsurprising as warlords were always happy to welcome new citizens to their city. While Geves immediately began questioning him about his training background, Yuri turned to watch Baiel and the diviner take seats between himself and Qyn.

"And this is?" the warlord asked, grinning slyly.

Baiel pointedly ignored the look. He still hadn't been able to go a single night without either Yuri or Geves camped outside his door, needed to turn away the female attention that continued to all but stalk him about the city. Baiel paid very little attention to any of it, so it was of no wonder Yuri was now amused by the womanly presence on his arm.

He introduced her to the warlords, and then to Qyn, but offered only her first name and made no mention of her title or status as a diviner. He figured she could decide for herself whether or not to share this information. Seeming to understand, she smiled at him slightly.

Apparently finding Madilaine an acceptable replacement for Reagan, Qyn immediately began asking her all manner of questions. Since she didn't appear to mind, and because he was personally interested in her responses, Baiel didn't admonish him.

He soon learned she was part of a troupe that traveled all about Dhanen'Mar, but had grown up in Kohtala, the home city of Destiny. He also learned her connection to Okin was through her closest friend, a woman named Oliveah Oslund who acted as a musician in her troupe.

While taking this in to his one side, Baiel was also paying close attention to the conversation going on to his other. Okin was now asking Yuri and Geves a seemingly endless string of questions about Lutarre Keep, those the warlords were answering forthrightly. Their latest recruit, Baiel decided, was enthusiastic as well as determined, and his inquiries were good ones, making every effort to learn all he could of his future home.

But there remained the further matter of his very existence to consider. Stahl himself had sent Baiel to ensure Taleb Okin reached the keep, a truth he found incredibly perplexing. Okin was skilled, certainly, but Baiel could see no reason why he would've stood out to Stahl and gained such interest. Thoughtful, he sent a look over to Madilaine.

"I think there's much you've yet left unsaid, diviner," he issued in a quiet tone.

She looked back, drawing her attention from Qyn, and regarded him seriously. "I hope that's something you can accept," she responded in a firm tone.

He paused a brief moment, then laughed quietly. "It is," he told her, continuing to smile. "I'm curious, but will question you no more."

She seemed to relax, and he pondered on how her gifts must be terribly burdensome at times. He then sent a subtle glance to her throat, hoping her Secondary would give him further insight into her, but its information was hidden, turned inward to guard its secret.

Reaching the top of Eighth-hour, the next combatants were called to the field. The knight and Dhan'Marian criminal assembled quickly, crossing blades to await the gong that would allow them to begin.

The duel opened with a blood-letting slash and only escalated from there, quickly proving itself one of the most savage yet seen in the competition. Clear from the start that only death would result, the combatants were extremely well-matched and equally determined, and within minutes both dripped blood from numerous wounds.

The audience was enjoying the deadly excitement, anticipating the fatal conclusion. Glancing to either side, Baiel saw Yuri, Geves, and Okin following the action closely, exchanging only short, clipped observations, while the diviner kept turning her eyes from the field, obviously not enjoying the scene playing out in the least. While pleased she wasn't as ghoulish as much of the crowd, he was forced to wonder why she was in attendance at all, given her evident disgust for this sort of action.

Several more injuries were exchanged before the duel's conclusion, which saw the criminal gaining the upper hand and shoving his blade through the knight's throat. The shower of blood that resulted was enough to make many gag, or else turn away. Baiel looked over and noted the diviner doing both, and quickly inquired if there was anything he could do for her.

She asked for something cool to drink, and he started down to the marketplace, bringing Qyn along to help carry back lunch for all. With scores emptying from the forum with the same intention, nearly half the hour was gone before they returned to the stands, bearing flagons of juice and pork sandwiches. Okin remained in deep discussion with Geves and Yuri, while Madilaine continued to appear slightly unsettled. He surmised she wasn't a woman accustomed to being around violence.

She thanked him for the juice, declined the sandwich, and then asked what had initially led him to Lutarre Keep. He spoke of the Jennite raiders who'd killed his parents and taken both himself and his sister, selling them as slaves, before going on to explain his escape, his journey south to the keep, and the great feeling of home it had provided him.

When she asked if he'd ever found his sister, he chose his response carefully. Making no mention of his and Reagan's argument, or the reasons behind it, he simply stated that they'd stumbled across each other at the beginning of the week.

Madilaine narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at this, and then her expression drifted away to inner thoughts for a moment. "Your sister was born to Revenge, yes?" she inquired.

Wary, he nodded. There was much he wanted to ask about Reagan, but for obvious reasons, didn't dare. In fact, he was now extremely paranoid over what her second sight might be revealing of Reagan and her future plans.

To his relief, however, she said nothing further regarding his sister, instead asking him more about life in Lutarre Keep. Unsurprisingly, she showed a particular interest in the insight received by Brother Jord that had brought him to Aralexia. With the look in her eye utterly serious, she then wanted to know if this was the only insight Stahl had bestowed to the clergyman about him, and when Baiel told her it was, she simply nodded while looking thoughtful.

Okin rose from his seat several minutes before Ninth, having to start down to the field for his fight, but he paused and looked back to Madilaine before heading away. "Are you all right here Madi, or do you want me to bring you back to Oliveah and Nathon?" he asked.

While some men may have found this offensive, Baiel approved of the action. Especially once she gave her reply.

"I'm fine here, Taleb, thank you," she told him. "Be well."

Okin nodded and turned away.

Baiel took in her expression of worry as she watched him disappear into the crowd, and it puzzled him.

"You're obviously concerned for him," he said, "but do your own divinations not foretell his safety throughout the competition?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I see what is meant to happen, what Fate and the Patrons have designed, or the result of events already in motion. But even these influences cannot counter the free will all mortal beings are granted. Taleb entered these games of his own free will, meaning his survival through them is not guaranteed, no matter his destiny."

Baiel thought about that for a full minute before responding. "So nothing is ever for certain?"

She slanted a strange look at him. "I would not go so far as to say nothing."

He was forming his next reply, finding himself fascinated by the topic and wishing to explore it further, when the first gong rang out from the field. Aiming to resume the conversation once the duel was over—so long as Taleb made it through unscathed, of course—he turned his attention downward.

"I'm curious to see if he'll make a similar mockery of this Justice officer as he did with the one in the last round," Baiel commented. Unlike Madilaine, he wasn't particularly concerned Taleb would lose this duel.

She glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "Oh, he made that show for Oliveah," she informed him. "She becomes distressed whenever he or Nathon fights, and he just thought to lighten the mood."

Baiel took that in, now aware of who Oliveah and Nathon were, as well as their basic relationships to each other and to Taleb Okin. He'd been slightly disappointed to learn Nathon Wythe, also War-born, didn't share in the intention of traveling to Lutarre Keep; while perhaps not possessing the same raw talent as Okin, Baiel thought some proper training would take him a long way and probably see him a warlord in less than a year's time, provided he survived the trials. But the man apparently had no desire to leave the vineyard where he'd spent the past decade of his life.

All further thoughts were then halted as the second gong rang out from below, commencing the fight. The Justice officer took an immediate offensive, slashing and hacking in what Baiel found an obvious attempt at intimidation. Okin didn't appear rankled, blocking and parrying each strike, seeming content to let the other man keep on in this manner. Baiel found himself nodding as he watched, knowing Okin was simply biding his time and waiting for his opening. The biggest mistake he could make now would be growing impatient and taking action too soon, but after several minutes of assault from the officer, this didn't appear to be a danger.

Beside him, Baiel noticed the diviner wringing her hands in distress. "Why isn't he fighting back?" she demanded, turning to him.

"He's doing precisely what he should be," Baiel told her calmly. "He will come from this unhurt, Madilaine, I promise you."

She appeared to believe him, lowering her hands to her lap and exhaling a deep breath as she looked back to the field.

Baiel turned his own attention back to the fight, seeing the situation for the most part unchanged. But it did appear the officer was growing more and more frustrated, as Okin continued blocking each and every one of his strikes, making none of his own, and apparently greatly confusing his opponent in the process. The officer's swings were starting to grow wild, his uncertainty gaining ever more influence until he was reduced to looking like nothing more than a madman making furious hacking motions with his sword.

Okin timed his long-awaited assault perfectly. Side-stepping an especially vicious downward slash, he twisted back and brought his sword about to sink into the officer's side. The wound was serious, dropping the officer to the ground, but not fatal. Baiel approved of this as well, and recalled Okin killing only one of his opponents thus far, a Kathwein who, as all now knew, had been insane. Under the circumstances, he found it difficult to fault Okin for the death.

It seemed Taleb Okin was becoming a crowd favorite, as the spectators cheered him deafeningly as the jester came forth to declare him the victor. Baiel noted Madilaine looking relieved, and heard her gratefully muttering that only three days of the Challenge remained.

When Okin returned he had another man and a woman in tow, those he quickly introduced as Nathon Wythe and Oliveah Oslund. As a fellow War-born, Wythe was welcomed heartily by Geves and Yuri, and they immediately began trying to recruit him to the keep. His responses were good-natured but adamant—while professing a deep respect for all warlords, he had no desire to become one. The proclamation obviously came as a great relief to Oliveah Oslund, who wouldn't have been happy to lose both Wythe and Okin to the keep.

With only a final duel left to finish the round, Qyn stationed himself within the midst of the group and began listing the men moving on to the fourth round, including those seated in his very presence. The only uncertainty that remained was whether Rydin Kale or the knight he'd be facing at the top of the hour would advance with them. Mention of the Jennite seemed to spark an interest in both Okin and Wythe, but neither offered any reason for this. If Baiel had to guess, he'd say they knew something about Kale they weren't inclined to share.

Baiel had been keeping an eye on Kale himself, finding him interesting. The man didn't appear to use any particular style or strategy when he fought, instead seeming possessed of a reckless abandon that made his movements utterly impossible to predict and had, so far at least, worked entirely to his favor. Of all the men left in the competition, it was Kale who Baiel thought would be most challenging to face, and he turned his gaze onto the field expectantly when the first gong rang out at Tenth-hour.

Kale and the knight took their positions, and the fight began with the knight making a vicious slash that left his intentions in little doubt. Kale, devoid of a shield as he'd been for his first two matches, blocked with his blade and took his own offensive. They traded passes for the next minute or so, all clearly meant to prove fatal.

He's toying with him, Baiel realized, his eyes trained on the Jennite. Disturbed that he still couldn't accurately predict the man's movements, he was at least able to discern this much, seeing two opportunities Kale could've used to finish off the knight. There was no doubt the Jennite had been aware of them as well, which just led to the question of why he hadn't utilized them.

Frowning faintly, Baiel continued to scrutinize the man's movements, only to find his calculations brought to an abrupt halt when the knight suddenly erupted in an inexplicable manner. Screaming, the man's sword fell to the ground as both his hands clamped over his left eye. He appeared to be yelling something, but the royal council—and Kale—were likely the only ones close enough to make out his words.

The crowd was silenced with bafflement, and Baiel no different. He'd not seen Kale's sword come anywhere near the knight's eye, but the man continued to keep it covered, now bouncing about in an agonized circle as he went on shouting.

With everyone's attention riveted on this spectacle, it came as a great surprise when Kale suddenly hurled his sword across the ten or so paces separating him from his opponent. The knight failed to see the threat coming and took the blade straight in the chest. His screams cut off and he fell without a sound to the ground. Kale approached the body and collected his sword, sticking its point into the ground and leaning on it casually as he awaited the jester.

There now appeared to be some excitement occurring within the section of royal seating, and nor did the crowd seem to know what to make of the situation. Finally the jester appeared and began making his way to Kale with measured steps.

Baiel sat back, sending a glance to his right. Yuri and Geves were clearly perplexed, and both looked to him as if seeking some sort of explanation. Baiel could only shrug in return, and then slide his eyes further down to see Okin and Wythe exchanging quiet words as they watched Kale.

To his other side, he found Madilaine wearing a strange expression that seemed to display relief as well as disapproval. And down on the field, the royal jester was hoisting Kale's arm in victory, the most mystifying of its kind Baiel had ever witnessed.
Chapter 41

With only eight men remaining in the Challenge, the four duels making up the fourth round were all set to occur today, between the hours of Seventh and Tenth. Having begun feeling weary of it all since the last round, Nathon turned his eyes to the field, watching as the royal jester came forth to begin drawing names from the giant goblet at center field.

Due to their early arrival they'd secured excellent seating, second row at mid-field. Now rejoined by Sabian Reif, their party was reinstated to five, although Nathon wouldn't be surprised to see them connect with the warlords at some point throughout the day. Their two groups had gotten on well the afternoon before, seeming to solidify not only Taleb's plans of journeying to their keep, but also Baiel Maves' evident fascination with the diviner. In fact, he'd even accomplished the impossible by prying Madi away from Oliveah's side for a short time the evening before, to indulge in a private supper.

Why Madi was proving so hesitant to leave Oliveah at all remained a mystery Nathon hadn't been able to solve, but only one of many swirling about Aralexia this week. Oliveah herself had been acting incredibly strange these past many days, and while he knew much of this was due to her worry over Taleb and himself, no longer was he willing to accept it as the sole reason. Her actions of several days ago, demanding the location of the mage, still hadn't been adequately explained to him, and he was beginning to believe she'd gotten herself mired in something dangerous. Whatever the answers, it was his intention to confront her about them sometime today.

Coming from his thoughts, he realized he'd missed the drawing of the opening duel's combatants. Taleb then quickly supplied this information by way of furiously issuing his distaste for the matter.

"Another Justice officer!" he exploded, shaking his head. "This makes three I've now been paired against!"

Oliveah turned to him with a frown. "Preferable to three mad Kathwein," she replied flatly.

"Not especially," Taleb returned. "At least the Kathwein made for an interesting fight, albeit a surprising one."

She blew out a breath, exasperated.

Nathon didn't comment, turning his attention back to the field. Unlike himself, Taleb's enthusiasm for the competition only seemed to be growing whereas his own waned. But then, Taleb had always been possessed of a desire to prove himself where Nathon never had been. As much as they had in common, their differences were becoming much more prevalent now they'd been freed from their slave-terms.

"Rydin Kale!" the royal jester was now calling.

Nathon frowned and exchanged a quick glance with Taleb. The Jennite continued to mystify them; not only were his victories on the field utterly confounding, but they'd also had no choice but to abandon their efforts at following him around the city to learn his business. This was due to the strange occurrences which kept erupting to deter them. Once, after shadowing the Jennite for two blocks, an angry horse pulled loose from its rider and created a small panic in the street, allowing Kale the opportunity to slip away in the resulting melee. Another time, Nathon had chanced upon the man, only to follow him for half a block before a pile of bricks stacked upon a nearby scaffolding seemingly fell of their own accord to shower into the street below. There were no serious injuries, but Nathon had lost Kale after stopping to help those frightened by the occurrence. No explanation for the matter had been found.

Whether Rydin Kale was responsible for what had befallen Tyrell the final night of Ardin's Pride remained in question, but at this point Nathon certainly wouldn't have been surprised to learn that he was. He and Taleb had now reluctantly reached the conclusion that they had little recourse but to take their suspicions to the Legion at the end of the week. They would let Justice deal with the problem, whatever the truth of Rydin Kale turned out to be.

So long as Kale made it alive to the end of the week, that was. The jester had now called the next name, pitting the Jennite against the Dhan'Marian criminal most in Aralexia believed to be a rapist and murderer. There remained little question this would prove a savage duel, regardless of the outcome.

The day's third fight would feature Gliddion Xaz, brutal killer of Eugan Reif as well as his other two opponents, against the last knight remaining in the games. Nathon very much hoped the knight would best the Balshan, but he wasn't optimistic.

Through the process of elimination, Nathon knew his own opponent before the jester got around to pulling the final two names from the goblet. It was with relief that he realized he'd be fighting the warlord Baiel Maves, for it meant this would be his final duel. He held no illusions his skills could provide a victory, and was content to know that while he was destined to lose, at least he wouldn't have to worry about Baiel trying to kill him in the process. It was, in all honesty, the best finish for himself he could've hoped for.

Taleb was grinning at him. "I was hoping to face Baiel myself, but not until the final round," he said.

"I will not regret my exit today," Nathon replied, meaning it.

Oliveah, wearing a look of great relief, suddenly narrowed her eyes at Taleb. "I can only pray you'll draw him next."

Taleb's smile widened. "Clearly you're anticipating my victory today, then."

"I'm refusing to entertain any other possibilities," she returned with a resigned sigh. "You've proven yourself against the members of the Legion, but I wouldn't wish to see you stand against the Balshan, Jennite, or criminal. Which may very well happen should you win today and not draw Baiel tomorrow."

Nathon tended to agree with Oliveah on this. While Taleb had so far displayed a great skill in the competition, it would take more than what he'd so far shown to best any of the three she'd just named. Particularly as all three had already proven themselves ruthless killers.

Taleb, however, now wore a look of calculation. "Actually," he began slowly, making a quick glance at Sabian, "I'm rather hoping to draw the Balshan."

Oliveah closed her eyes and shook her head, but Nathon was unsurprised. After Eugan's savage murder, he too had been looking to dispense some vengeance, although whether he was capable of dispensing it upon Xaz was a question he couldn't answer. Taleb, though, didn't seem possessed of the same doubt.

Sabian, in the eerie manner that was common of him, was now looking back at Taleb. "Eugan hopes for the same," he said.

Nathon quickly saw he wasn't the only one unsettled by this comment. Oliveah and Madi appeared startled, and then sorrowful as their grief was torn anew, and Taleb was fidgeting as though feeling chills running up and down his spine. Nathon was experiencing those same chills himself, realizing Sabian's words implied Eugan's spirit remained with them still.

"Well," Taleb finally replied, clearing his throat, "be sure to tell him that my intention is to avenge him in any manner necessary."

Sabian accepted this with a silent nod.

Desperate to lift the pall of sorrow now hanging over them, Nathon scrambled for a lighter topic. This proved more difficult that it perhaps should have, and in the end the conversation fell back to Lutarre Keep. Taleb seemed incredibly anxious to be on his way, and Nathon watched Oliveah carefully as Taleb professed this enthusiasm.

Knowing the conclusion of the week would at last bring her decision regarding to the two of them, he was seeking any hint to her inner thoughts. While listening to Taleb's future plans, her look had turned to one of resigned but steely determination, and he wasn't certain if this implied she'd decided to wait for him, or simply wasn't looking forward to him going. Much of Oliveah's thoughts this week remained a mystery, and he was anxious to receive an answer to this one at least. One way or the other, he was ready to move on with his life.

Slated to appear in the day's first duel, Taleb started down to the field a few minutes before Seventh-hour. Nathon waited until he'd completely vanished into the crowd before turning to Oliveah.

"I'd like to speak to you alone, once the day's fights are over," he said quietly.

A guarded look sprang into her eyes, but she nodded. "Very well," she agreed.

He looked back to the field and watched Taleb and the Justice officer stride forth from opposite sides, both moving to take position. Nathon felt Oliveah tense beside him, but she'd now become accustomed to these situations enough so that she no longer degenerated into a total state of panic. He was glad he'd be putting her through no further stress himself, and had honestly been guilt-ridden the entire week for having done so in the first place. He was secretly hoping for Taleb to now be ousted unharmed so they could finish out the week in relative peace, but wasn't foolish enough to think this scenario likely.

The match began a moment later, seeing Taleb quickly taking the offensive. By his comments of earlier, Nathon knew he was expecting a relatively easy victory here, and by the looks of it was simply impatient to have it done. But this Justice officer, the last of the Legion's members still in the competition, hadn't made it this far by accident, and wasted no time in making this clear.

After several minutes seeing neither combatant making any significant progress, the officer managed to land a strike to Taleb's forearm. The wound drew blood but wasn't serious, and it certainly didn't slow Taleb down a lick. In fact, it appeared to have the opposite effect, angering him enough to intensify his efforts. Knowing him as well as he did, Nathon wasn't surprised by this reaction.

Taleb landed a mark, gouging his opponent's thigh. Limping, the officer steadfastly kept to his movements, but now lacked his speed of earlier. Taleb exploited this nicely, dancing about the officer while engaging in a series of furious blows that were more or less harmless as he angled for the perfect position. When he found it, the officer was struggling to keep pace, and reacted just a moment too late. Closing in on the man's already wounded leg, Taleb brought his sword down and across to execute a successful slash that opened the officer's calf. The man dropped instantly.

