Winter

Chapter Five: The 11th Hour

by Bill Smith

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Two weeks had passed uneventfully. For the most part. Olrick had been found the day after Lia started her search, and persuading him had been an easy task: she'd offered him money. As soon as Olrick agreed to come, they both set out for Althorien. Bolthorn, Borim, and Aleya had gone to Black Cliff, a town on the edge of the Highlands plateau, just above Kranthae (Swampwood). They would wait there until Lia arrived, then all four of them would travel to Tranoth.

Time was running short, and Lia hoped that they'd find the Rose in time.

"What's the word on the streets?" Lia asked the bartender as he poured their drinks. "How close is the Minion?"

The bartender shrugged. "Dunno," he said. "But General Jerik and his troops left a week ago, and none of them have returned yet. Even Prince Daren went with them."

"What? Why?"

The big man shrugged. "Just a kid, too. I suppose the king thought their defense would be successful. Five thousand troops against a hundred thousand Minion -- huh!"

"A hundred thousand," Lia murmured. That was almost certainly an exaggeration, so chances might be better than she'd thought.

The bartender handed her the drinks and said, "Where you from? You look like a foreigner."

"Uh, Arangrad," Lia said. "We'll be heading back shortly. Thanks for the drinks." She grabbed the mugs and went back to the table.

Olrick Mahr was short, and he almost looked like a gnome himself. He had small features, except for his nose, which looked like a dwarf's. Olrick's eyes were black, which gave him a striking resemblance to a mole when he squinted, which was most of the time. And his unkempt gray hair didn't help matters.

At first he seemed annoyed to be traveling with her, but when she soon demonstrated her expansive knowledge in engineering they had several lengthy discussions on its applications toward Althorien's situation. Hopefully his skills wouldn't be called for, because most of them required parts of the city to collapse or blow up.

Acquiring Olrick had been easy. The hardest part would come when she presented him before King Borric. From what she knew, Borric wasn't very bright or receptive. It would be hard for an unknown elf girl to convince an empire on the brink of war to replace their main tactical engineer with an also-unknown little mole.

In the end, she would probably have to resort to mind-control in one form or another. Not that it bothered her, really, it was just that mind control was hard to disguise in front of other mages, namely the court magician. Lia wasn't really good, unless the mind control came in the form of sex magic. She had no objections to using sex magic in that way - it would be a good practice of her skills - she just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Getting into the king's chambers at the right time might prove to be a difficult task.

Lia handed Olrick the ale and sat across from him. "Borric sent out an expedition to stop the Minion two weeks ago, but they haven't returned. I doubt they will."

"How many?"

"Five thousand."

Olrick guffawed, then took a swig of his ale. "My dear, this city will require all the skills I've got...and that's sad. No doubt every single soldier was slaughtered. Is the general of Althorien's army competent?"

"The general went with the expedition."

"No, then. Just what I wanted. Have you found a way of getting your king to accept me?"

Lia nodded. "I know of a way," she said. If she couldn't get into Borric's bedchamber then she'd slip into an advisor's room and convince the advisor that Olrick Mahr was a god. If that advisor praised Olrick highly enough, the king might consider accepting him.

"If you can't do it, you still owe me-"

"I know I know," Lia said. She drank down the last of her ale in one gulp, wiped her mouth, and stood up. "Let's go."

Olrick looked at his unfinished drink then stood up as well. "After you, my dear."

Lia led him back into the streets of Althorien and looked around. It was more crowded now than the last time she'd been here. Full of refugees, it looked like. There would be a lot more dead refugees soon. Since it was the winter, and since the number of people in Althorien had risen so much, food was probably scarce. A lot of people would die unless Althorien was buying food from somewhere.

That was entirely possible, but Lia didn't know who could provide enough sustenance for so many people. Arangrad was probably the second largest city on the continent, and since it was so close, it would be the logical source. But Arangrad winters were harsher than anywhere else in the world, so Arangrad would need all the food it could get. As usual.

In order to get food, Althorien would need steady shipments from someplace south, but those shipments would have to take a roundabout way to get to the city. Like coming up the eastern border of Althoria, then traveling up one of the cliff roads, then moving west to Althorien. Possible, but difficult. They would have to come in from the Highlands, because the Minion would be surrounding Althorien at the base of the cliff, and soon they would be on top of the first cliff.

"Which way's the castle?" Olrick said.

"Huh? Oh, sorry." Lia started in the direction of the palace. They were on the second level of the city now, which was where most refugees were staying. This was also where most of the Legion resided, so the refugees felt safer here.

The bottom level of the city was preparing for the siege.

Travel through the streets was difficult, because of the refugees. Most of them just sat in parked wagons, alleyways, but some of them slept in piles of clothes and belongings. They were either asleep or dead.

Another two hours passed before Lia reached the palace. It was surrounded with refugees, pressed up against the castle wall as though it would give them warmth. The gates were clear of refugees, but closed. Six sentries guarded the gates, staring down any passersby who even considered approaching them.

Lia and Olrick stopped across the street and assessed the situation.

"I don't think they're going to let us in," Olrick pointed out.

"No shit," Lia murmured. She looked at Olrick for a moment and said, "Couldn't you have picked some better clothes to wear?"

"These clothes were nice before I came on this trip with you," he said defensively. "I haven't bathed in two weeks, you know."

"Don't remind me," Lia shuddered. Of course it was true. Baths were practically impossible in this kind of weather. Bathing in Midgard had been a relief, and hopefully she could catch a bath in Althorien before moving on to Black Cliff. "All right," Lia said, straightening up. "We're nobles. Guests of King Borric. We're here from Arangrad, to donate some goods, money, and services to the war, got it?"

"Looking like this-?" Olrick stopped when he saw his clothes. Lia had transformed them into a dark red outfit. His winter jacket was embroidered and had gold lace lining the collar. His pants had also changed to a dark red color, and his cloak was now spotless. It had turned black. But these were just illusions; the clothes themselves hadn't changed shape or material. Lia had just changed their color and removed the dirt. "What the-"

"Quit talking and pretend you're normal," Lia said. She wore a similar cloak, and red winter garments beneath it.

She led the way to the front gate and said to a frowning guard, "We're guests of King Borric. Lady Liangelle and Lord Olrick."

The man looked down a red nose at her. He looked cold, but he wasn't shivering. A sneer seemed to be frozen on his face. "Never heard of ya," the guard said. "Get lost."

"We've come to contribute to the war fund," Lia said. "I think Uncle Borric would be most displeased if you forced us to leave."

The guard looked less certain but he persisted, "Ma'am, you're not on my list-"

"I think I am," Lia said. "Check again."

The guard dug into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. When he looked at the names, he frowned deeper. "I looked there just ten minutes ago and-"

"Maybe you missed it," Lia suggested helpfully.

"Y-Yeah..." the guard didn't sound convinced, but he waved up to the guards on the battlements, who opened the gate just enough to let them inside.

The main courtyard was immense. It wasn't like the small baron castle's courtyards; this one had enough room to fit the entire Althorian Legion in it. And it almost did. On the eastern half of the courtyard, the Legion was training for battle. Buildings were scattered throughout the courtyard, even though most of them could be built outside