The audience roared, apparently pleased to see the last representative of Justice expelled from the competition. Beside him, Oliveah's tense pose was relaxing, even while she muttered furiously about Taleb now advancing to the next round. As already discussed, the selection of opponents to be found there would not, save for Maves, be of a favorable nature.

Taleb took his time returning to them, for he'd apparently been seen to by the Healers before meeting up with the warlords and their squire somewhere along the way. It was a tight squeeze, but all managed to find a place on the bench, with the warlords' very presence causing a few of the more respectful citizens to dislodge themselves and move off in search of seating elsewhere.

Before lowering himself to the bench, Nathon observed Baiel turn his head to take him in, presumably in an effort to gauge his reaction to their pairing in the days' final duel. Nathon met his gaze and simply gave him a nod. Seeing there was no bitterness to be found, Baiel returned the gesture and dropped down next to Madi.

The next duel was Kale's, and it appeared the members of their own party weren't the only ones looking forward to it with mixed emotions. The Jennite's victories now presented a puzzling string of circumstances, and the crowd appeared equally puzzled over how to react to them.

Kale's first round duel, versus a Justice officer, had resulted in death during the span of roughly five heartbeats. It had been a brutal start to the competition, but in retrospect, the most conventional of Kale's wins thus far.

His second round fight was besieged by a violent rainstorm, resulting in a bolt of lightning coming extremely near to ending his opponent for him. For whatever reason, Kale had left this man alive.

His third round duel, just yesterday, had proven the most odd yet. After some investigation, instigated by the royal council and carried out by the Healers, it was now known that the knight's bizarre behavior had been the result of a bee flying into his eye and delivering a sting. While incredibly strange, the situation didn't defy logic, so Kale's victory hadn't been contested. Why he'd ultimately decided to kill the knight remained anyone's guess.

Left only to speculate on what sorts of strangeness Kale's next duel might produce, the crowd grew oddly quiet as he and the Dhan'Marian criminal approached center field after the bell-ringer's call. There next came an abnormally long pause, and only due to the close proximity of their seats could Nathon see why. Evidently, Kale and the Dhan'Marian were exchanging words, and they didn't look to be pleasant ones.

All modicums of official proceedings then vanished when, clearly not bothered to wait for the bell, the Dhan'Marian raised his sword and delivered a furious slash. As the bell-ringer threw himself to the ground in a desperate attempt to save his own life, Kale, likely not expecting the blow, back-stepped quickly enough to keep his chest from being sliced open. His retaliation was swift and completely without hesitation.

Raising his arm to take the next strike on the flat of his blade, he swept the enemy steel aside and then brought his weapon up and about, its point sinking in beneath the criminal's chin. He then continued driving it up until it emerged from the top of the man's skull.

Nathon looked away, quickly seeing he wasn't the only one to do so. Oliveah had buried her face in his shoulder, and further down, Madi was bent almost double in her seat, probably trying to keep her breakfast down. Baiel had a comforting hand on her back, but remained staring at the field.

Others were proving not so strong of stomach, for much like the decapitation in the first round, the savagery was now causing physical illness in many. Scores of men were now moving to escort their women from the forum, while others continued to issue exclamations of shock. The majority, however, kept to their seats.

Back on the field, Kale seemed to be having difficulty removing his blade from his opponent's skull. The jester had neared but was keeping his distance, watching as the Dhan'Marian's body jerked with every tug Kale made on his sword. Finally the weapon pulled free, and the criminal's body slumped lifelessly to the ground.

The jester took up his approach and quickly saw to his duty of officially declaring Kale the victor. It didn't appear there'd be any penalty for beginning the fight before the bell, and since the Dhan'Marian had already paid the ultimate price for the infraction, Nathon supposed there'd be no point in making a fuss over the matter now. Kale strode from the field a minute later, his gait casual and unconcerned over the uproar of revulsion his brutality had caused.

It seemed to take the entire hour following for the crowd to regain its jovial air; unfortunately for the audience and their calming stomachs, however, the third duel of the day continued the savagery begun by Kale.

By this time all expected a kill to result from this match, most likely by Xaz, but the Balshan took these expectations to a new level after quickly gaining the upper hand over the knight he faced. Grateful Oliveah and Madi had wisely retreated to the marketplace for this fight, left in the company of their troupe-mate Reavis, Nathon watched as Xaz utterly dominated the knight, disarming him quickly and then gouging him in numerous places before snapping his spine, an act that had become his signature move in these fights. The knight died screaming, as had all Xaz's victims, including Eugan.

In the aftermath of this, Nathon overheard the warlord Geves tell Baiel that, should he get the chance, their order certainly wouldn't frown upon the killing of such a man. Baiel agreed, claiming such an act would do all the world a service.

Nathon then took in Taleb, curious to see if he was still as anxious to face Xaz as he'd been proclaiming earlier. He was pleased to note Taleb now looked at least slightly apprehensive. Certainly, if the Patrons were kind, Kale and Xaz would be drawn to face each other tomorrow, and could hack each other to pieces for all he would care. But was it to fall any other way, the circumstances would indeed be concerning.

When it came time for their own fight, Nathon and Baiel descended to the field together. Nathon was feeling nothing but an impeding relief to be done with this affair, his only remaining worry centered upon Taleb and what the following day might bring. For himself, there was only a looming sense of peace.

They took their positions, crossed blades, and waited for the gong.

All in all, the duel lasted perhaps three minutes, and Nathon was well aware of Baiel going easy on him throughout the duration. Finding no sense of injured pride at losing to a warlord, he turned to the younger man, panting, once Baiel had effectively sent his blade spinning away into the grass.

"Now that I've fought you," he said, "I realize how truly skilled you are. Your talent is astounding."

Baiel, most likely immune to such observations by this time, shrugged off the comment. "And now I've fought you, I see your great potential. Are you certain I cannot convince you to journey back to the keep with us?"

Nathon grinned as he stooped to collect his sword. "I appreciate the offer, but have no desire to make War the center of my existence. So long as I'm able to protect those who matter most to me, it is enough."

Baiel accepted this with a nod, then turned to the approaching jester.

Nathon left the field to a generous cheer from the crowd, not sorry that this would likely be the last time he'd ever receive such attention. He was very much looking forward to returning to the vineyard, glad for the experience this week had brought but not wishing to prolong it. Although, while he was out of this now, Taleb was not, and that left him with a considerable amount of concern. He was beginning to gain a firsthand understanding of what the two of them had put Oliveah through all week, and the realization made him feel terrible.

She was waiting for him on the sidelines, standing alone. He approached her with an inquisitive look.

"You wished to speak with me, yes?" she said in response. "I told Madi I'd see her back at the inn."

Likely anticipating an interrogation into her recent actions, he appreciated the fact that she'd chosen to face the conversation head-on rather than try to avoid it. Once she'd threaded her arm through his they started into the crowd now surging into the marketplace, with neither speaking until several blocks from the forum. With no particular destination in mind, they meandered through the streets at a leisurely pace.

Finally he broke the silence.

"Oliveah, you need to tell me what you've gotten yourself into," he began. "I am neither blind nor deaf, and it's obvious you and Madi have found some sort of trouble here in Aralexia."

She revealed a small smile. "I knew you'd come to me sooner or later. What have you managed to piece together?"

In other words, tell me what you've already figured out, so I know how much I need to admit to, he thought. Oliveah was clever, but he wasn't about to let her evade him by way of such maneuvers, and he made this clear by dropping a look down to her.

She regarded him a moment and then blew out a sigh. "Very well, you win. Danetria Savannon learned through divination that Madi's life was in danger while she was here in Aralexia, but also that she couldn't avoid making a presence this week."

Nathon thought about this. It certainly explained why Madi had been keeping her tell-tale Savannon features hidden, but too much still remained unanswered.

"Why is her presence in Aralexia necessary?" he asked.

Oliveah paused and glanced about, presumably to ensure no one was within earshot. "All we know for certain is that, from here, Madi is meant to depart with Sabian Reif. It was revealed that he's to lead her to one of the lost Catalyst Stones."

Shocked, Nathon barely avoided a stumble. "One of the Stones has been found? After all this time?"

"We're hoping it's the first."

While this was a decidedly huge revelation, he forced himself to consider further.

"Why didn't you just tell Taleb and I? You must've known we'd protect Madi with our lives."

"Well," Oliveah began dryly, looking up at him, "that was my initial intention, but then you both decided to enter the Challenge. I couldn't risk distracting you."

He winced slightly.

"Danetria Savannon also claimed Madi would be safe so long as she remained near to me, which is why we've not been separated much this week," Oliveah further claimed.

Nathon looked at her, alarmed. "Then you shouldn't be away from her now."

Oliveah frowned faintly and shook her head. "She doesn't imagine any danger will reach her when she's with Baiel. I think she saw something of him when they first met, assuring her of this."

"What else could she have possibly needed to see? Anyone who's witnessed him fight wouldn't dare try harming her in his presence."

Oliveah nodded again.

"But I still don't see what any of this has to do with the mage," he then went on, unable to fit this piece into his mental puzzle.

"Madi was further instructed to expect assistance from Thieves. We still aren't certain how this will unfold, but once we determined Knoxx Alvik to be our likeliest ally, we figured we'd best make contact with him."

Nathon cocked an eyebrow, now sensing lies. "And how did he receive this information?"

"We didn't explain it to him. But we're on favorable terms now, should any need for his services arise."

"The day you asked me for his location, you said a life was in danger."

"Yes," she nodded, "Madi's."

"You said a life was in danger that day."

She paused. "I needed you not to argue, and believed the urgency would prevent you from doing so."

"So that was a lie?"

"Yes."

"I think you're lying to me now."

She drew to a stop, unthreaded her arm, and turned to face him. Staring up at him, she then said, "I'm not lying exactly, and there is more to this, details I simply can't reveal at this time." She paused to take a breath. "I must see Madi alive through the next two and a half days, and do so while praying Taleb isn't killed in the next round of play. You can help me, or you can stay out of my way. But please don't make this harder."

He regarded her, wanting to ask a hundred more questions but somehow stifling the urge. "All right, you've told me enough—for now. Of course I will help you."

She closed her eyes briefly. "Thank you."

"I don't see why you're so concerned, though," he went on, as they resumed their slow pace while rounding onto the next block. "Informing Baiel of this threat, I'd think, would all but eradicate it."

She shook her head, then glanced about them again. "That's the trouble—Madi was warned that death would come only if she performed a reading for the king. It's therefore been our goal to avoid any chance of this happening by keeping her identity as a diviner hidden."

Nathon suddenly understood. Obviously, it was the content of what Madi would see while performing this reading that would endanger her life, and there'd be little even the warlords could do should the king order her killed.

"Get her out of Aralexia, Oliveah!" he hissed. "Sabian's been with us all week, why can't the two of them just depart now?"

"Because her great-grandmother insisted that she remain the entire week!" she came back with frustration. "Also, there's a third person meant to accompany them to the Stone, to act as their guard. I'm supposed to determine who this person is, but have yet to discover even a clue to his identity!"

Nathon remained silent for the next few minutes. "I'm sorry you've been dealing with this alone," he finally said, drawing to a pause again. "Were I to do it over, I'd never enter those games."

Stopping, she turned and stared at him a moment, and then completely deflated against his chest, sagging into him as though all the energy had fled from her body. He raised his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Tell me what I can do," he said, after holding her a long moment.

"Just help me through the next two days," came her muffled reply, before she pulled back to look up at him with weary eyes. "Then, take me home."

He stopped, his look turning intent. "Home?" he repeated. "With me?"

"With you," she nodded. "But you mustn't say anything of this yet. Not until I've spoken to Taleb."

And she wouldn't do that until Taleb had fought his last duel. Two more days and all would be finished here.

He dropped his head down to rest against hers. "I love you," he said.

"I love you too," she said softly, her voice sounding as though it was drifting in from far away.
Chapter 42

Their walk to the forum that morning was a subdued affair. With only four men left to the fifth round the danger had spiked considerably, and all were feeling it.

Madi glanced over at Oliveah as they pushed through the marketplace, making their way to the arena. Her friend had been awake half the night, praying to every Patron in existence that Taleb would draw Baiel today. Madi could literally feel the panic emanating from her, despite that her expression remained hard and fixed. Nathon was worried as well, although also trying to keep his emotions hidden. Sabian's thoughts were anyone's guess, as he'd been holding to his typical quiet so far this morning.

Taleb appeared the only one unaffected by the looming confrontations. Whether this was confidence or delusion on his part Madi wasn't sure, but she did know Taleb's destiny was somehow tied to Dhanen'Mar itself, and that if he fell today, the entire country would somehow bear the consequences. Since she wasn't privy to the deeper truth of this, her own worry centered on the simple fact of not wanting to see her friend die today. She'd performed a toss of her augury stones at dawn that morning, hoping to gain some hint as to the results of the day, but they'd only shown a conflicting convergence of events that even she could not decipher. The only surety was that this Fourteenth-day, ruled by Magic, was to be an eventful one.

The warlords, adorned in their deep red cloaks, weren't difficult to find in the crowd. Madi spied the three of them, along with their squire Qyn, upon the first row of benches at center-field, directly across from the royal council.

"There," she said to the others, starting in the warlords' direction.

Baiel Maves was proving a distraction she really didn't need this week, but one impossible to discourage. Also a consideration was what she'd glimpsed of him at the time of their initial meeting, a matter that continued to intimidate her to no end and one she'd spoken of to no one, not even Oliveah. If nothing else, however, it provided absolute surety that she had no cause to worry for his safety during the games, no matter who was drawn against him. There was no doubt in her mind that he'd ultimately emerge the victor.

Baiel smiled at seeing her approach and slid down the bench to make room for her. "Sleep well?" he asked, as she lowered herself next to him.

"Not particularly," she told him. "I'm very much looking forward to the finish of this."

He nodded. "As am I, although I'm no longer as anxious to leave Aralexia as I was a few days ago. Are you departing with your troupe directly following the competition?"

She paused. Knowing full well just how terrible a liar she was, she thought furiously for a bland explanation that wasn't too much of an untruth.

"Actually," she began slowly, "Sabian and I will be setting off on an errand given us by my great-grandmother, Danetria Savannon. Diviner business," she then added, in hopes of discouraging any further questioning.

"You and Sabian alone?" he frowned. "I presume you won't be traveling anywhere dangerous?"

Since there remained an as-yet unidentified third person to join their party, meant to act as their protection, Madi wasn't sure how to respond. Finally she simply said, "We'll be fine."

This answer didn't appear to satisfy him, but the sudden cheering of the crowd brought his attention to the field, where the royal jester was now making his way to the goblet. Much like his previous drawings, Devlin Alvik didn't look to be approaching the task with much enthusiasm, likely wondering if he was about to inadvertently bring about the death of the one he'd been trying so very hard to protect.

"Gliddion Xaz!" the jester called, reading the first slip of parchment.

Madi drew in a breath, waiting to hear the next name and praying it wouldn't be Taleb's. Furthermore, while shocked over Rydin Kale's behavior during the course of his fights, she still couldn't bring herself to disregard her concern for him, not wanting to see him harmed. This didn't leave her many options over how to hope for these drawings to play out.

The slight pause next given by the jester seemed to imply the worst, and apparently Oliveah came to the same conclusion for Madi heard her sudden cry of despair a split second before he called Taleb's name.

"Taleb Okin faces Gliddion Xaz in the first match!" Alvik called.

Madi turned sharply to Baiel. "Tell me truthfully. Does he stand any chance?"

He considered only a moment. "Yes. Taleb is very skilled, Madi. Exceptionally so, for having received no formal training. But to best Xaz he'll have to match his lack of mercy, and while that may sound like a simple thing, truly it isn't."

"Will you tell him so? As well as anything else that might be helpful?"

"Of course." Baiel looked back to the field where Alvik had just called his name. "I guess this leaves me with Kale," he added offhandedly.

Madi took a moment to absorb this, and found it to be the only favorable aspect of these pairings. Baiel would oust Rydin without doing him serious harm, then move on to the final duel where he'd face either Taleb or the Balshan. Either way, she further realized, Gliddion Xaz's breaths were numbered, whether it was to be Taleb today or Baiel tomorrow who'd ultimately cease them.

Steeling herself, Madi leaned forward and turned to take in Oliveah. Her friend appeared to have more or less gotten a hold of herself, but her gaze remained wild. Considering the pressure she'd been under all week, with so many secrets balanced on her shoulders, Madi thought it a wonder she hadn't yet come completely undone.

She next turned her attention to Sabian, who sat to her opposite side as Baiel.

"Taleb," the young man was calling, beckoning Taleb over to him.

Taleb approached Sabian somewhat cautiously. Like most, he tended to find the man in question disturbing.

"Eugan wishes to relay some intelligence," Sabian then told him, smiling slightly.

Rather than unsettle Taleb further, Madi was surprised to see these words produce the opposite effect, voiding his hesitation completely.

"I'm listening," Taleb said, nodding.

"An injury taken years ago has weakened Xaz's right knee. Winters pain him, which is why he's come south to Dhanen'Mar."

To judge by Taleb's expression, this was incredibly valuable information. All the warlords were now listening to the exchange as well, their first experience with Sabian's unique talents.

"Anything else?" Taleb asked.

Sabian cocked his head, evidently listening to words only he could hear. "The vision in his right eye is not perfect. Eugan thinks if you're quick enough, and strike from the correct angle, you might be able to surprise him."

Taleb nodded. "Thank you, Sabian. And . . . Eugan," he added, looking uncertain again.

Armed with this new and evidently exciting information, the warlords convened about Taleb just a few steps from the field and, so far as Madi could guess, proceeded to dispense advice on how to execute his upcoming duel.

Madi shot another glance to Oliveah, seeing Nathon was somehow keeping her calm. With Sabian retreating back into his own thoughts, Madi turned to Qyn, who was watching the warlords with silent interest. There was something about this boy Madi found troubling, and it had nothing to do with a divination.

With his black hair, gray eyes, and tellingly familiar features, she was almost positive he was a Savannon. After learning from Baiel that he'd been abandoned at the keep while only days old, she'd had no choice but to conclude one of her relations must be the boy's mother, perhaps leaving him with the warlords out of shame because he'd not been born to Commerce as all male Savannons were.

Furthermore, Madi was now forced to wonder how many other babies were born to her family line and not reported, how many other males not born to Commerce and females not born to Destiny were ousted in a similar fashion—if not a worse one. The speculations left her with the intention of bringing the matter to her great-grandmother the next time she visited Kohtala. For now, she would say nothing of her suspicions to Qyn.

The time until Seventh-hour flew quickly by, and it seemed only minutes passed before Taleb was taking the field in answer to the bell-ringer's first summons of the day. Gliddion Xaz, Madi saw, was approaching from the southern end, wearing a smile as he waved to acknowledge the hisses and jeers from the members of the crowd who'd all come to hate him.

Madi looked over as Baiel re-seated himself on the bench next to her.

"Are you sure you wish to remain for this?" he asked her seriously.

She really wasn't, but since Oliveah had refused all Nathon's attempts to make her leave, she couldn't, in good conscience, abandon her friend.

"I'll stay," she told him, trying to overcome her dread while forcing her eyes back to the field.

Taleb and the Balshan were now crossing blades, taking the starting position. The bell-ringer, Madi noted, had apparently taken a lesson from the day before and was now standing several paces back from the combatants in an obvious attempt to preserve his own life.

The bell sounded, and Madi's vision was suddenly overtaken; for the briefest of moments, it flashed back to the owls.

As the sight cleared as quickly as it had come, she saw the fight begin on a vicious note, and not to Taleb's favor. The Balshan opened with a feint and then landed the point of his sword deeply into Taleb's side. Blood welled instantly from the wound, staining his shirt and dripping to the ground, and he lurched backward several paces to regroup.

Peripherally, Madi saw this had already been enough for Nathon to take matters into his own hands; having slung Oliveah over his shoulder, he was now on his feet and removing her bodily from the forum.

"Madi . . . ." Baiel began.

The owls again flashed across her mind's eye. It was frustrating not to know precisely what this implied, but she presumed the Death these creatures predicted was somehow tied to whether or not Taleb made it off the field alive.

"No," she returned firmly to Baiel, keeping her gaze ahead and fixed.

Taleb had now recovered his stance, although blood continued to gush from his side. He blocked Xaz's next strike, and the next, and then moved offensively to deliver a shallow nick to the man's shoulder.

"Stay on his right," Madi heard Baiel murmur from beside her, as the owls flashed across her vision yet again.

The men made a few more passes, and then Taleb moved to take the offensive once more. Xaz blocked, spun, and struck his second blow, a deep slash across Taleb's lower back. Taleb again fell back to recover himself, but this time the Balshan allowed him not even an instant of relief.

Xaz pounced, bringing his sword down from above his head with both hands. Taleb saw it coming and threw himself backward, just managing to avoid the swing and bring his shield up in time to catch the follow up blow.

"Go for his knee!" the warlord Geves was now exclaiming from down the bench.

Taleb appeared to be of the same mind, sweeping his sword in from the side as he remained on the ground, behind the safety of his shield. Not seeing the move in time to avoid it entirely, Xaz sprung back but not before Taleb's fist, gripping the hilt of his sword, connected with his knee. The Balshan stumbled and retreated, giving Taleb the few precious moments he needed to spring back to his feet and circle around to Xaz's right.

The owls flashed again, and Madi's gaze, now completely transfixed, remained riveted on the action playing out before her.

The hit to the knee he'd taken appeared to be serious, for the Balshan was now limping slightly to keep pace with Taleb. It seemed he was also trying to get Taleb onto his other side, a vain attempt that wasn't being allowed. They exchanged wounds once more, but those only minor; Taleb a cut to the arm, and the Balshan to the thigh.

The crowd, Madi distantly realized, was going absolutely wild.

Staying to Xaz's right, it was obvious even to her that Taleb was waiting for the right moment to sweep in and take advantage of the Balshan's less-than-perfect eyesight. Finally he made his move, slashing forward with his blade aimed at Xaz's chest.

Baiel inhaled sharply beside her. "Too soon!" he muttered.

Baiel was right. The Balshan saw the strike coming and reacted instantly. Moving his shield in to take the blow, he positioned his sword outward and let Taleb's own momentum carry him onto its point. The sword sank into the right side of Taleb's stomach, and there was no question it was a serious hit.

Taleb doubled over, blood now pouring from his numerous wounds, but managed to bring his sword about in what looked like a blind thrust. If it was, fortune blessed him, for it sank into Xaz's shoulder joint and caused him to back away sharply with a few hurried steps.

Taleb now seemed incapable of straightening completely, the blood from his injured stomach beginning to saturate the front of his pants as well as his shirt. He was obviously laboring.

"Get back on his right!" the warlord Yuri burst out.

This time, Taleb wasn't of the same mind. Instead, and in a move that seemed to surprise even Baiel, he hefted his shield and ran straight at the Balshan. Xaz raised his sword but its point skidded harmlessly off the face of Taleb's shield just before the men crashed together and went to the ground.

What followed was much grappling, and several passes of steel flying through the air as both men sought the killing stroke that would grant their only chance for survival. It was difficult to discern which limbs belonged to who as they continued tumbling about the ground, and then both swords rose and descended almost simultaneously. All movement upon the field then stilled.

Madi suddenly realized she had a death-grip on Baiel's hand. "What happened?" she demanded. The audience, equally unsure, had grown quiet, waiting for any sign of movement.

"I think they each landed a serious blow," Baiel said, his own eyes not leaving the scene before them.

Devlin Alvik appeared from the royal seating, hurrying forward to take in the damage. Reaching the bodies, he fell into a crouch, and then started feeling for lifebeats by putting his fingers to one neck then the other.

"Healers!" he suddenly bellowed.

Two men and two women immediately ran in from the sidelines, and Madi felt her breath catch and hold as she waited to see who they'd attend. Neither man had yet moved, and the jester's shout had been loaded with urgency. While at least one of the combatants must still be alive, his wounds were likely mortal.

"It's Taleb," Baiel then announced, as the four Healers reached his inert form and knelt in a circle all about him. They went to work immediately, stripping off his torn and bloodied shirt to better attend his injuries.

"I need to tell Oliveah," Madi blurted, moving to get to her feet.

"Wait," he cautioned, laying a hand on her arm. "Not until we know the Healers can mend him."

"Oh," she said, nodding numbly and dropping back to her seat.

The crowd remained subdued and almost motionless as they awaited an official verdict. After nearly twenty minutes, the jester finally gave it to them.

"The victor of this match is Taleb Okin!" he shouted from center field. "While gravely injured, rest assured our Healers will have him back to full health in a matter of hours, fully capable of participating in tomorrow's final duel!"

The crowd erupted in a deafening roar, quickly taking up a chant of Taleb's name which he was probably in no condition to acknowledge or even hear. Madi brought her head down to her hands in utter relief. Not only would Taleb live, but they had no further reason to worry about his safety; tomorrow he'd fight Baiel in the final match, and then be free to travel to Lutarre Keep, where he needed to be. It was over. Taleb and Nathon had both made it safely from the Challenge.

Madi found herself smiling, and again started to rise before seeing her aim was unnecessary as Oliveah and Nathon were now on the field and heading for Taleb. The jester intercepted them, and a brief conversation ensued before he allowed them to pass. Approaching the Healers, they then hung back, remaining clear of the way as Taleb continued receiving their attention.

After another ten minutes or so, his condition apparently became stable enough to remove him from the field, and he was carried away on a litter. Nathon and Oliveah followed, their presumed destination the city infirmary.

Feeling as though a great weight had now been lifted from her very spirit, Madi turned to Baiel and suggested they take a walk about the marketplace so she could stretch her legs before his duel. Leaving Sabian and Qyn with Yuri and Geves, they headed across the forum and into the bustling activity beyond.

The talk of the surrounding crowd, Madi soon noted, seemed to consist of nothing but excited rehashings of Taleb's fight with Gliddion Xaz. It was clear the Balshan had no mourners here, and Taleb seemed to have won himself much acclaim for being the man to have finished him off. Personally, Madi was hoping his victory granted peace to Eugan, allowing his spirit to move on to whatever lay beyond the living realm.

Because the Healers had stayed so long with Taleb, there was little time before Baiel needed to take the field himself. After securing a box of cinnamon pastries and several flagons of juice to take back to their companions, they re-entered the arena and started for their first-row seats. Madi wasn't surprised to see neither Oliveah nor Nathon had returned, figuring both would remain with Taleb until he'd been healed fully.

She and Baiel distributed the food and drink to Geves, Yuri, Sabian and Qyn, and had time enough to sit and enjoy a couple pastries before he was called forth by the first gong. Madi wished him luck, knowing he wouldn't need it, and then sat back, content in knowing this was one duel she'd have no difficulty viewing.

Rydin was approaching from the south, his sword unsheathed and slung casually back on his shoulder as he moved with an unhurried gait to center field. Madi watched him for a long moment, still unable to completely stifle her curiosity about him. Despite recent evidence to the contrary, a part of her still refused to believe he was motivated by evil, rather seeing him as a puzzle she hadn't yet discovered all the pieces to. Again, she found herself thankful these games would not be seeing the end of him.

Baiel and Rydin didn't appear to exchange any words as they took up the starting position before the bell-ringer, simply crossing their blades and holding in the official fashion. The bell-ringer took two giant steps backward in another obvious attempt at caution, and then sounded the gong.

Baiel swung first, his blade arcing out before him. Rydin, still fighting without a shield, forced his sword downward into a block, while simultaneously bringing his left fist about to land a punch to the side of Baiel's head. Baiel took the hit with only a slight shake of his head and brought his wrist back to deliver a quick slash to Rydin's leg, drawing blood.

The initial injuries now delivered, both men backed off a step and circled slowly. Watching them, Madi slowly began to realize Baiel's victory might not come so easily as she'd assumed, and a knot of disquiet started to form in the pit of her stomach.

Their next exchange brought similar results, with Rydin now taking the offensive and bringing in his sword with a vicious slashing motion. Baiel parried, deflecting the blade and making a shallow stab into Rydin's arm. Rydin ignored the hit completely, bringing his own sword about to deliver his own shallow gash to Baiel's thigh. Both men backed off and circled again.

Rydin was the first man in the competition to have landed a wound on Baiel at all, and realizing this, Madi glanced uncertainly over to Geves and Yuri. "I don't understand," she appealed to them.

Yuri leaned in slightly to answer. "They're still feeling each other out," he explained. "This fight hasn't truly begun yet, but you'll know once it has."

She stared at him. "What are you saying?"

He tilted his head, eyebrows raised. "I think Baiel's finally found himself a worthy opponent."

Dumbfounded, Madi looked back to the field. This couldn't be right—not after what her second sight had shown her. Could Rydin truly be a match for him?

After two more exchanges seeing both combatants receive nothing worse than minor nicks, the truth of Yuri's prediction exploded in a sudden flurry of movement. Baiel and Rydin simultaneously seemed to unleash themselves, their movements becoming a dizzyingly rapid chain of unrelenting strikes and blocks that Madi found impossible to even follow.

Beside her, Geves, Yuri, and Qyn were all making noise, but she found herself unable to focus on what they were saying as Baiel and Rydin went on spinning relentlessly across the field without the slightest pause or hesitation. Madi realized the first of them to break from this narrowed and intense focus was going to lose—and that the duel's finish could now result in a variety of ways. While certain Baiel had no reason to end Rydin life's, she could not, in all honesty, claim the opposite was true. Rydin's actions in the previous four rounds were simply too unpredictable to guess what he might do, should he in fact gain the upper hand.

The duel was quickly becoming the longest of any yet seen in this year's Challenge, and she could only imagine the amount of strain both were under as they went on and on, their blades a blur as neither ceded nor gained an inch in the action continuing to tear its way all about the field. Even to someone as unschooled in swordplay as she, Madi knew she was witnessing something truly spectacular here and now, a fight the likes of which few had ever seen.

Its conclusion, when it finally came, was as unexpected as the nature of the fight itself. Baiel and Rydin, both still locked within their whirlwind of ferocity, were now almost back at center field, and only because of this did Madi have a clear line of sight to the steel blade that went flying suddenly through the air. At first, she assumed one had at last managed to disarm the other, but as both men now held perfectly still, further observation informed her this wasn't exactly the case.

Baiel's blade had snapped down by the hilt, and with no weapon left to defend himself, Rydin had his own sword tip leveled at the warlord's throat. Staring in horror, Madi, along with the rest of the crowd, waited to see what Rydin would do next.

He seemed to hold the position for an interminably long time. Finally, he upended his sword and stepped back, giving a clear signal that the duel would end here.

The crowd appeared uncertain of how to react, likely because not a one of them had expected Baiel to lose this fight. Madi herself was stunned, but fought to regain some semblance of order over her thoughts. In doing so, she then realized what this further meant.

Taleb was going to have to face Rydin, and not Baiel, in the final duel. It was unlikely he stood a chance of winning, but that wasn't the point. Historically, few final duels didn't end in death, and with Rydin's actions so very unpredictable, Taleb was probably going to find himself in some serious trouble again the following day. Oliveah wasn't going to react well to this.

Madi blinked, forcing the world around her back into focus, and saw there was now some sort of commotion happening on the field. Not only the jester, but the captain of the knights as well as the commander of the Legion, had come forth from their seats and all three appeared to be interrogating both Rydin and Baiel.

Madi stared forward, frowning, and then shot a glance to the warlords. Their conversation offered a quick theory into the nature of the activity.

"There's no chance Baiel's blade just snapped. Our weapons are forged from the strongest steel in all Dhanen'Mar!" Yuri was issuing furiously.

"There's something not altogether right about Kale," Geves agreed, his tone annoyed. "Taleb and Nathon suspect he wears a Secondary of Magic, and I'm not tempted to disagree. It would certainly explain all the oddities that keep happening around him."

Madi took this in with a great deal of surprise. Neither Nathon nor Taleb had ever mentioned anything of these suspicions to her, and must not have to Oliveah either for she would've relayed them. In any case though, it was an interesting theory. It would also prove deadly if true, since the use of Magic in the Challenge was prohibited and carried a sentence of death as the penalty.

The activity on the field continued, until Baiel, at least, was finally dismissed, and started to make his way back to them. Drawing near, he immediately confirmed the suspicions evidently shared by Nathon, Taleb, Geves and Yuri.

"They think Kale's somehow using Magic," he told them, still breathing deeply as he came to a pause. "Between the lightning, the bee, and now my sword breaking when it had no business doing so, the council's trying to discern a way of uncovering the truth."

Discovering whether or not Rydin was using Magic wasn't going to be easy; even the king could not demand that he reveal his Secondary, which left the council with few to no options. Their only recourse occurred to Madi suddenly, just a split second before the king himself stepped forth from the royal seating and moved to address the crowd.

"I require the services of a diviner!" King DeSiva bellowed. "If there's a diviner here in the arena, come forward now!"

Madi felt her entire body stiffen in terror. Unable to even blink, she stared forward, a hundred thoughts now crashing into her mind. Without Oliveah here to advise her she didn't know how to respond to this summons, and while the king was calling for her to read Rydin, not himself, that could change very quickly once she revealed herself for what she was. She noted Baiel staring at her curiously, wondering why she wasn't coming forward, but she could do nothing but shake her head at him helplessly.

The king remained where he stood, and repeated his summons to the crowd. He received an answer just moments later, by way of a tall, distinguished-looking man rising from the section of seating reserved for the highborn.

Madi recognized him at once and understood exactly what was about to occur.

"My liege!" Eward Savannon called, moving to the edge of the field to address the king. He gave a low bow.

"Speak!" his majesty barked at him.

"My niece, Madilaine Savannon, is a diviner, and as it happens I caught a glimpse of her in the marketplace not long ago. With all surety she's nearby, and would be honored to offer her services in any fashion you desire."

King DeSiva nodded. "I could hardly ask for better than a Savannon diviner!" he bellowed. "Madilaine Savannon, come forth and fulfill your duty to your king!"

Madi lowered her head and closed her eyes, fighting back tears of panic. Her only option was to comply; trying to sneak her way from the forum would only draw attention to herself, and outright ignoring the summons would lead to even greater trouble.

Taking a breath, she raised her hands to shed the shawl she'd been wearing all week and rose to her feet. Baiel was still staring at her in confusion, understanding nothing of her reactions.

"Baiel," she said, stepping toward him. "I need something of you."

"Then you've only to ask."

"Once he takes me, I need you to find Oliveah and tell her of this," she said as calmly as she could manage.

Baiel was frowning. "Takes you? I don't understand."

"I know. Just promise you'll do this."

Despite his evident frustration, he nodded. "I will."

She turned and started onto the field. The crowd gave her a generous round of applause that she barely heard, too distracted by her racing thoughts as she struggled to anticipate how this was to play out. The only conclusion she managed to draw with any degree of certainty was that she was now at the mercy of circumstances far beyond her control.

Nearing center-field, she couldn't stop from glancing at the jester. Anticipating this, his returning gaze beseeched her to remain calm. She strove to do so, pausing before the king and lowering herself into a deep curtsy.

"Your majesty, I offer my services to you," she said, straightening.

King DeSiva was a man of approximately fifty years, still tall and imposing, with only slight threads of silver streaking his dark hair. His eyes, however, seemed to confirm every rumor of madness currently circulating about Aralexia, and they took her in now as he nodded.

"It's my command that you perform a reading on Kale," he ordered. "Should it be found he's blessed with Magic, his life will be forfeit."

"As you command," she said, lowering her head respectfully even while her thoughts again thundered. Was she about to get Rydin killed? Could she lie to save him if the reading did reveal Magic?

The king gave a dismissive wave to grant her retreat, and she was on the verge of trembling as she moved away toward Rydin. Taking him in, she was then granted a brief distraction from her worries at observing his blatant amusement. With his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sheathed sword, he seemed in no manner worried that his life was in danger.

Watching her as she drew near, his grin widened. "Lady Savannon," he greeted. "We're making a habit of meeting under the most dramatic of circumstances, wouldn't you say?"

She couldn't force an answer, still desperately trying to hold herself together.

He frowned, inspecting her closer. "You don't look pleased to be performing this task for your great, mighty, and completely insane king. I can't say I blame you," he went on, "but it's certainly no reason to become upset."

She looked back at him, then drew in a breath and turned to speak over her shoulder. "I need everyone to step away so as to not interfere with the reading." She then waited until all those nearby had retreated a generous distance before looking back. "I don't wish to see you dead. What will this reading reveal?"

He shrugged. "I'm curious to discover that myself. We don't really hold to this sort of thing in Jennen, you understand."

"Don't be difficult. I'm trying to help you."

"I'm flattered."

She exhaled in exasperation. "You're an insufferable man, Rydin Kale. Take a seat."

They lowered themselves to the grass, and Madi withdrew her fortune cards from her satchel. It was rare for her kind to ever be without at least one divining tool, and instinct had instructed her to bring her cards this morning. Handing them over, she instructed him to shuffle and then cut the deck with his left hand.

He followed the direction in a flippant manner, making it clear he was only humoring this silly display. Observing this, Madi reached her wit's end.

"Keep on like that and I'm going to smack you," she growled. "Right here, in front of everyone!"

Making his cut, he set the deck down before her and grinned again. "Are you this demanding of all men, or only me?" he asked.

"Rest assured, it's only you," she replied smartly, reaching to flip the first of fifteen cards that would make up her chosen spread. "Well, I suppose this is no surprise," she then murmured, glancing up briefly before lying the card depicting Chaos onto the grass between them.

Rydin's gaze turned speculative, but he said nothing.

Madi drew the next card, and the next, until the following fourteen all circled the symbol of Chaos at their center. She then stared for several minutes, trying to discover meaning in this drawing for there appeared to be absolutely none. To every figure shown there appeared its opposite, canceling every possible interpretation she struggled to determine.

"You seem perplexed, diviner," Rydin finally commented.

She looked up at him, completely bewildered. "Never have I seen the likes of this. I've read for those born to Chaos before, and so knew to expect some level of confusion . . . but this is . . . utterly without purpose or reason!"

He didn't appear bothered by the conclusion, or even surprised. "That's hardly incentive to change my point of view about all this divination business, you realize?"

She snarled at him before looking back to the cards almost desperately. But she'd made no error—absolutely nothing could be divined from this drawing, save for one thing. Nowhere in the cards was there even a hint of Magic.

"Well, you're no mage, at least," she said, raising her head with a jerk.

"Certainly not," he agreed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Who are you, then?"

He smiled but remained silent.

"Why did you kill those men?" she then asked.

"You'll have to be more specific."

She frowned. "In the competition! You killed three of your opponents, but left the other two alive. I would know why."

"I'm pleased to hear you've been so closely following my progress," he told her.

Her eyes narrowed again.

He laughed quietly. "All right, this I will answer. There's much corruption in this city, and you should trust that those who faced me and breathe no more very much deserved it."

She stared back evenly. "So you've no reason to seek death in tomorrow's final duel?"

Rydin regarded her thoughtfully. "I have no cause to murder Taleb Okin. A friend of yours, I presume?"

She nodded.

"Then you have my word. I won't kill him."

Madi exhaled deeply. Even if she met her own death this day, at least she'd secured Taleb's safety; and with it, possibly that of all the realm.

"Thank you, Rydin," she told him sincerely.

He tilted his head at her, almost seeming puzzled.

"There's one further thing I would ask you," she then went on, beginning to smile.

"What was the purpose of reading my cards if not to bypass this question and answer session?"

"I don't think the cards would've answered this one, even if you had produced a normal reading," she replied.

"In that case, I'm intrigued. Ask what you will."

She paused, hesitant but curious. "When we were in jail...did you help me just so I would pay your fines?"

"No," he answered. "Although, I was hoping you would do it."

Her instincts vindicated, Madi nodded. She was glad she hadn't let the more negative opinions of others influence her on this matter. "You know," she then told him truthfully, "you're not at all what I was expecting after watching you on the field all week."

He shrugged. "Don't be fooled. I'm not so different from your assumptions either." He paused and glanced back. "It seems they're getting impatient."

Madi blinked quickly, somehow having forgotten the trouble awaiting her just a short distance away. Turning, she saw the council did appear to be growing anxious, staring her way, or in some cases glaring outright. King DeSiva started forward, the jester on his heels.

Rydin rose deftly to his feet and then reached for her hand to help her up. Straightening beside him, she turned to regard the king and jester.

"Your majesty," she began, with another curtsy.

"What is the verdict?" the king snapped.

"He's possessed of no Magic. If there's another explanation for the bizarre events that seem to follow him, it's most certainly coincidence."

"A diviner who believes in coincidence," King DeSiva snorted. "I could almost discount your credibility just for that. But seeing as you're also a Savannon, it's probably best I not doubt you." He paused and turned his attention onto Rydin. "You may depart. Much as I find Jennites disgusting, if you're free of Magic I have no cause to bar you from tomorrow's final duel."

Rydin didn't seem to favor being called "disgusting", and he gave the king a humorless look. "I'm just here for the gold. Fear not, your majesty, for I'll be sliming my way from your city soon enough."

"I'm happy to hear that, Jennite scum!" the king bellowed in return.

Rydin's brows rose and his eyes widened as he looked away, making clear his opinion of the king's evident lunacy.

"Lady Savannon, you'll be accompanying us back to the castle," King DeSiva then went on in a completely changed tone, staring at her. "Today is the annual Challenge Ball, and my desire is that you perform for my guests."

Madi fought for outward calm as her fear surged anew.

"Perhaps we should first allow her to return to her inn, so she can properly prepare for the occasion," Devlin Alvik then suggested, an obvious attempt to grant her the chance to flee the city.

"I don't believe that will be necessary," the king replied. "The feast is to begin in only a few hours, and I want her performing for my guests as soon as they arrive. Have your attendants see to her readiness, Devlin," he ordered.

"As you command," the jester replied.

Rydin was looking from one to the other. "Am I not invited? You did say this was a Challenge Ball, and I am one of the finalists."

The king sneered at him. "I would not disgrace my home with your filthy presence."

"Master Kale," the jester spoke up, "his majesty has dismissed you."

"But you haven't officially declared me the victor of my fight yet."

"Go!" Alvik snapped at him.

Rydin grinned faintly. "Diviner," he said, nodding to her before sweeping away to start down the field.

Madi watched him go, wishing desperately that she could follow.

"Come now, Lady Savannon," Devlin Alvik said, moving up beside her. "I'll take every measure to ensure you're seen to accordingly."

Hoping he meant those words in every sense possible, she fell in step with him, moving with the royal party as they departed the forum.
Chapter 43

While refusing to answer any of her brother's written pleas for further discussion, Reagan had nevertheless made an effort to attend all his duels. His defeat to Rydin today hadn't been expected, but she wasn't shocked by it either. Knowing Baiel would not so much care that he'd lost, she gave the matter little more thought and continued pushing her way through the crowd.

There seemed to be some sort of commotion now happening on the field about Rydin, but she paid it no mind as she finally caught sight of the one she sought. Standing near the gates leading to the marketplace, the tall, black-haired Jennite was waiting just as they'd arranged, although the events on the field appeared to have his full attention. More specifically, he was laughing his ass off.

Reagan glared and drew up beside him. "Why don't you just start turning flips, and see if you can't draw even more attention to us?" she hissed at Callan Ashe.

The assassin took her in, and made an attempt to choke off his laughter while wiping at his streaming eyes. "Sorry. It's just you've no idea how hilarious this is."

She frowned and glanced over her shoulder. "What are they doing?"

"Testing Rydin for Magic," he snorted.

She looked back at him, still frowning. "I know Rydin, and he keeps his Secondary hidden. Considering the bizarre events that seem to follow him, I wouldn't think it so radical an assumption."

Ashe looked surprised. "How do you know him?"

"We met two years ago, in Jennen." She had no intention of revealing any further details of this encounter, and Ashe didn't ask for them.

"In Jennen, you say? Then surely you must know the truth of him. Most in our homelands do," he added, stifling another laugh.

Reagan looked at him blankly, having no idea what he was talking about, and in this moment, not particularly caring. While the mystery of Rydin Kale held a certain appeal, she had much more serious matters on her mind this day.

"Your blather is boring me," she informed him. "Do you have it or not?"

Ashe grinned and eyed her. "I do. Although if you'd allow my professional opinion, I'd suggest settling those nerves before you attempt administering it. No matter the scenario you're planning, a cool head will do much to aid you."

Given his reputation, Reagan figured she should probably take this advice to heart. "I'll keep that in mind," she said.

He moved suddenly, closing in on her and pushing her back against the wall in what likely appeared a lover's embrace. Now shielded from any curious eyes, he deftly wedged a small glass bottle filled with amber liquid into the cleavage showcased by her bodice.

"Five drops and even the strongest of men will last no longer than a few breaths," he told her quietly.

In keeping with the ruse, she slid her hands across his waist and dropped her payment into his pants. "If this is a substance that can in any way be traced back to you," she advised softly, "you may want to consider leaving Aralexia. Tonight."

He smiled and stepped back, releasing her. "Not a concern, but I appreciate the warning. May you find success in your venture, fair Reagan." Still smiling, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

She watched him go, then looked back to the field. Rydin was nearing, making his exit from the forum, and she stepped into his path while placing her hands on her hips.

He spotted her and slowed to a stop, eyes narrowing slightly as they took her in. "You weren't exaggerating about your brother," he opened conversationally. "He is, without question, the best swordsman I've ever encountered."

Reagan took a step closer, somewhat surprised he remembered their last conversation given his drunkenness at the time. Busy with Baiel and her official duties, when she'd finally returned to his inn to seek him out, she'd found he'd had to change locations due to a mysterious fire.

"And yet you bested him," she now replied to his statement.

Rydin shrugged. "In a manner of speaking."

She continued eyeing him. "I understand now why you scoffed at my pledge of the Life-Bond. Clearly you're not a man who requires any manner of protection."

"I scoffed because I think it's silly Dhan'Marian nonsense," he told her. "While I'm aware of several men who hold to the belief that I can't be killed, I don't actually share in the opinion." He grinned crookedly at her. "Perhaps you'll get your chance one day, Reagan." His eyes then strayed to her throat before adding pointedly, "So long as you do nothing foolish."

Since this wasn't the time for a lecture over her vengeful ways, she stepped back to clear his path. "I only wanted to wish you luck in the final round tomorrow. But clearly, this isn't the sort of nonsense you'd care to hear."

He sighed. "Well, you don't have to be like that."

She waved him off and started away. Now approaching was the royal council, with Master Alvik in the lead and beckoning to her. Leaving Rydin muttering to himself, she hurried forward.

Drawing near, she took in the young, black-haired woman keeping pace with the jester. She wore a strange expression on her face, almost as though every step was costing her great effort. It seemed to Reagan she was forcing herself not to bolt. Curious.

"Reagan, this is Lady Madilaine Savannon, a diviner," Master Alvik was then saying as she closed in. "You will attend her in preparation for the ball."

Reagan smiled and nodded, all the while cursing the jester. This seemed a strange duty, and a distraction she didn't need. On the other hand, it would give her more time in the castle, perhaps allowing her a further plotting advantage. While she had every intention of poisoning King DeSiva during the course of the ball tonight, exactly how and when she was going to accomplish this remained largely up in the air. She then sent a sudden glance at the woman who'd been given into her service.

A diviner, Master Alvik had said? That wasn't especially good news, considering. Should the woman see even a hint of her plans, her life would be over, her goal unaccomplished. Reagan gritted her teeth and decided she'd simply have to trust her double-fortune of Revenge to cloud any such sight, mostly because she could see no other option but to abandon her objective, which she refused to consider.

Walking to the end of the block where the royal carriages waited, she found herself unable to keep from sending the king a few very long looks. This was the closest she'd ever gotten to the man, and the proximity was having a near-physical effect on her. Her heart had begun to pound, echoing in her ears, and she could literally feel her desire for this man's blood racing through her veins.

Tonight, your majesty, you will taste my wrath, and you will choke on it.

Suppressing the small, tight smile fighting to overtake her lips, she followed the jester into one of the carriages. Also with them was the diviner, who'd yet to speak a single word in Reagan's presence, and Seneschal Galaz, leaving the king, his son, the treasurer, the captain of the royal guard, and the commander of the Legion to take the other.

The air about them seemed to change abruptly once they were secured in the carriage, its movement commencing with an abrupt jerk.

Reagan observed the three faces surrounding her, unable to identify what the lingering feeling about them now was, but suspecting she was the only one who didn't understand it.

The diviner continued to appear on the verge of panic, but kept her silence. Master Alvik and Seneschal Galaz, seated upon the cushioned bench opposite the women, began a conversation in such low tones Reagan was unable to make out even a word of it. But whatever the cause behind this strangeness, she didn't think it had anything to do with her and her upcoming plans, so her interest was limited. Following the diviner's lead, she remained silent until they landed at the castle and exited the carriage.

Once in the courtyard, Master Alvik instructed her to follow a knightly escort to the suite where she and the diviner could prepare for the ball. Evidently, a Justice officer had already been sent to her inn to collect her dress, although how her charge was to be attired she'd yet to discover.

Silence reigned until she and the other woman entered their designated quarters in the north wing of the castle's second floor. Stepping into the immense dressing room complete with its own vanity counter and nearly wall-sized mirrors, Reagan regarded the scene with awe, having never imagined such opulence. Turning back, she saw the diviner watching her curiously.

"Forgive me my humble origins, my lady," she said, her tone a perfect echo of the deference she often observed but never felt. "I imagine you're accustomed to such settings, but I've never beheld the like."

The diviner had taken a position against the far wall, her satchel clutched in her hands as she continued staring at Reagan. "You're Baiel's sister, yes?" she asked, quite unexpectedly.

Reagan blinked in surprise. "That's right."

The diviner nodded. "Your hair and eyes—they are similar to his, and not common here in Dhanen'Mar."

Reagan paused, happy to hear this conclusion had been reached by logic rather than by the woman's second sight. "You know him, then?" she inquired.

The diviner nodded. "We've struck up an acquaintance over the past few days."

Reagan smirked. Knowing her brother was one of the most pursued men in the city at present, she could only presume the nature of the diviner's interest. Apparently even the highborn weren't above chasing after the Challenge participants.

"He told me of the terrible tragedy that stole your parents and kept you separated for so long," the diviner then went on. "But his happiness at finding you again was clear when he spoke of you."

Reagan remained quiet, now reconsidering. While spending only the first several days of the week with Baiel, it was time enough for her to conclude he wouldn't have told this tale idly; perhaps she'd been too hasty in judging the situation. Still, her past wasn't something she particularly wished to discuss, so she simply nodded and stepped forward, taking up the measuring tape from the vanity counter.

"We'd best get to this, my lady. Someone will be here for your measurements soon."

"Please, my name is Madi. There's no need for such formality."

Reagan smiled slightly and nodded, surprised. "As you wish," she murmured, unraveling the tape and gesturing for the other woman to take position before her. "So, you're here to read for the guests, then?" she asked, bending to start with a leg measurement.

"That's right," Madi answered, sounding cautious.

Reagan glanced up at her. "You don't sound pleased with the task. I would think you'd be accustomed to such requests."

The diviner paused, seeming to consider. "Reading for the highborn can be nerve-wracking. They tend to have the most secrets."

Reagan raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be so certain of that."

Madi nodded. "I should've perhaps said, they tend to have the most dangerous secrets."

Wrong again, Reagan thought, moving along to next discern the arm-length measurement.

"In any case," the diviner continued, "I'm anticipating an eventful afternoon and evening."

You have no idea.

"Perhaps for you," Reagan replied, straightening to wrap the tape about the other woman's hips. "Personally, I expect the affair to be dull. Furthermore, doesn't it seem odd that the ball is to honor the Challenge, yet none of its participants—besides the prince, of course—have even been invited?"

Madi gave a dry laugh. "It's not so surprising of the highborn, truly. The combatants provide fair enough entertainment by risking their lives, but not so much to dine with in a civilized manner."

Reagan looked up, again surprised. "You speak of the highborn as if you weren't one of them."

"They aren't all as I describe, and I shouldn't have given you that impression. I will take more care with my words from now on."

They finished gathering the measurements in silence, but Reagan felt she was beginning to understand what Baiel saw in this woman. Of course, nothing could ever come of it—unless the diviner's concealed Secondary was War, which was possible but unlikely, she'd never be permitted within Lutarre Keep, and just as certain her brother would never leave it. But this dire conclusion aside, Reagan found herself pleasantly surprised by her brother's taste. The Patrons certainly knew he'd had his pick of dozens of women this week.

A knock on the door came just after they'd finished, and Reagan moved to tell the handmaiden the diviner's sizes so a proper dress could be brought for her. Where this dress was being brought from Reagan still didn't know, and didn't care enough to ask.

Moving back into the dressing room, she gestured to the polished beechwood chair before the vanity counter. "Sit, and I'll begin on your hair."

Little more than an hour later, both women were properly attired in their delivered gowns, their hair and makeup completed to perfection. Reagan wasn't overly concerned with her own appearance, just satisfied that the small bottle tucked inside her day clothes was now hidden in her gown, but she did take a step back in admiration of her work upon the diviner. Beautiful to begin with, Madi was now stunning.

"I fear you're going to break my brother's heart someday," she said with a smile, her tone half-jesting and half-warning.

The diviner didn't appear to have much concern for her own appearance either, giving herself a brief glance in the mirror before turning back to Reagan. "Let's hope not," she then murmured in response, sounding odd.

It was a mysterious answer but one Reagan approved of. Much to her surprise, she found they'd gotten along well this past hour, even despite Madi's deepening nervousness and her own gleeful but carefully-hidden excitement over the looming act of regicide. Nevertheless, their time here, an obvious burden to them both, had not been unpleasant.

"Moreover," Madi then went on, now looking to her with her own small grin, "I wouldn't want to risk your wrath."

Reagan frowned, suddenly worried the other woman's second sight had alerted her to something, when Madi made a pointed nod.

Of course; her Revenge Birth medallion. That was all the diviner had meant.

Reagan smiled back at her, somewhat evilly. "We are what we are," she said.

Madi opened her mouth to reply, but a sharp rap sounded out to interrupt her.

"That must be our escort," Reagan said, moving toward the door. Feeling the small, glass bottle caught up in the ribbons of her specifically-designed dress, she allowed herself a smile.

After more than twelve years, at last she was ready.
Chapter 44

Devlin waited in the corridor outside the suite provided to Reagan and the diviner, thinking he was almost ready to tender his resignation, pack a bag, and disappear from the home city of Justice forever, never to be seen or heard from again.

The past few days, to say the least, had been incredibly stressful. After Knoxx had nearly been killed aiding Nathon in his duel the day of the violent rainstorm, Devlin had severed any further involvement of his brother's on the field, fearing it would only lead to his death. Consequently, the combatants had since been left to their own devices, making for some extremely tense situations. The worst of them had occurred just hours ago, when Taleb faced off with the Balshan. Had the Healers gotten to him only a few minutes later, chances are he would've completely bled out; while managing to deliver a death strike to Xaz, the chest wound he'd taken in return had, without question, been mortal.

And then the seemingly impossible had occurred, when Rydin Kale bested the warlord. This meant Taleb would now be fighting Kale in the final duel, a man who appeared to disrupt the very laws of nature. For certain the outcome wouldn't be in Taleb's favor, leaving only the question of whether Kale would decide to kill him or not. The Jennite's moves and motivations had so far proven unpredictable, and were now murkier than ever given he'd left two opponents alive while, seemingly without reason, chosen to kill the other three.

A further cause to be nervous was that Knoxx was presently in Devlin's own quarters, awaiting the commencement of the feast so he could slip unseen into Stavrakos's apartment and start working on the magically-protected safe. It would be Devlin's job to keep an eye on the treasurer to ensure he didn't make any unscheduled returns to his rooms and discover Knoxx there. The jester had no guesses as to what Stavrakos might have secured in that safe, but felt it imperative he find out.

And now, to all of this, he could add the mess of the diviner. None had expected the king to become aware of her in the fashion he had, so there really wasn't anyone to blame for it, but the problem was now Devlin's to deal with. Hoping Oliveah would be smart enough to go to the bookshop once she discovered what happened, he'd already arranged to have a message waiting for her there, instructing her to do nothing. It was Devlin's goal to do everything in his power to avoid Madilaine reading for the king, but should his efforts fail, he'd already apprised Knoxx that it would be his responsibility to bring her safely from the castle.

Of course, should the king happen to demand her head in the middle of the ballroom while surrounded by hundreds of his guests as well as the royal guard, there would be nothing even Devlin could do to save her. Avoiding the possibility of such a scene was therefore his ultimate aim.

The door now finally swung open before him, revealing his assistant Reagan wearing a stunning gown of pale blue that almost perfectly matched her eyes. Her waist-length, fiery hair was piled atop her head in a current and popular fashion, and he found himself noting that she was really quite attractive. Her radiant smile certainly helped, which he interpreted as excitement to be attending a royal ball.

"Master Alvik," she nodded in greeting, looking surprised. "Have you come to escort us personally?"

"I have," he replied, knowing this would seem a strange move but one he felt was necessary. "But first I require a moment with Lady Madilaine. If you could await us here in the corridor?"

"Of course," she said, smoothly gliding past.

He found the diviner in the sitting room, and her eyes were huge as they took him in.

"Are we alone?" she hissed, glancing behind him.

"We are," he replied.

She took two furious steps toward him. "Why did you leave me with that woman?" she demanded furiously.

He was confused. "Reagan? She's just one of my assistants. I happened to spot her while we were leaving the forum and thought she'd be as good a choice as any to attend you."

She was still staring at him almost wildly. "Then you truly don't know?"

"Don't know what?" he replied, becoming impatient with her dramatics.

The diviner paused, and then closed her eyes briefly. "Promise me she won't be harmed."

His eyes narrowed, now more baffled than ever. "Would you please just explain yourself?"

"Not until you promise!"

He sighed. "Fine, I promise she won't be harmed. Now, what is all this excitement?" And why are you wasting my time with it?

"She intends to kill King DeSiva tonight."

Devlin's thoughts came to a screeching halt, and he stared back at the diviner stupidly. "What?" he finally managed.

She pursed her lips together briefly. "I saw this. Her idea is to administer poison to his food or drink, but she won't accomplish this successfully and Captain Poage will kill her." She closed her eyes again and shuddered, perhaps re-envisioning this scene beheld by her second sight.

Stunned, Devlin backed up a step and dropped onto the small couch behind him. In all honesty, the most perplexing aspect of this was that he hadn't possessed even an inkling that Reagan wasn't who she appeared to be. Considering his very life often depended on his ability to read the intentions of others, he was furious at himself for having gleaned nothing at all duplicitous about her. Truly, she was one of the few who'd ever managed to fool him.

"Why does she want this?" he asked, still trying to sort through his racing thoughts.

Madilaine sank into the chair next to the couch. "I saw nothing of her motives, but believe I can piece together a logical answer given what I know of her past."

He frowned again. "How do you know of her past?"

"I'm friendly with her brother."

"Who's her brother?"

"Baiel Maves."

"The warlord?" he demanded, shocked again. "She said nothing of this to me!"

He also realized he'd never had cause to learn her family name, although now the truth had been pointed out to him, the resemblance between the two was fairly obvious.

The diviner was now explaining the circumstances of the Maves' family history, and while he listened, understanding came quickly. Although those raids had occurred before his own term here in Aralexia, he'd been made aware of the circumstances. It was the warlords who'd finally taken matters into their own hands and brought an end to the situation, but not before thousands were slaughtered or taken. It wasn't pleasant to think what Reagan might've lived through during her ten years of imprisonment in Jennen.

"Is the warlord also a part of this plot?" he asked, after taking this in.

The diviner's eyes widened. "No! Neither Baiel, nor any warlord, has any interest in Revenge."

Devlin eyed her as two things then occurred to him. The first was obvious; given her claim of friendliness with Baiel Maves, she'd obviously elicited the promise to keep Reagan from harm strictly for the warlord's benefit. His second realization was much more interesting, and afforded a fairly deep insight into the nature of Madilaine Savannon.

With her own life in jeopardy this day, she must've considered Reagan Maves' attempted regicide from another perspective. Because the act would most assuredly distract from any possible danger she might draw upon herself, it was extremely telling that she'd decided to confess—and therefore, halt—Reagan's plans. This implied Madilaine was either trusting to Devlin entirely to see her through this day alive, or else she believed she'd foreseen the plot for the express purpose of halting it and saving Reagan's life, even at risk to her own. Whichever way the truth fell, it bespoke a much stronger character than he would've suspected.

"What are you going to do?" she asked him now, leaning forward in her seat worriedly.

He sighed again, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. The schemes and intrigues currently buzzing about the royal city were beginning to overwhelm even him, although he was mired much too deeply to entertain the idea of escaping their hold. Whatever the outcome, he now had little choice but to just keep charging toward it.

But the diviner's question was a good one. How was he going to deal with this new, and rather startling, development?

His own life would be forfeit if he failed to report this to the royal guard and the plot was somehow discovered. However, and beyond his promise to Madilaine, there were further reasons not to turn Reagan in. Not only did he understand her rage and desire for retribution, but he couldn't help but admire the sheer brashness of her for even considering such a tactic. It was unlikely she expected to survive the night, proof enough that her desire for revenge had grown fierce enough to eclipse even her will to live; and that was a level of dedication few could ever match. Also was how she'd managed to deceive him. Yes, he'd had much on his mind these past weeks, but he wouldn't allow himself any excuses. Which was just as well, because skills such as hers could prove very advantageous to him indeed.

The solution came to him then, as simple as it was brilliant. So long as Knoxx hadn't yet departed from his quarters, this could be taken care of quietly, neatly, and if he played his hand wisely, completely to his favor.

He now sent the diviner a grin. "Worry not, for I'll uphold my promise. But the situation is now mine to deal with, and Reagan must know nothing of what you've seen."

The diviner didn't argue. Apparently when her great-grandmother had instructed her to trust him, she'd taken the direction seriously.

"There is one final matter I should mention," she then went on.

"All right," he said, now prepared for absolutely anything.

"Rydin gave me his oath that he wouldn't kill Taleb in the final duel. So come tomorrow, there will be no cause for worry."

Devlin's mind spun again to quickly assimilate this information. His first question was how the diviner had come to be on a first-name basis with Kale.

"We met in Tyrell, during the week of Ardin's Pride," she explained. "But I questioned him about tomorrow's match while performing his reading, and he offered this promise, stating he had no reason to want Taleb dead."

The jester's eyes narrowed slightly. While this should've come as a relief, he was instead pondering the diviner's naiveté. His efforts hadn't uncovered much information on Kale, but he'd trust the man's word about as far as he could shove an ox. Most likely Kale had just told Madilaine whatever it was she wanted to hear, leaving her to discover the hard truth of his empty vow the following morning. Provided, of course, she survived the night.

"Well, I suppose that's one less worry," he said, deciding to speak nothing of his suspicions. "Now, shall we move on to my original concern?"

She looked confused over why he'd brushed off her information so abruptly, but nodded.

"All right," Devlin began, "naturally, I'll be doing all in my power to keep the king from requesting a reading from you tonight, but in the event I fail, we'd best prepare for the situation."

She nodded again, her expression now tense.

He paused briefly before going on. "As we already know, whatever you're to see, should this reading come to pass, will prompt the king to order your death. Unfortunately there's no way for me to predict the nature of this truth, for his majesty harbors plenty of secrets, and many worth killing for. I therefore have no recourse but to advise you to lie, regardless of whatever's revealed to your second sight."

Madilaine's eyes widened as she took him in. "I can't lie about the contents of a reading! It's forbidden!"

"You will if you want to live," he returned forcefully.

Her look remained scandalized. "But what if I'm to make a claim he knows to be untrue?"

The jester shrugged. "How many years have you been doing this? Surely you're capable of faking your way through a single reading."

She looked tortured.

"Now, should the worst happen despite our precautions," Devlin went on, "I've already arranged for my brother to remove you from the castle."

She looked surprised. "Knoxx is here?"

"Yes. He'll be lurking about, staying close should we have need of him." Since there was no reason to mention Stavrakos's safe to her, he kept this information to himself.

"I can't leave the city without Sabian," she then insisted.

He shrugged, not knowing or caring who Sabian was. "You can work out those arrangements with Knoxx should they be needed. Just know that once you've left this castle, my influence will end, so you'll be on your own to get yourself free of Aralexia." Seeing her look, he went on. "I've already left a message for Oliveah, instructing her to do nothing but await further word."

"I imagine she's already making plans for my and Sabian's escape," she murmured, thinking.

Devlin pushed to his feet. "We'd best go. My presence here is suspicious enough." He stopped and gave her a serious look. "Remember—Reagan can know nothing of what you discovered."

He waited for her nod of acknowledgement before leading the way from the room. Reagan remained in the corridor where he'd left her, and he had to force himself not to look at her too closely, in search of some sign to her inner thoughts not previously recognized. Her expression was deceptively serene, a picture of calm patience. Although, he now correctly understood the smile she'd be wearing while greeting him at the door.

They'd yet to reach the staircase leading downward when he snapped his fingers, feigning sudden realization. "I'm afraid I forgot something in my quarters," he explained. "We'll need to make a quick dash back before heading to the ballroom."

Neither woman responded, and he deftly led them through the maze of corridors and staircases until they came to his own apartment. "I'll be but a moment," he promised, leaving them in the corridor and disappearing within.

"Knoxx," he hissed, uncertain of what he would do if his brother was already skulking about the halls, cloaked in invisibility.

Knoxx promptly stepped into the room, holding a sprig of red grapes. "What?" he said, popping one into his mouth.

Devlin exhaled in relief. "New plan," he said, before going on to relay what the diviner had discovered about Reagan.

Knoxx accepted this with a grunt; apparently the revelations of the past several days had rendered him unshockable. "So what am I to do about it?" he asked.

"The poison must be somewhere on her person. Find it, and slip it to me."

"I trust you want this done before I make way for the safe?"

"Yes. Will taking it present a problem?"

Knoxx scoffed. "I am an accomplished thief, you know."

"Good," Devlin nodded. "Once this is done, you'll be free to head for the safe. Between the feast and the ball, Stavrakos shouldn't have any reason to return to his rooms until the wee hours."

"Let's hope not," his brother nodded.

"I'd best go. May Eris and Katrien bless you this night," Devlin said, turning back. Since this was in fact Fourteenth-Day, it was likely that Eris, the Patron of Magic, would at least do so. Truly, they couldn't have picked a better day to break through a magically-guarded safe.

He found Reagan and Madilaine as he'd left them, and they headed down to the grand chamber serving as the royal ballroom. Elegantly-decorated tables lined the walls, and nobles loitered everywhere within. Devlin turned to the diviner.

"Don't begin your readings until after the feast. In the meantime, I made arrangements for you to be seated with the attending members of your family for the duration of the meal," he told her, gesturing to a small group of Savannons conversing nearby. The effort had been meant as a kindness, but seeing the diviner's immediate frown as she gazed over at her family, he surmised the gesture wasn't appreciated.

"Or," he therefore went on, "you can remain with Reagan, and sit amongst my assistants."

Evidently Madilaine preferred the company of a would-be murderer to that of her own family. Devlin sent them off to their table before starting for his own seat at the forefront of the chamber.

The royal council was all assembling at the head table, with Commander Catala and Cadien Stavrakos already seated, and Prince Luken standing nearby with Seneschal Galaz. Commander Richert Poage appeared a moment later, and shouted for all to rise for the king's entrance. Everyone did so, and the conversation fell into an abrupt silence as King DeSiva entered the ballroom. He made his way to his chair, then issued a wave for the merriment to commence.

Devlin dropped into his seat next to Luken, two persons removed from the king, and took a glance about. The gathering looked no different than it had the year before, or the year before that. The same nobles come to gorge themselves on delicacies while prattling on about how wealthy they were and how much wealthier they were to become by the end of the year. Devlin found most highborn stupid but dangerous, never a favorable mix. Those harboring any actual intelligence, however, were the most troublesome.

The ball officially began as the hired entertainment, a well-known troupe who'd gained much renown in Dhanen'Mar, erupted with their opening number. Devlin had deliberately not contracted the Moriss Tipley Troupe for this affair, figuring, at the time, that Oliveah's presence would've only complicated matters. In light of present circumstances, he remained uncertain if this had been a wise decision or a foolish one.

As the singers, dancers and tumblers began their routine, the feast began with a low hum of conversation sounding out from the surrounding tables. Beside him, Prince Luken was silent as he ate; to Devlin's other side, Catala and Poage were discussing the chances of a riot should the Jennite Rydin Kale win the Challenge the following day. The likelihood of this was present but slim, for while the natives hated seeing a foreigner take the prize, only twice in the history of the games had it led to violent uproar.

Paying no attention whatsoever to what he was eating, Devlin scanned the room until his gaze fell upon the table keeping his assistants. Madilaine and Reagan looked to be conversing with each other casually, although the diviner wasn't eating, probably a result of her nerves. Reagan, on the other hand, appeared to be enjoying the feast as though she didn't have a care in the world. Again, the jester marveled at her poise, as well as the sheer audacity of her intentions. He could only hope she'd maintain this carefree mask at discovering her plans had been foiled.

They were just beginning the fourth course—roast pig with mint, stuffed with carrots and potatoes—when Devlin felt a slight pressure at the outside of his thigh. Casually glancing down, he watched a tiny bottle filled with amber-colored liquid materialize upon his chair. Deftly he palmed the item and vanished it into one of his pockets, mentally ticking off this first objective as accomplished. Knoxx would now be heading for Stavrakos's quarters, where he'd hopefully crack the magical wards protecting the contents of the safe.

He glanced at Reagan. She didn't yet appear to have any idea her poison had been snatched, and he again found himself wondering what she might do once she did.

After everyone had eaten their fill, many of the guests began wandering back onto the floor, some engaging in dance and others in conversation. Devlin caught the diviner's eye across the distance separating them and issued a slight nod. Looking as though she was making her way to the gallows—which, he supposed, wasn't so far off the mark—she slowly got to her feet and immersed herself in a nearby group of people. Just minutes later, she was leading one of the men to an empty table while withdrawing her fortune cards.

Devlin looked away and shot a quick glance to the king. In deep conversation with a highborn man named Ahmer Corte, his majesty didn't seem to be paying the slightest bit of attention to Madilaine or her talents. Devlin wondered if it would be possible to keep the king so distracted throughout the night that he'd forget her presence entirely.

Deciding it was worth a try, he rose and began mingling, never moving farther than twenty or so paces from the king. His majesty seemed content to hold court at the head table, which made things easier, greeting all those Devlin sent his way and engaging in more or less sensible conversation with them all. Seneschal Galaz caught on quickly to the jester's strategy, and began feeding his own line of nobles to the king. After more than three hours of this, Devlin had grown reasonably confident that Madilaine would be escaping the night unscathed.

As the king laughed raucously at his own joke within the circle of highborn now surrounding him, Devlin sent another glance about the ballroom. He continued to keep eyes on Stavrakos's movements, now spotting him across the room, speaking with a man Devlin knew to be one of the treasurer's own spies. Satisfied that he didn't appear to have any intention of leaving the ballroom, the jester next took in Madilaine. In the midst of yet another reading, she'd wisely placed herself as far from the king as possible, letting those who desired readings come to her. From what he'd so far observed, she'd rarely had a moment to herself the entire evening.

Next he looked for Reagan. She'd been spending much of her time on the dance floor with one of her fellow assistants, but wasn't there now. Devlin searched, and finally found her sitting alone at a table. Even at a distance he could tell she was furious, and he presumed she'd now discovered her missing poison. With the king still occupied, and his jokes becoming raunchier by the minute, Devlin kept his eye on her, relieved when she appeared to get herself under control. Eventually she returned to the dance floor, albeit lacking her previous spirit, and he could only hope she wasn't now forming an alternative plan to assassinate the king.

Shortly after First-hour the guests began trickling out, making slow exits in small groups of three or four. By this time Knoxx should've finished with the safe, and been lurking somewhere about the ballroom. The king had left the head table only four times the entire evening, twice to attend the call of nature and twice to engage in a few dances with the comeliest of highborn women. Presently in his seat, he conversed with a lord and lady often seen at court.

Devlin looked about again, thinking it safe to now instruct Madilaine to make a quick exit. Once she was gone he'd be free to confront Reagan, and then see to the final aspect of the night's business by learning what Knoxx had discovered in the safe. He was feeling extremely satisfied with the evening's events when his eyes then fell to the diviner, taking in the man now seated across from her.

Staring, it was then he realized the warning given by her great-grandmother might not have been properly interpreted. Divinations were a tricky business, after all, and sometimes even those dedicated to understanding them couldn't envision the entire picture. A further possibility was that everything Devlin had done this night had only foiled one reading to bring about another—and one no less dangerous.

He started across the floor, cursing himself for not considering this scenario. Danetria Savannon had warned Madilaine against reading for the king. The question now was whether this divination had meant the reigning king, or the future one.

Devlin drew as near as he dared and cleared his throat. "My prince?" he ventured, eyeing them.

The diviner was pale but seemingly calm.

Luken turned to him distractedly, and a quick glance was all Devlin needed to surmise Madilaine had most likely kept to his advice and lied about whatever her second sight had revealed.

"What is it, Devlin?" Luken frowned. "Can't you see I'm in the midst of a reading?"

Devlin took another quick glance at Madilaine, deducing that while she presently had a rein on her emotions, this control would soon shatter. The Patrons only knew what she had seen.

"My apologies, my prince," he responded smoothly, "but several guests are looking to pay their respects to you before departing. Also, the diviner is clearly exhausted and should probably be granted leave so she may rest."

Luken looked back at her and murmured something Devlin couldn't hear. This made the jester incredibly nervous.

But Madilaine simply gave a nod and tapped one of the cards lying on the table between them.

Luken looked satisfied and pushed to his feet, thanking her for her services. "Would you see her out, Devlin?" he then requested, looking back. "Evidently I must attend the guests."

"It would be my pleasure," Devlin replied, thanking the Patrons for at least this small amount of fortune. Madilaine Savannon wasn't setting a single foot from this castle until he learned what she'd seen.

While the prince moved off, the jester stepped forward and helped the diviner from her seat. Hooking her arm through is, he could feel her beginning to tremble.

"Just hold it together a few minutes more," he directed quietly, starting them at a slow walk toward the exit. Glancing back, he saw Cadien Stavrakos now holding audience with the king, both looking his and the diviner's way. Devlin quickly deduced there'd be a price on Madilaine's head before the hour was out.

Leaving the ballroom, Devlin tugged a red, silk handkerchief from his pocket and hoped Knoxx was somewhere he could see it. Following behind the clusters of guests making their way through the corridors, Devlin slowed their pace even more and waited until those before them had turned a passage. He then moved swiftly, pulling Madilaine in the opposite direction and up a flight of stairs.

She didn't protest, adding her own urgency to his movements as he took them down two further corridors before finally pausing, at last satisfied they wouldn't be seen or overheard.

"Knoxx?" he issued quietly, causing Madilaine to glance at him in surprise.

"I'm here," came his brother's disembodied voice from only paces away.

"Take her to my quarters and await me there. I'll come as soon as I can."

"As you wish," Knoxx replied lightly. "Diviner, you're going to feel an odd sensation, but try not to fight it."

"All right," she said, nodding.

Devlin watched as she began fading from sight, her form becoming transparent, then shadowy, and then completely lost to the eye. Faintly hearing them start off, he then spun and started back the way he'd come. It was possible Reagan had escaped him by this time, but this couldn't be helped. Learning what Madilaine Savannon now knew of the royal family was his top priority.

Returning to the ballroom, he casually strolled inside, noting Prince Luken was no longer positioned at the doors bidding the guests farewell. Not unexpectedly, Devlin spied him over by his father and Stavrakos, the three involved in a conversation that didn't look pleasant.

He quickened his pace toward them, spotting Reagan on the dance floor as he crossed the room. It seemed she was a great lover of music, and a fair dancer as well. More importantly, she hadn't slipped away while he'd been otherwise engaged.

Bracing himself for what he knew he was walking into, Devlin boldly approached the confrontation unfolding at the head table.

"Devlin!" the king exploded, catching sight of him. "Can you believe the stupidity of my son, requesting a reading?"

Devlin looked about, but apparently Stavrakos had already cleared the immediate area of any witnesses. He stepped up to the king's seat and halted before offering his response.

"Certainly the prince has nothing to fear from such an encounter," he began. "He's possessed of a pure heart, after all, and one free of secrets." Those last words had been a dangerous addendum, and he saw Stavrakos grin at him in appreciation of his daring.

King DeSiva's eyes were wild as they stared back at him. "His shamefully dull existence isn't the point!"

"I agree that allowing any such insight into our future king wasn't wise," Stavrakos interjected smoothly. "Little question the diviner could profit greatly from any weaknesses glimpsed."

Devlin stared back at the man expressionlessly. It was obvious Stavrakos was just as worried as he was over whatever Madilaine had seen, and admittedly, the easiest recourse was to simply kill her. The jester rapidly determined that outward agreement was his only option.

He began nodding thoughtfully. "I see your point, Cadien. This would best be handled quickly."

The prince was looking between the treasurer and jester with horror. "But she spoke of a peaceful reign! There's no cause for such measures!"

The king snorted. "You presume she would've admitted otherwise? Congratulations son, you led that woman straight to her death." He turned to Stavrakos and Devlin. "This may be the first time the two of you have agreed on anything. Cadien, get word to every assassin in the city. Two hundred gold to whoever brings me her head."

"At once!" Stavrakos nodded.

"I just saw her from the castle, on his highness's own wishes," Devlin put in helpfully, further throwing Luken to the wolves. "She's unlikely to have gotten far."

The king nodded, and then speared his son with another glare. "I will never understand how I begot such an imbecile. Must be you take after your mother. You should pray you don't meet a similar end."

Luken looked stunned. He made a fleeting glance, brimming with betrayal, to Devlin, and then turned and fled across the ballroom.

"Cadien, why are you still here?" King DeSiva snapped, reaching to gather a handful of raisins from a nearby bowl.

"My king!" Stavrakos made a sweeping bow, then turned to follow in the prince's wake.

"If his majesty will further grant my leave, I still have a few matters to attend to before my night can conclude," Devlin said, his eye on Reagan as she started off the dance floor.

The king grunted and waved dismissively.

Catching sight of Seneschal Galaz as he started away, Devlin motioned for him to take position with the king. In his current state of agitation, the Patrons only knew what words might fall from his majesty's lips, and Devlin wanted the seneschal there in case he slipped anything in regard to his secret business with Stavrakos. The seneschal gave him an almost imperceptible nod before moving to adhere.

Devlin caught up with Reagan just as she was stepping from the ballroom.

"A word, if you please," he said, taking firm hold of her arm and propelling her forward. There were now several knights patrolling the corridors, present to ensure all guests found their way from the castle, and one stood nearby as Devlin paused before a closed door and pushed it open.

"I require a word with my assistant," he explained to the knight's inquiring look, shoving Reagan into the room. The knight smirked back at him, his presumptions clear. Devlin swept past and slammed the door behind him.

"What is this about?" Reagan demanded angrily, rubbing her arm where he'd apparently exerted slightly more force than necessary.

Not having time to implement his favored bait-and-trap approach, he simply withdrew the small bottle of poison from his pocket and held it up.

Her face was expressionless as she took it in. "What's that?"

He shook his head in admiration. "Reagan, you're without doubt one of the most skilled manipulators I've encountered, and that's saying much. But you can drop the act. I've no intention of reporting this."

She seemed to consider, silent for several moments. "Why not?" she finally asked.

"Because I could do with someone of your talents."

She looked interested. "And you would trust me? Knowing what I intend?"

"Actually, that's precisely why I would trust you."

Her eyes narrowed even more. "I don't understand."

A slight grin was his only response.

"How did you even learn of this?" she went on, now demanding. "Was it the diviner? Did she see my plans?"

There was no reason to lie about it now.

"Yes," he told her. "But just so you're aware, she made me promise not to harm you before uttering a word of it."

Reagan took that in, again considering. Finally, "You still haven't explained why you're willing to trust me."

His regarded her levelly. "Because I'm going to give you what you want. But it must be my way, and only when the time is right."

She was astounded, which wasn't surprising. "How can I believe you?" she managed.

"Would I have any other reason for not reporting you to the royal guard?"

"I suppose not," she murmured. Then, "So how do you anticipate my talents being useful?"

He smiled again. "Your aptitude for intriguing and deception will be of great help to me. There's much transpiring in Aralexia at present, a silent war with an end still cloaked in shadow. Rest assured I'll have much need of you in the coming days and weeks."

"I will do whatever you ask. So long," she went on, her tone turning hard, "as you fulfill your end."

"Splendid. We have reached an accord," he announced, nodding. "Now go back to your inn and await further instruction. It may be a few days until you hear from me, so remain patient."

Her gaze on him now was curious, and her mind surely buzzing with a thousand questions, primarily why he was plotting to betray his own king. Fortunately, she was also smart enough not to push her luck, maintaining her silence as she stared at him. This was just as well, as he wouldn't be explaining his motives to her anytime soon.

As it happened, she represented the solution to a problem he'd now been pondering for some time; but with the who now established, still left was the question of when. There remained many pieces to put in place before this event could unfold.

They left the room without another word, Reagan making her way from the castle while he started up to his rooms. Uncertain of the scene he was to find there, he discovered the diviner in his sitting room, curled up on one of the couches looking despondent. Knoxx stood silently by in the corner, conveying his ignorance of the situation with a shrug.

Devlin wasn't in the frame of mind to handle this gently.

"Madilaine," he began, approaching her, "tell me what you saw during Prince Luken's reading."

She stared up at him, shocked. "I can't! Such is a worse offense than lying—which I did, you'll no doubt be happy to know!"

He crouched down next to her until their gazes locked. "The king has already placed a price of two hundred gold on your head. If you expect my help in leaving this castle alive, you'd best start talking."

The threat stunned her, and even Knoxx seemed to think ill of the tactic. "Dev...." the mage started, taking a step nearer.

Devlin shot his brother a silencing glare before looking back. "I'm waiting, diviner. What did you see?"

Her eyes welled. "The past."

Well, that held to as much potential disaster as the future.

"What of the past?" he demanded.

"I saw . . . Prince Luken witness his mother's death."

Devlin began nodding, understanding her distress. "You saw the king strangle her."

Her eyes grew round with shock. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew, as does the entire council. It happened before my time, but the task of covering it up fell to them."

She looked haunted now. "The prince has locked the memory away, but I saw it clearly, lingering on the edge of his consciousness. Given he was only a young boy, it isn't difficult to understand why his mind shelters him in this way."

Devlin had always wondered what, exactly, Luken recalled of the event. But this wasn't the most pressing question at hand.

"Were you granted knowledge of why the king did this?" he then asked, trying not to reveal the importance of this answer.

She shook her head, and he nodded again, concealing all signs of relief.

"Why should it matter the reason?" she then demanded, almost yelling. "Our king is a murderer! Killer of his very own queen! And those like you," she went on with a glare, "have hid the truth for years!"

Oh, we've hidden a lot more than that.

"Keep your voice down!" he hissed. "And don't be so quick to judge. We've reasons for this secrecy." He glanced up at his brother, who was listening in silence while looking thoughtful.

"What else was revealed during the reading?" Devlin went on, looking back.

"Only Prince Luken's coronation. It won't be long off, since he didn't appear any older than he does now," she said, still staring at him as though he were a monster.

Devlin nodded. With a would-be assassin in the form of Reagan now standing by, the king's time in this world was definitely growing short.

"All right, Madilaine," he said, pushing back to his feet. "I apologize if my methods were harsh, but in the interest of avoiding future disaster I had to know what you saw."

She continued glaring at him, and he turned to Knoxx.

"You'll need to be especially careful once free of the castle, for the assassins have already been alerted," he warned. "They'll be searching for her."

Knoxx nodded, looking rather unhappy about this. "Where am I taking her?"

Devlin glanced back. "Not to her inn, as that'll be the first place the assassins will look. Take her to your own room at the Damsel, then find Oliveah. She can further guide you on getting her out of Aralexia. And diviner," he then added, turning to face her, "once you've left the city, my advice is to keep running. For two hundred gold, those assassins will pursue you halfway across the world if they have to."
Chapter 45

By this time, Knoxx had fully assumed the attitude of just taking things as they came. Even the revelation that King DeSiva had strangled his own queen to death hadn't shocked him as it once would have. It was a flat-out bizarre night, and one, he knew, still far from over.

After imparting his rather dire warning to the diviner, Devlin jerked his head at him and retreated slightly. Knoxx followed, knowing his brother would now wish to hear of his exploits in Stavrakos's rooms.

"Did you get it open?" Devlin asked quietly.

Knoxx withheld a sigh. "It took me a while, but yes." Because he'd had no reason to remain invisible while working on the safe, he fortunately retained plenty of energy to see him and Madilaine through the rest of the evening.

"Well?" Devlin gestured impatiently.

Knoxx rubbed his forehead, peeved. "It was empty."

"Empty? That doesn't make any sense."

"Well, perhaps he doesn't even know the safe is there, put in place by the previous treasurer. Or he doesn't retain anything of enough value to bother with it," Knoxx speculated with a shrug. He wasn't very happy to have expelled the time and energy required to break through the magical barriers only to find nothing, but there wasn't anything they could do about it now.

"Perhaps," Devlin seemingly agreed.

"Did you see to the woman?" Knoxx went on, referring to the would-be assassin of the king.

At this, his brother smiled. "Yes. I've further retained her services for future use. Between her, Tishan, and Callan Ashe, I believe myself well-armed for the all-out war I believe Stavrakos and I will soon be waging."

The mage pressed his lips together briefly, holding back a slew of questions over his brother's ultimate intentions. "I know it's inevitable," he finally said, "but please move cautiously."

"If I hadn't learned to do that, I would've been dead years ago," Devlin told him. He stopped and glanced back to the diviner. "You should go. I imagine Oliveah's climbing the walls by this time, if she hasn't already done something reckless in an attempt to find out what's happening."

Knoxx nodded.

"Be careful," Devlin further warned. "As I said, the assassins will already be hunting her."

Wonderful, Knoxx thought, turning away. He approached the diviner as she rose slowly from the couch, holding out a hand. He took it and began to exude his Magic, quickly rendering them invisible.

Devlin stepped to the door and opened it, allowing them a non-suspicious exit. The corridor beyond was empty, however, and Knoxx quickly led the way, keeping a firm grip on the diviner's hand.

There were several knights to avoid as they headed downward to the main exit, but this was an easy task. Madilaine clearly realized the danger and made not a sound, following his lead with silence and care until they found themselves in the outer bailey.

Approaching the gates leading to the city beyond, Knoxx found fortune was with them. A few late stragglers from the ball, clearly drunk, were now approaching, at last meaning to leave. It was an easy thing to follow along in their wake, hearing the knights securing the gates for the night just behind them.

The streets were dark and shadowed, but not entirely devoid of life. With twelve blocks to cover to The Dancing Damsel, Knoxx kept alert, and whispered for Madilaine to continue remaining as silent as possible.

By the time they reached the inn, he'd spotted two men he knew to be assassins, and suspected the shadowy figure he'd spied lurking in an alleyway to be a third. In this, his brother's warnings were entirely correct; for two hundred gold, Madilaine Savannon was going to have to run far and fast to keep ahead of those hunting her.

Now past Third-hour, the common room of the inn was, as expected, deserted. It went without saying that all occupants planned to rise early to view the final duel of the Challenge, set to commence at Seventh. Knoxx didn't pause, heading straight to his rooms on the second floor. Once he and the diviner were secured within, he loosened his hold and let his Magic fade.

She reappeared before him, looking shaken. Considering the evening she'd had, he couldn't blame her.

"Wait for me here," he told her. "I'll return with Oliveah as soon as I can. Lock the door after me, and do not, for any reason, leave this room."

She nodded quickly.

Knoxx remained visible as he charged down the stairs and back into the night, heading for The Green Rose at a run. With several assassins already on the prowl he suspected Oliveah too was in danger, simply by way of association; he figured she and the diviner probably shared a room in their inn, and if any assassins came looking for Madilaine there, Oliveah might not survive the encounter. Knoxx was mentally preparing himself for anything as he raced through the streets, knowing there was a good chance he'd find the young woman either being tortured for information she didn't have, or already slaughtered in her bed. For two hundred gold, no assassin would be bothered dealing out a little collateral damage.

As it happened though, both he and his brother had underestimated Oliveah Oslund. Anticipating the very circumstances Knoxx was now contemplating, she'd prepared for the situation well.

Exploding through the front doors of The Green Rose, Knoxx came to a skidding, frantic halt as four swords instantly rose as one in his direction. One was held by Nathon Wythe, the others leveled by the trio of warlords currently in Aralexia. He was uncertain of Oliveah's connection to the warlords, but this question wasn't high on his list of priorities.

"Wait! It's the mage!" Oliveah quickly exclaimed, pushing impatiently through the men.

Knoxx was still trying to overcome his shock at nearly being skewered by multiple blades as he watched her come forward.

"What happened?" Oliveah demanded, stopping before him. "Where is she?"

After another moment he found his tongue. "Dev managed to keep her from reading for the king, but the same cannot be said of the prince. A price of two hundred gold has now been placed on her head."

Oliveah winced but nodded. "Where is she now?"

"In my room at the Damsel. My brother said you'd direct me on ousting her from the city."

Baiel Maves took a step toward him. "You left her there alone?" he demanded.

"We arrived under the cover of invisibility. There's no way anyone could know she's there," he explained.

Oliveah looked to Maves. "You're staying at the Damsel as well, yes?"

The warlord nodded.

Nathon seemed to pick up on Oliveah's thread of thought. "Madi's been seen in Baiel's company the past several days. They may go there looking for her."

"Go!" Oliveah told the warlord.

"What room?" Maves shot to Knoxx as he turned away.

"214!"

Maves was gone in a flash of red cloak.

Knoxx was observing all this with a spinning mind striving to keep up. "I take it you've already seen some excitement tonight?" he asked.

One of the remaining warlords scoffed. "A couple of men have come round. We discouraged their interest here."

Knoxx wondered if those assassins still breathed, and then shifted his eyes back to Oliveah. He was beginning to understand why Devlin held such a healthy respect for her cunning. Evidently the diviner had some sort of romantic connection to Maves, which Oliveah had turned into a powerful resource. He made a mental note never to cross her.

She met his stare, the determination in her eyes clear. One way or another, Madilaine Savannon was making it out of Aralexia alive.

"What next?" Knoxx asked.

"I need to speak with Madi," she said, briefly stooping to take up a leather satchel from the floor before starting for the exit. Knoxx assumed the bag held some of the diviner's things, lending further evidence to Oliveah's fore-thinking abilities.

Knoxx kept beside her as they started down the street, with Nathon and the warlords coming just behind.

"The docks are going to be your best bet," he said quietly. "Never mind the assassins, the Legion will never allow her escape through either of the city's gates. I could get her out, but I can't keep her invisible forever."

Oliveah was nodding. "You're right, a ship is our wisest option. But I'll need you to get her onboard, as I suspect the harbormasters and captains will soon know to be on the lookout for her, if they aren't already."

"And then?"

"She can remain in the cabin, unseen, until the ship reaches the coast. It won't be pleasant for her, but she'll manage. Once arrived in Fortunia, she can relocate to an ocean-going vessel and leave Dhanen'Mar."

Knoxx didn't ask to where the diviner would be sailing, because he didn't want to know.

"We should do this as quickly as possible," he told her as they hurried onto the next block. "The longer we wait, the more people there will be looking for her."

"Tomorrow," she came back firmly. "After the final duel."

Knoxx frowned over at her, puzzled. It made no sense to wait so long.

"I need time to secure her protection," Oliveah explained, "and only this afternoon did I finally realize who'd be fulfilling the task." She paused and shook her head at herself. "Despite that the answer was staring me in the face all week long."

He glanced at her again. "I presume Maves to be both willing and able."

She shook her head again. "Baiel needs to bring Taleb to Lutarre Keep and begin training him."

Knoxx took that in silently; the fact that she'd at last definitively named Taleb implied much. "Where is Taleb?" he finally asked.

"Still at the infirmary. The Healers wanted to ensure he received a full and uninterrupted night's rest so he'd be at his best to fight tomorrow." Her voice was tense while saying this, which Knoxx thought reasonable. Now slated to face Kale in the final duel, it was anyone's guess as to what would happen on the field in the morning.

They remained silent for the rest of the way, finding the street outside The Dancing Damsel still and deserted.

"I'll take position here," one of the warlords stated, halting before the door.

Knoxx led the others inside, up the stairs and to his room. They found it empty.

"Baiel must've taken her to his quarters," Oliveah deduced quickly, turning to the remaining warlord. "Where?"

He brought them down the hall to the last door on the left, knocking gently. Maves answered it a moment later with his sword drawn.

"Is she with you?" Oliveah hissed quietly.

He nodded.

"I need a few minutes with her alone." Oliveah pushed past him into the room.

Maves joined the others in the corridor and shut the door behind him.

"Any trouble?" Nathon asked him.

"None yet," Maves answered.

Knoxx wasn't surprised to hear this. After speaking with the Jennite Callan Ashe this morning, he knew a total of three assassins had been sent after the warlord, with all having "mysteriously" disappeared. It seemed unlikely any of their kind would now be anxious to approach the warlord for any reason, for little doubt they presumed it was Maves himself who was killing them off.

Maves was now looking to him with a slight frown. "How did you get mixed up in this?"

Knoxx just shook his head wearily in response, and the warlord shrugged.

The creak of a door from mid-way down the corridor then drew their attention, and a familiar face looked out. He observed the group in silence for a long moment.

Knoxx forced a bland smile at his commander, who must've been sleeping lightly after his tangle with Sylvain.

"I don't even want to know," Flynn finally said, vanishing back into his room and slamming his door.

Knoxx exhaled heavily. While not the least bit happy with the circumstances, no longer would Flynn be offering any resistance to them. His confession of the truth several days earlier had at least accomplished this much.

It was some time before Oliveah finally reappeared, but her look of determination had only strengthened in her absence. She stepped into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind her, leaving the diviner alone within.

"Baiel," she began, catching the warlord's eye. "I believe the safest move is to leave Madi with you tonight. Tomorrow at Eighth," she went on, now glancing to Knoxx, "the mage will bring her to the northern docks."

Knoxx nodded.

She continued. "I'll have Sabian arrange passage beforehand, so getting her onboard will be the only obstacle."

"It won't be a problem," Knoxx told her confidently.

"Good."

"And you?" he asked her. "You can't return to your inn."

"I'll stay with Nathon," she said.

Oliveah's plan appeared amenable to all, and they broke up quickly. After she disappeared down the stairs with Nathon, Knoxx observed Baiel disappearing back into his room while the lone remaining warlord took up a stance at his door. Between the three of them, the mage had little doubt of Madilaine's safety throughout the night.

He retreated to his own quarters and shut himself within, thinking he'd never calm enough to find any sleep. Throwing himself onto his bed fully clothed, he drifted off in minutes.
Chapter 46

Taleb awoke to the feel of a hand on his chest, radiating a warm, tingling sensation. He opened his eyes and took in one of the Healers he'd come to recognize over the past day.

"You're completely healed," she announced with a gentle smile. "Fit to see out your final duel."

He nodded absently. Oliveah and Nathon had been with him for much of the previous evening, and informed him, much to his shock, that Kale had conquered over Baiel on the field. Suffice it to say he wasn't looking forward to facing the Jennite.

"How long until the match?" he asked, sitting up.

"Little more than an hour," she told him, handing him the pile of clothes Nathon had brought from their inn yesterday.

He moved experimentally, finding absolutely no after-effects of the wounds he'd taken. While requiring the efforts of a dozen master Healers, he felt in top form.

"You have visitors waiting to see you," she went on. "I'll give you a few minutes to dress before sending them in."

"Thank you," he nodded, getting to his feet.

The Healer smiled again then departed, closing the door behind her. Due to his questions the day before—after he'd finally regained consciousness—he knew himself to be about three blocks from the arena, inside the city infirmary which kept to scores of Healers. This being the week of the Challenge, they'd all been put on alert to expect emergencies, a circumstance he now had every reason to be thankful for.

He began dressing, stepping into his pants before reaching for his shirt. Shrugging it on, he then turned at hearing someone enter the room behind him. Expecting Oliveah or Nathon, he was surprised to find Baiel.

"How are your wounds?" the warlord greeted.

"Fully healed," Taleb replied.

Baiel nodded. "I can't stay long, but wanted to have a quick word with you about Kale before you took the field."

Taleb leaned back against the wall. "I was hoping it would be you and I in the end."

"By all rights it should've been."

"How did he defeat you?" Taleb asked, bewildered.

"Not by Magic, apparently, but there's definitely some sort of force at work about that man. I'd only fail at trying to name it, but there can be no other explanation."

Taleb sighed. "So how can I defend from what I can't predict?"

"You can't. That's what I came to tell you."

Taleb's eyebrows raised in question.

"What I'm saying," Baiel went on, "is don't let whatever this is distract you, because there's nothing you can do about it. Perhaps nothing strange will even occur today, for not all Kale's duels featured such inexplicable circumstances. Just concentrate on the fight. Nothing else."

Taleb snorted. "If he bested you, I've no hope at all."

Baiel shook his head, looking impatient. "He didn't best me because he was more skilled, although certainly he's not lacking in that area. If my sword hadn't snapped, and our duel properly finished, I would've taken him in the end."

Green eyes narrowed thoughtfully, Taleb cursed the fact that he'd been unconscious and unable to witness their fight. "Are you certain of that?" he asked. "From all I've heard, you were well-matched."

Baiel paused, seeming to consider, before responding. "Kale is almost frighteningly proficient," he finally said, "and what makes him so is his utter lack of discipline. His strikes and moves are completely unpredictable, and I say that as someone familiar with every fighting style known to the world. Kale follows none of these but rather a mix of them all, and what makes this particularly dangerous is his strength and speed. He's very strong, very fast, and in melding such assets to his unpredictable nature, he becomes nearly impossible to conquer."

Taleb regarded him humorlessly. "I hope this conversation wasn't meant to be motivational in nature."

Baiel smiled thinly. "Just remain focused on the fight, and never take your eyes from his sword. He'll finish you in less than a moment if you do."

Taleb nodded. "I appreciate the counsel."

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

"Remember you only have to survive this fight, not win it. I realize you had no choice but to do what you did with the Balshan, but there's one thing further I've determined about Kale."

"What's that?"

"I'm fairly certain he decides before the match who he's going to leave alive and who he's not. How he determines this I couldn't tell you, but not once throughout our fight did he give me reason to suspect his goal was to end my life."

Taleb found that interesting.

"Once your duel begins you should be able to discern for yourself, and quickly, his intentions toward you," Baiel went on. "You can then conduct yourself accordingly. Although allow me to remind you again; your goal here is to simply survive."

While Taleb might've scoffed at such advice earlier in the week, he wasn't going to argue with it now. With a new life awaiting him to the south, he saw no reason to regret landing at second standing in this year's Challenge rather than first. But Baiel was right; to survive, he would need to shelve his pride, particularly if Kale for some reason decided he needed to die.

"I understand," he told the warlord.

Baiel nodded, now looking anxious to be away. "We start for the keep this afternoon. I'll expect you at my inn by Tenth if you still intend to join us."

"Tenth," Taleb nodded, thinking. Presuming he outlived his last duel, this would still leave a few hours for Oliveah to at last render her decision to Nathon and himself. Suspecting which way that conversation was going to lean, he was both dreading it as well as just looking forward to having it over with.

He suddenly became aware of Baiel snapping his fingers in front of his face.

"Get the girl out of your head!" the warlord commanded. "You can deal with all that after the fight."

Taleb found himself half-annoyed and half-amused by the direction. "Right," he replied.

Baiel turned to the door. "Until Tenth, then. And Taleb—do not forget what day this is."

Taleb watched the other man leave, his parting words a grim reminder. Fifteenth-days were governed by Death, and it was no coincidence the final round of the Challenge always took place upon them. Almost without fail, throughout the entire history of the event, the last fight ended in the loser's demise. It was expected, by both the combatants and the audience, and Taleb suddenly felt very uneasy at knowing hundreds of people were at this moment wagering on whether he would live or die this day. And due to Kale's defeat of Baiel, it seemed unlikely many were betting in his favor.

Baiel was gone only a few minutes before Oliveah and Nathon made their expected appearance. To Taleb's eye they both looked tense, presumably because they believed Kale was going to slaughter him in less than an hour's time. Somewhat preoccupied with this thought himself, he forced a smile.

"You just missed Baiel," he told them, taking his sword from where it rested against the wall and sheathing it on his hip. "He came to deliver a bit of advice."

"We know," Oliveah said, "we were with him outside."

He took her in again. As strange as she'd been acting all week, this behavior had apparently reached its pinnacle today. The very feel about her seemed utterly foreign. He looked over at Nathon, who made a quick and subtle gesture against any inquiries.

Aiming to follow Baiel's advice by keeping his mind on the fight, Taleb shrugged off his questions and turned toward the door. They made a silent procession as they headed down the central, arched corridor to the main doors, finally emerging onto one of the city's lesser-traveled streets.

Taleb glanced about. "Are Madi and Sabian meeting us at the arena?" he asked, not seeing them.

"Sabian's seeing to some travel arrangements," Oliveah replied, moving along beside him. "Baiel's on his way back to Madi now."

Taleb decided to stop asking questions, as clearly Oliveah was incapable of giving straight answers today.

"Did they provide you breakfast in the infirmary?" she then asked, glancing over. "Or do you need to stop for something along the way?"

"I ate already," he lied, feeling much too jittery to even entertain the idea of food.

They came to the end of the street and rounded onto one much busier. Scores upon scores of people streamed toward the marketplace and forum, all intent on witnessing the final duel of the season. Taleb found himself unbothered by the size of the audience, until he again started speculating on how many of them were wagering on him being killed. Admittedly, he was beginning to view the games in a somewhat different light.

It took some time to push their way through the marketplace, even with those recognizing him as one of the day's combatants moving respectfully from his path. Many called out well-wishes and words of good fortune. Others were not so kind, issuing comments in regard to his imminent death. One of these men made the mistake of speaking such a statement in Oliveah's hearing, and she smacked him across the face even as she strode past.

Amused by the action, Taleb didn't comment and continued into the forum. The scene within was chaotic. The stands encircling the field were packed to absolute capacity and then some, with people spilling over into the aisles, the stairwells, and even grouped at the sidelines of the field. Mixed with the morning's already considerable heat and humidity, the air within was absolutely stifling, and Taleb suddenly found himself looking forward to taking the starting position for at least he'd be able to breathe out there with only Kale for close company. Although for how long he'd remain breathing was still largely in question.

With only minutes before the bell-ringer was to call him forth, he went against his better judgment and turned to Oliveah. Experience had taught him that exchanging words with her before a duel wasn't a good idea, only agitating her nervousness, but as he took her in now he was surprised to see not a shred of fear or apprehension. In fact, her eyes appeared utterly calm.

Noting his confusion, she smiled. "You've no reason to fear death this day. Now go finish this."

Only one circumstance could've prompted such words, and his mind landed on it instantly.

"Did Madi tell you this?" he asked.

Her smile turned strange. "She's the cause of the claim," she seemingly agreed.

Taleb decided not to push his luck by asking if Madi had seen him win the duel rather than just survive it. Unlikely as it seemed, he supposed anything was possible—perhaps Kale would trip and hand him an easy victory, for example. He supposed he'd find out soon enough. He further refrained from asking why Oliveah had waited until now to relay this information, presuming the delay was her revenge for all the stress he and Nathon had given her all week.

The first gong sounded, drawing his attention back to the field, and the crowd cheered wildly in response. Taleb exchanged quick looks with both Nathon and Oliveah before starting away to face the final duel with a considerably higher amount of confidence. Knowing he wasn't about to die certainly changed his outlook on the matter.

Moving toward the bell-ringer at mid-field, the audience cheered a boisterous greeting. Reaching the starting position, he then turned and watched Kale's approach from the southern end. The man's stride was unhurried and casual, his typical style. Continuing to observe him, Taleb quickly replayed Baiel's advice.

Never take your eyes from his sword.

This seemed the most pertinent instruction, and he aimed to keep it at the forefront of his thoughts.

Kale drew to a halt a few paces from him and regarded him mildly.

Taleb raised his sword, taking the starting position.

Kale did likewise, crossing their blades.

The bell-ringer retreated a few paces and then paused dramatically as the crowd hushed in anticipation. After a long moment, he gonged the bell.

Neither of them so much as twitched.

Eyes locked on each other, Taleb couldn't speak for Kale, but a very strange sensation had now descended over him, leaving him uncertain of whether he could even move. The feeling was akin to being underwater, the outlying sounds of the crowd now distant, dull and muted.

"I remember you, you know," Kale said.

Taleb felt himself nod. "From Tyrell. I remember you too, rotting away in a jail cell."

Kale smiled. "Yet still worthy of a threat."

"I didn't approve of your scheme to have Madi fund your release."

"Rather naïve, isn't she?"

Taleb's eyes narrowed, his mind working quickly. He was only distantly aware of how bizarre this must be appearing to the audience; he and Kale still holding themselves to the starting position, their blades crossed before them as they spoke.

"You were also present at the Tulan ball," Taleb finally went on. "It seems trouble's determined to follow you."

"That's certainly true," Kale agreed, "and if you're implying the scene at the ranch was somehow my doing, you're probably right. Chances are, it had very much to do with me."

Surprised by the admission, Taleb paused again. "And the lightning, the bee, the warlord's broken sword?"

Kale shrugged, looking amused.

Taleb felt a flash of fury. "How are you doing it?" he demanded. "If not by Magic, how?"

The other man's smile faded slightly but his dark gaze retained its mirth as Taleb kept their gazes locked for what seemed an interminably long time.

Finally Kale moved. With his right arm still holding his weapon outstretched, his left rose slowly up to his neck. By-passing his Birth medallion of Chaos, he reached for his Secondary and flipped it.

Taleb's eyes dropped and stared, even as all those peculiar circumstances suddenly fell into a perfect yet terrible sort of sense. Kale wasn't possessed of Magic, nor was he mad, as those two identical medallions might've otherwise implied.

Rydin Kale was Chaos incarnate.

Taleb dragged his gaze from those two silver circles and met the Jennite's unwavering stare again. "You crazy son of a bitch," he said.

The last thing he saw, before his vision exploded in light and then fell into darkness, was Kale laughing as his sword arm came down in a blindingly fast blur of motion.
Chapter 47

After issuing a sharp command for Nathon to stay where he was, Oliveah bolted onto the field and rapidly closed in on the two men at its center. She cast Taleb only the briefest of glances as she raced past; sprawled over the grass, with a deep gash in his forehead oozing blood, it was nevertheless clear he was merely unconscious. He'd awake with a savage headache, no doubt, but such would prove an easy fix for the Healers.

Slowing, she neared Kale, who was watching her curiously. He then appeared to interpret her presence as concern for Taleb.

"He'll be fine," he assured her.

"I know," she replied. "I'm friend to Madi, and she spoke to me of your oath."

He took that in and nodded.

Out of the corner of her eye she now saw Devlin approaching, coming from the royal seating. Little question he was seeking an explanation for Taleb and Kale's strange behavior, as was everyone present, Oliveah included, but that would have to wait. She waved an impatient hand in the jester's direction, a signal for him to keep his distance, although whether he'd adhere she couldn't know.

"Madi's in trouble," she then said, eyes again on Kale.

He appeared mildly interested. "How so?"

"She performed a reading for the prince, and now King DeSiva's placed a price of two hundred gold on her head. I've made arrangements to see her from the city, but fear the assassins hunting her may follow." She paused briefly. "I would ask you to go with her and act as her guard."

He looked surprised. "Why me?"

"You just won the Challenge. Little fear your protection will prove lacking." Actually, this was only one of the reasons. The other was something she should've realized days ago.

Danetria Savannon told Madi that some of the connections meant to happen during the week of Ardin's Pride in Tyrell had been missed, and would now form in Aralexia. Rydin Kale had been present in both cities, and remained the only unaccounted thread so far as Oliveah could see. Devlin, Knoxx, Baiel, Sabian, Flynn Fajen—all had been in Tyrell, and all now drawn into this strange web. Somehow, and for reasons she couldn't name, it seemed Kale was also part of it; and truly, there'd be none more fearsome to act as Madi's guardian as she and Sabian sought out the legendary Ruby Stone.

Moreover, and strangely enough, she'd come to this conclusion before Madi relayed Kale's promise not to kill Taleb, which had only strengthened her conviction. Still, she hadn't spoken her intentions to the diviner the night before, simply stating she'd be at the docks with this person when the time came.

She observed Kale still regarding her silently, and wondered what she'd do if he refused the task.

"You'll be well compensated for your efforts," she then told him, thinking perhaps this was what he waited for.

"I just won a prize of five hundred gold," he returned. "What makes you think a bribe will entice me?"

Oliveah frowned. "Not even an offer for that same sum?"

This was a staggering amount of money. More than most people would see in a lifetime, in fact. But Oliveah was confident the Savannon coffers could offer it without trouble.

Kale was now laughing softly. "And you have access to those sorts of funds?"

"Madi does. She is a Savannon, you know."

He began nodding, his smile still in place. "I'm aware of that, yes."

Impatient, Oliveah shot a look over her shoulder. Devlin appeared to be giving her the time she needed, but the look he aimed at her made it clear he wouldn't be able to stall much longer.

She looked back to Kale. "Will you do it?"

He appeared contemplative. "I trust your goal is to get her free of Dhanen'Mar completely?"

"Yes. Your destination is Gaitlin." This was information she'd received from Sabian just this morning. Gaitlin lay across the sea, on the western continent.

"I've been there," he replied with a nod. "For how long is my protection to last?"

Oliveah paused, wording her response carefully. "There's an item Madi must retrieve from Gaitlin. The recovery may be dangerous, yet another reason I find you a perfect fit for this errand. Once it's collected, return her to Dhanen'Mar, to the city of Kohtala precisely."

He frowned faintly. "Destiny's home city?"

"That's right. Bring her back safely, with the item, and you'll receive your five hundred gold."

He continued to appear skeptical. "What is this item?"

Oliveah didn't want to get into that, nor did she have the time to do so. "Madi will explain," she told him.

He shrugged again. "Very well, I accept. Consider my sword yours."

She released a relieved breath and began a backward retreat, waving at the Healers on the sidelines to come and see to Taleb. "Be at the northern docks in an hour," she called to Kale.

"I expect to be arrested long before that," he returned.

Still backing away, she sent him a frown. "You just won the Challenge! Fight your way out if you have to!"

He grinned and tipped her a salute with his sword. "As the lady commands."

A pair of Healers had now reached Taleb, and considering they'd brought him back from the very brink of death just the day before, she didn't think it would be long before he was up and about. She paused and watched the man and woman kneel on the grass next to him.

Devlin had closed in and was now speaking to Kale, but she was no longer close enough to overhear their conversation. She imagined the jester was demanding some sort of answer to the bizarre finale of the Challenge, but Kale appeared to be stonewalling, simply shrugging and speaking in clipped, one-word answers. Finally Devlin turned away, exasperated, and grabbed hold of his arm.

"Rydin Kale, this year's champion!" he bellowed.

The reactions of the crowd proved a mixed bag, which was unsurprising. Few liked to see a foreigner take the final prize, but it happened occasionally, and at the very least Kale had provided much entertainment this week. Consequently, there seemed an equal amount of cheers as there were hisses and boos.

Kale was now loudly demanding his gold, which was brought to him by an escort of two knights. He took the sack, sketched a mockingly elegant bow in the direction of the king, and then started off the field.

Devlin watched him go, then glanced at Oliveah. Their shared look was fleeting, but bespoke their victory here today. Through their combined efforts, Taleb, Nathon, and Madi remained alive, with all soon to be safely away from the royal city. Somehow, they'd succeeded.

Looking away, Oliveah saw Taleb was already stirring, his head wound fading under the powerful influence of the master Healers. She waited while they questioned him, asking things such as his name and what day it was. Satisfied with his responses, the Healers retreated, and she moved to kneel down next to him as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Damn Kale, that sneaky bastard!" he exploded, glancing about. "Where is he?"

"He's already taken his gold and gone," Oliveah said, eyeing him.

Taleb muttered under his breath and made a move to get to his feet. She took hold of his arm to help, but he appeared steady as he straightened.

"How's your head?" she asked quickly.

"Fine. It'll be better once we're away from this forum."

Oliveah kept quiet as they started toward the exit. Nathon didn't join them, as she'd warned him not to. She needed this time to talk to Taleb, a prospect now made worse by his obviously foul mood. But it was time, and the choice had been made for her—ironically the very thing she'd once requested of Destiny.

Neither spoke as they threaded their way through the marketplace and into the streets. A few blocks from the arena was a small park, and Oliveah steered them in this direction. At the center of the lawns sat a massive stone fountain, sculpted in the shape of a giant butterfly, and next to it a bench. She sank onto it gratefully, feeling the stirrings of panic. She truly didn't want to do this, and had no idea how to begin. Tortured, she struggled for the right words.

Taleb lowered himself next to her and looked over. "Don't twist yourself up, Oliveah. I know you're leaving with Nathon."

She took him in, her vision beginning to blur. Horribly, she was forced to admit—to herself, at least—that she still couldn't say whether this was the decision she would've made had she not learned the deeper truth of Taleb this week.

"Taleb, this is the way it must be," she started, feeling one of her tears start to fall. "One day you'll understand, I promise you." If only she could explain to him why; but that account would come soon enough, and not from her. That task, she presumed, would fall to Devlin Alvik.

"It's because I'm leaving for Lutarre Keep, isn't it?" he asked, not seeming to have heard her comments.

She was quiet a moment, thinking. Would it be better to send him away believing this the reason? Truly, it wasn't a complete lie, as his time with the warlords was to be just the first step of his long-overdue journey.

"In part," she finally murmured, before meeting his eyes levelly. "I just feel it's time you followed the path of your Destiny, as you've always longed to. And you need to be free to do that."

"I had hoped you'd be a part of that Destiny, not find it the very reason not to be."

"I'm sorry," she said, closing her eyes as two more tears fell.

There was a long silence before he spoke again, getting to his feet as he did so.

"You've made your choice, Oliveah. I accept it and won't guilt you for it. You know I love you and only want your happiness, and if Nathon can provide that, then of course I wish all my blessings and good fortune upon you. And I'll always be there should either of you ever need me."

She stared up at him, her tears flowing faster now, before rising and falling against him. He held her tightly for a time, and it took all her willpower to finally pull away, but she had little choice. Her responsibilities of the day were far from over.

"I must get to the northern docks," she managed, wiping the wetness from her cheeks.

"Why?"

Seeing no reason not to, she quickly explained Madi now had a price on her head, handed down by the king himself, and how the situation had come about.

Taleb was astounded. "Is this why you were acting so strange this week?"

"For the most part," she said, not holding his eyes.

"All right, I'll bring you to the docks and ensure she and Sabian make it away safely."

She nodded and quickly led the way back into the streets, deciding to leave out mention of Kale for now; it was questionable whether Taleb would be pleased to encounter him again, and so soon after their odd confrontation on the field. It remained on the tip of her tongue to request an explanation for their peculiar exchange, but she ultimately found herself unwilling to risk darkening Taleb's mood further.

With most of the local populace enjoying the revelry of the Challenge's end, the docks, Oliveah saw upon arrival, were nearly deserted. She didn't yet see Kale, but Sabian was precisely where he was supposed to be, awaiting her over by the slips.

She and Taleb drew up next to him. "Madi and Knoxx?" she asked in greeting.

Sabian shook his head. "If they're here, they've not announced themselves to me."

Oliveah hoped this didn't imply anything worrisome. "Did you have any trouble booking passage?"

"None." He gestured to a large vessel docked nearby. "I purchased fare for two upon this ship, which will take us to the coast in Fortunia."

"Two?" Taleb frowned. "I thought Madi needed to remain hidden until they changed ships."

Oliveah paused slightly before answering. "The second fare is for her guard."

"And who's that?"

"That would be me."

All three turned as Kale drew up behind them, and Oliveah braced for Taleb's reaction.

At first, he appeared bewildered. Then he rounded on her furiously. "You can't be serious! Him? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking he's Madi's best chance of remaining alive," she snapped back, just as heatedly.

Taleb looked at her a moment, glanced at Kale, and then back to her again. "I really don't think he's a wise choice for this, Oliveah. He's—"

"Taleb, please!" she cut him off. "I've given the matter much thought, and believe he is the wisest choice. So leave it be!"

His expression turned hard, and the Jennite grinned at him in a manner Oliveah didn't particularly understand.

"Fine then," Taleb said, backing up a step. "I did my best to warn you."

Before she could reply, Kale pulled his sword and spun about. "Show yourself," he commanded, seemingly into the stacks of crates waiting to be loaded onto a nearby ship.

Oliveah and Taleb exchanged a startled glance, and she looked back to see a tall, black-haired man move into view from between the stacks.

"Callan!" Kale called, lowering his weapon. "Have you been in Aralexia all week? Why didn't you seek me out?"

The man named Callan was stepping nearer. Another Jennite, she was noting his medallions of Death and Commerce as he replied. "I meant to," he said, stopping before Kale, "but events have kept me rather busy."

Kale gave a dry laugh. "In this city, that's hardly surprising."

"Fortunately," the black-haired Jennite went on, "not too busy to make a generous wager on you in the games. I'm happy to report you just made me a tidy little fortune."

This seemed to neither please nor bother Kale. "So what are you doing here specifically? If I recall, you despise sea travel."

Callan shrugged. "Looking for a mark. Their crackpot king is offering two hundred gold for some witch's head. No one's had eyes on her yet, so I figured she might try sneaking off by ship."

Kale's sword was a blur of motion, settling at the man's throat.

"Unfortunately for you," he said with a dark smile, "I've been hired to protect that witch."

Callan's hands rose, but amazingly, he retained his poise. "Perhaps you should've let me finish, then," he remarked humorlessly.

"Speak," Kale said, not lowering his weapon.

Oliveah used this time to shoot Taleb a pointed look, which he didn't appear to appreciate in the slightest.

"As I was saying," the man named Callan continued, "I'm here on orders to stop anyone trying to kill her. Relax, Rydin," he smiled, "we're not on opposite sides of this."

Devlin, Oliveah realized. This man, Callan, must work for him. And if Devlin sent him to intercept any pursuing assassins, chances were Callan was an assassin himself.

Kale was now lowering his weapon.

"I'm leaving with her," he said, sheathing his sword. "But if you want to be helpful, go and keep an eye about the entrance."

"Certainly," Callan replied. Turning back, he then vanished into the stacks as abruptly as he'd appeared.

Oliveah was now aware of Sabian looking at Kale somewhat askance. "I imagine this will be interesting," he murmured, seemingly to himself.

She was about to ask him what he meant by that when a familiar voice hailed her.

"Oliveah, we're here," Madi said, sounding just paces away. "What's Rydin doing here?" she then added curiously.

"He's your protection," Oliveah explained. "Knoxx?"

"Yes?"

"Any problems?"

"No. Well, Baiel wasn't happy with my refusal to allow him along, but he relented after I explained his presence would only bring unwanted attention," the mage said.

Oliveah nodded. "All right, then. Sabian, Rydin, prepare to board. Knoxx will bring Madi along after you."

Realizing she'd not forewarned him Madi would be invisible, nor made any mention of Sabian at all, Kale appeared to be taking the situation in stride. With a final, peculiar grin at Taleb, who glared warningly in return, he started for the ship. Sabian followed, murmuring quietly to himself.

"Farewell Madi, and much luck. I'll meet you in Kohtala at your return."

"Good-bye Oliveah," the diviner's voice drifted back. "And thank you."

Oliveah watched Sabian and the Jennite make their way up the plank and onto the ship, where they were quickly met by the captain. A moment later they vanished from view, taken below to their quarters.

Oliveah waited, and it was nearly ten minutes before the voice of the mage came again.

"She's onboard," he reported.

"Thank you, Knoxx," she told him sincerely. "For all you've done this week."

There came a pause. "Certainly," he then replied in an easy tone. "Good luck to you, Oliveah. And to you, Taleb."

"Good-bye, Knoxx," she said.

It was almost an hour before the ship carrying Madi, Sabian, and Rydin Kale started away. Oliveah insisted on staying until it vanished from sight, and then she and Taleb started slowly back into the streets.

After a block, she drew to a pause, unable to draw this out even a moment longer than necessary. The longer she remained in his presence, the harder it was to face the reality of watching him go.

He stopped beside her and took her in.

"Go now, Taleb," she said, forcing out the words. "Know that I love you, but you have to go."

"Hearing that doesn't exactly make this easier."

"I know," she said, dropping her head. "I'm sorry."

When several moments passed with no reply, she opened her eyes and looked up. He was gone.

The sudden ache in her chest was agony, and she fought against the despair threatening to overtake her. Trembling in grief, she started blindly away, wiping away the errant tears as she headed toward her inn.

She continued to fight for control with every step, knowing Nathon was waiting for her at The Green Rose, where she needed to collect her own belongings as well as Madi's before departing. After receiving word of the diviner's safe escape, Nathon would then go to say his own farewells to Taleb and the warlords before he and Oliveah started for home.

As she moved, she tried to keep her focus on the vineyard and the peaceful existence it promised, finding only moderate success. Finally rounding onto the block where she'd find her inn, her tears had dried and her limbs no longer trembled, although she felt she'd need to be wary of where her thoughts were permitted to wander for the next while, lest her distress reemerge. She drew in several deep, calming breaths, and forced a serene expression.

It was then she noticed the commotion occurring about her inn. A swarm of Justice officers were moving in a constant flow to and from its main doors, with further officers restraining the gathering crowd. It seemed they weren't allowing anyone to enter or leave the building.

Oliveah stopped dead, staring at the scene while her mind fought to find the meaning of it. Obviously, some manner of serious crime had been committed. Her body seemed to understand before she did, and she felt herself start trembling again.

Where's Nathon?

"NATHON!" she screamed, just before she felt hands latch onto her.

"I'm here, Oliveah. I'm fine."

Her panicked gaze focused on him and she deflated with mind-shattering relief. "What happened?" she demanded, glancing back at the inn. The surrounding crowd continued to grow as others came forth, seeking the same answer.

When Nathon didn't respond, she looked back at him. His expression chilled her.

"Nathon, what it is?" she insisted, her panic spiking anew.

"Oliveah...."

"Tell me!"

His eyes were pained, brimming with sympathy, as he answered. "Someone forced their way into yours and Madi's room."

Her eyes widened. "An assassin?"

"That's my presumption." He paused, his next words an obvious torment. "Reavis came upon whoever it was, probably thinking him a thief."

"Reavis?" she repeated stupidly.

"He's dead, Oliveah. I'm sorry."

Life itself seemed to pause for a moment, and then the torrent of anguish broke.

Reavis? Dead?

That just couldn't be—none loved life more than Reavis, none deserved this fate less than him. And then came the crushing guilt, knowing she'd devoted all her energies this week into protecting the lives of Taleb, Nathon and Madi, while barely acknowledging the presence of this man who'd been one of her dearest friends, her musical partner, for more than seven years.

But he was the one who had died, it was his life that had been taken, despite having no connection at all to these secrets and plots she'd been trying so desperately to wade through. She'd given no thought at all to his safety, and for that he was dead. She would never forgive herself, and in that instant vowed to have nothing more to do with this terrible, horrific business.

Distantly, she realized she'd fallen to the ground, that Nathon was beside her, trying to break through her hysteria so she would speak to him. She reached out and grabbed a hold of him.

"What can I do, Oliveah?" he asked.

"Take me home, Nathon," she sobbed, staring at the hideous scene before her. "Just take me home."

The

Legends of Dhanen'Mar

continues in:

Volume 2

Tides of Fortune

The Legends of Dhanen'Mar

Auguries of Dawn

Tides of Fortune

Veils of Destiny: A Threads of Fate Novella

Shadows of Illusion: A Threads of Fate Novella

Web of Portents

Shades of Death: A Threads of Fate Novella

Sea of Omens: A Threads of Fate Novella

Path of Stars

Seeds of Betrayal: A Threads of Fate Novella

Legacy of Blood: A Threads of Fate Novella

Dreams of Mist: A Threads of Fate Novella

Binds of Fate

Coils of Eternity: A Threads of Fate Novella

Tangle of Thorns: A Threads of Fate Novella

Trail of Masks: A Threads of Fate Novella

Labyrinth of Myths

Crown of Thieves: A Threads of Fate Novella

Echoes of Infinity: A Threads of Fate Novella

Flames of Prophecy*

*forthcoming

The Patrons Extended Index

The following is a brief overview of the most common lifestyles and occupations of those born to each Patron within Dhanen'Mar. The exceptions are the members of the clergy, who serve at the temples of their Patrons. These are the only men and women who traditionally do not chose a Secondary, so as to not dilute their devotion to their Birth Patron. Some will instead choose to double their fortune, risking madness, although this is rare. In most cases, members of the clergy are chosen to replace an existing Patron, elevated to this status at the time of death.

Justice – Historically, all Dhan'Marian kings are born to this Patron. For lesser men, many choose to join the Legion of Justice, persons devoted to upholding the laws of the realm all throughout Dhanen'Mar. Other positions can include political officers, such as mayors of cities or small towns, as well as jailors or even torturers. There is no common Secondary for those born to this Patron, but it is often chosen as a Secondary by those born to War and Magic.

Harvest – Farmers and planters of every variety are born to this Patron. Women bearing a Harvest Birth medallion are often regarded as excellent breeders, and commonly produce large, healthy families. It is for this reason that men and women born to Harvest often seek each other for marriage and find great success in what each bring to the union. A common Secondary is Commerce.

War – Those born to War are generally regarded with great reservation, for they retain few professional options within Dhanen'Mar. Many, not long after birth, are delivered to or abandoned at the warlords' keep. There, they are taken in, raised and trained in whichever manner they show a proclivity. Many of the young men are gifted with the sword, and grow to become warlords themselves. Others, showing no talent in this, will serve the keep in other ways, perhaps as cooks, stablemen, or forgers of weapons.

Female children born to War and taken to the keep often end up seeing to the day to day running of the city, as well as eventually serving as wet nurses to other abandoned children. Often they are wed to the warlords, at which time their service is retired and they are free to devote their lives to their family. Occasionally, one will appear with a talent for fighting, and be trained no differently than the men.

For those born to War who do not seek out the warlord's keep, they will most commonly pursue other positions prone to violence. Many join with the knights of the royal guard, if possessed of enough skill, while others seek master-at-arms positions within the estate houses of Dhanen'Mar's highborn society.

Common Secondary medallions for those born to War include Justice, Travelers, Destiny, and Death. It is commonly chosen as a Secondary by those born to Justice and Death.

Travelers – Children born to this Patron are often thought to have a halfway chance at a fair life. While much success can be found in the occupation of seamen or traveling merchant, with these men and women often backing themselves with Commerce, many born to Travelers fall into becoming highwaymen or fugitives.

It is thought much luckier, however, to have Travelers as a Secondary Patron, and so it is common to be chosen by many born to Justice, Arts, Commerce, Healing and Thieves.

Harmony – Those born to Harmony generally fall into two categories; those who travel to its home city of Permaidien as soon as they are old enough, and those who back themselves with the Patron of the Arts and become musicians.

Of the first group, little is known but that they all select Healing as their Secondary. The city of Harmony is rumored to be most tranquil, and does not allow entrance to anyone not born to this Patron. This includes those who choose it as a Secondary, for those are generally attempting only to bring Harmony to their primary. It is chosen frequently by those born to Chaos, Healing, Love, and Arts.

Revenge – One of the most-feared birthing-days, it is a guarantee that one born to Revenge will be met with some form of injustice that they'll be unwilling to overcome without seeing vengeance done. These men and women tend to have quick tempers and a general disregard for the law.

Many, however, will choose Justice in an attempt to circumvent whatever unfortunate circumstance is likely heading their way.

Others choose Travelers or Destiny in hopes Fate will lead them to their life's purpose of Revenge.

Revenge is not a popular choice for a Secondary, but nor is it completely uncommon. Those born to all other Patrons have been known to choose it at one time or another throughout history.

Destiny – Those born to Destiny tend to garner either extreme good or ill fortune throughout their lives. Some, with training, become diviners, able to read the fortunes of others. Those born to Destiny are generally immovable in their belief that there is a purpose behind everything, are great risk-takers for they believe Fate is on their side, and genuinely want to help others discover their life's path.

There is no common Secondary for those born to Destiny, with the exception of diviners, who will typically choose Chaos as a way of conquering that which has the power to skew their foreseeing powers.

Those born to War, Healing, Commerce and Magic often choose Destiny as their Secondary, but it is a popular choice to back with any other Patron.

Commerce – It is almost certain a child born to Commerce will do well in the area of making coin. It is not, however, an immediate cause for celebration, for many born to this Patron fall into the traps of greed, ambition, and indulgence. It is therefore encouraged that these men and women back themselves with Harmony, although most ultimately choose Harvest or Destiny.

It is very common for those born to Thieves to choose Commerce as their secondary, as well as those born to Harvest and Arts.

Thieves – Having a son or daughter born on this day is never acknowledged well. Often, these children, like those born to War and Death, are abandoned and left for dead.

For those who survive, they will ultimately register with the Thieves Guild, of which there are numerous sects. Different sects are based in the fifteen different cities across the country, although some prefer a solitary life and spend most of their days on the road. Occasionally, these men and women will check into a city and report their recent business to the sect leader. It is most common for Thieves to choose Commerce as their Secondary, although those who prefer to work alone, almost without fail, choose Travelers. Destiny is another popular choice.

For those few who decide to make Thieves their Secondary, it is a choice typically not easily revealed.

Chaos – Those born to Chaos generally find themselves spinning recklessly through life. Their existence is never dull, acting as both a magnet and a catalyst to extreme situations, both positive and negative in nature. These people despise making plans, for rarely do events ever play out accordingly, and are forced to live their lives a day at a time. They are unfavorable choices for any kind of work, since bizarre and sometimes dangerous circumstances tend to follow them.

It is a rare exception that one born to Chaos will not choose Harmony as their Secondary, in an attempt to create balance in their existence. A few braver souls have chosen Destiny, and a few Commerce.

Chaos is not a popular choice for a secondary. With the exception of powerful diviners, it is rarely selected.

Healing – While many born to this Patron gather and train in their home city of Coeo, Healers station themselves all about the country to be of the most aid. Typical choices for a Secondary are Harmony, Destiny, and Magic.

Those born to Magic often choose Healing, as well as those born to the Patrons of Harvest and Harmony.

Arts – Performers of all varieties are born to this Patron. Actors, singers, musicians, dancers, tumblers, and artists will all congregate in cities or travel the roads in their companies. Once a year the city of the Arts holds a week-long grand festival, known as Ardin's Pride, where people from all across the country, and born to every Patron, will travel to partake in.

Often those born to the Arts will select Commerce as their choice Patron. Travelers, Destiny, and Love are also common choices.

Love – Those born to Love will, with all surety, be lucky in all matters of the heart. These are the people who generally have decades-long, happy marriages.

There is no discernible pattern to what those born to the Patron of Love choose as their Secondary, and just as wide-spread is the variety of those who pick it as their choice Patron.

Magic – The home city of Magic lies upon the Isle of Venaris Sheea, and one must be born to Magic to dwell there. Unlike the other Patrons, a mage's Secondary becomes common knowledge once he or she chooses it, and there are few options which are acceptable. These include Justice, Harmony, Destiny, Healing, and Magic. Any other selection will see a mage exiled forever from their Isle.

It is also the mages who most commonly run the risk of insanity, or of doubling their power, by backing Magic with Magic. At least half go mad.

For anyone born of another Patron but who chooses Magic, they are not thought of well or accepted by the true mages. They will, however, typically gain some power by making this choice, and those born to all the other Patrons have been known, at one time or another, to choose Magic.

Death – Most feared as a birthing-day, being born to Death can be a dark omen in many ways. Often times, these children will not live to adulthood, taken by sickness or accident. Of those who do survive, the shadow of their Patron will often dictate their profession. Many become grave-diggers or undertakers. Others make Death their business in another way, becoming skilled assassins.

Few are comfortable in the presence of those born to Death, and the populace will occasionally work to run these people out of their cities and towns. The warlords, however, are always willing to take on one born to Death, so long as he or she has chosen War as their Secondary. For this reason, many born to this Patron ultimately make their way to the warlords keep.

Death is commonly chosen as a Secondary by those born to War.

# Character Index

Oliveah Oslund

Arts/Destiny

Dhan'Marian

Singer and harpist for The Moriss Tipley Troupe of performers. The daughter of a minor lord who owns a prosperous vineyard on the outskirts of Tyrell.

Madilaine Savannon

Destiny/Unrevealed

Dhan'Marian

Diviner for The Moriss Tipley Troupe of performers. Descended from a long line of women all born to Destiny, many of whom become powerful diviners. Her family line of Savannon is one of the most powerful in the country.

Reagan Maves

Revenge/Revenge

Dhan'Marian

Taken by Jennite raiders at the age of eight, she now seeks vengeance against the man she believes wholly responsible, King Redgar DeSiva. Sister of Baiel.

Rydin Kale

Chaos/Unrevealed

Jennite

Purpose for being in Dhanen'Mar unknown.

Flynn Fajen

Thieves/Revenge

Cejan

Exiled from his native country of Ceja, he's now been the commander of Dhanen'Mar's Thieves network for the past four years. Resides in the Thieves' home city of Corbit's Canyon.

Knoxx Alvik

Magic/Thieves

Dhan'Marian

A mage exiled from Venaris Sheea after choosing Thieves as his Secondary. His mage-power is the ability to become invisible, a skill he puts to good use while thieving. Resides in the Thieves' home city of Corbit's Canyon.

Tishan Ravare

Thieves/Unrevealed

Dhan'Marian

A skilled thief and close companion of Knoxx and Flynn. Resides in the Thieves' home city of Corbit's Canyon.

Nathon Wythe

War/Harvest

Dhan'Marian

Slave belonging to the Oslunds, nearing the completion of his decade-long term of service. Master-at-arms, along with Taleb, at the Oslund vineyard.

Taleb Okin

War/Destiny

Dhan'Marian

Slave belonging to the Oslunds, nearing the completion of his decade-long term of service. Master-at-arms, along with Nathon, at the Oslund vineyard.

Devlin Alvik

Arts/Justice

Dhan'Marian

Brother of Knoxx, lives in Aralexia, the home city of Justice.

Reavis Bohmer

Arts/Travelers

Dhan'Marian

Singer for the Moriss Tipley Troupe of performers. Close friend of Oliveah and Madilaine.

Sabian Reif

Death/Destiny

Dhan'Marian

Has the ability to see and communicate with ghosts. Born to a noble house but one looked down upon for often being afflicted by the Patron of Death.

Baiel Maves

War/Not Chosen

Dhan'Marian

A warlord of Lutarre Keep possessing unparalleled skill with a sword. Brother of Reagan.

Callan Ashe

Death/Commerce

Jennite

Assassin. Friend and occasional companion of Rydin Kale.

King Redgar DeSiva

Justice/Unrevealed

Dhan'Marian

Reigning king of Dhanen'Mar. Has slowly been falling into madness these past several years. Father of Prince Luken.

Prince Luken DeSiva

Justice/Harmony

Dhan'Marian

Reigning prince of Dhanen'Mar. Sole heir to the throne.

Dusan Galaz

Justice/Love

Dhan'Marian

Seneschal of the king the past three decades. Member of the royal council.

Cadien Stavrakos

Commerce/Justice

Dhan'Marian

Treasurer of all royal finances. Member of the royal council.

Valerio Catala

Justice/Commerce

Dhan'Marian

Commander of the Legion of Justice. Member of the royal council.

Richert Poage

Justice/War

Dhan'Marian

Captain of the king's royal guard. Member of the royal council.

Moriss Tipley

Arts/Commerce

Dhan'Marian

Proprietor of the Moriss Tipley Troupe. Troupe master of Oliveah, Madilaine, Reavis.

Beran Tulan

Commerce/Unrevealed

Dhan'Marian

Nobleman and family patriarch of his line. Lives in Tyrell. Father of Risane and Myron.

Myron Tulan

Commerce/Justice

Dhan'Marian

Heir to the Tulan ranch and estate. Son of Beran, brother of Risane.

Risane Tulan

Love/Commerce

Dhan'Marian

Daughter of Beran, sister of Myron.

Guerin Reif

Death/Healing

Dhan'Marian

Patriarch of the Reif line. Father of Eugan, uncle of Sabian and Mila. Close friend of Ean Oslund.

Mila Reif

Death/Healing

Dhan'Marian

Niece of Guerin, cousin of Sabian and Eugan.

Ean Oslund

Harvest/Arts

Dhan'Marian

Owns a prosperous vineyard on the city limits of Tyrell. Husband of Lyllyn, father of Oliveah, Navalee, and Deakin. Owner of Taleb Okin and Nathon Wythe.

Lyllyn Oslund

Arts/Love

Dhan'Marian

Wife of Ean, mother of Oliveah, Navalee, and Deakin. A renowned singer in the days before her marriage.

Navalee Oslund

Justice/Unrevealed

Dhan'Marian

Daughter of Ean and Lyllyn, sister of Oliveah and Deakin.

Deakin Oslund

Harvest/Not Chosen

Dhan'Marian

Son of Ean and Lyllyn, brother of Oliveah and Navalee

Villian Anand

Magic/Destiny

Dhan'Marian

Mage of Venaris Sheea. Pyromancer.

Synna Dacyn

Magic/Healing

Dhan'Marian

Mage of Venaris Sheea. Waterdancer.

Sury Nye

Magic/Thieves

Gailish, age 26 at death

Long-dead thief, most remembered for his rare combination of Patrons as well as for his heist of the jewels of the Swythe Island, gems undiscovered to this day.

Gaiden Rojek

War/Death

Dhan'Marian

Captain of the warlords of Lutarre Keep.

Qyn Rojek

War/Not Chosen

Dhan'Marian

Warlord-in-training at Lutarre Keep.

Brother Jord Rynor

War/Not Chosen

Dhan'Marian

A clergyman of the Patron Stahl, stationed within the temple at Lutarre Keep.

Corbit Perl

Thieves/Thieves

Dhan'Marian

Infamous thief who performed a heist of the canyon still bearing his name. Became the next Patron of Thieves at the time of his death, a station he served for many decades.

Danetria Savannon

Destiny/Chaos

Dhan'Marian

The most powerful living diviner of the Savannon clan. Great-grandmother of Madilaine, grandmother of Serena and Eward. Resides in Destiny's home city of Kohtala.

Serena Savannon

Destiny/Chaos

Dhan'Marian

Diviner living in Kohtala. Aunt of Madilaine, sister of Eward, granddaughter of Danetria.

Yalla Zvan

Healing/Thieves

Dhan'Marian

Healer dwelling in Corbit's Canyon.

Geves Corth

War/Death

Dhan'Marian

Warlord at Lutarre Keep

Yuri Filbon

War/Justice

Dhan'Marian

Warlord at Lutarre Keep

Gliddion Xaz

Death/War

Balshan

Participant in the games of the King's Challenge

Prince Keim Maeda

Justice/Travelers

Navosi

Participant in the games of the King's Challenge, last-born prince of Navosa

Aris Sylvain

Thieves/Unrevealed

Dhan'Marian

Challenged Flynn Fajen for the command of the country's Thieves network four years ago and lost.

The Music of Dhanen'Mar

"Angus and the Swan", sung by Oliveah at her family's vineyard and then later during the King's Challenge, is a real song written and performed by the band Leaves' Eyes.

To hear the song, click here

Lyrics printed with permission by

Liv Kristine Espenaes Krull/Leaves' Eyes.

Connect With the Author

Email

Website

Sign up for the author's newsletter to be

notified of new releases!

 Sign up!
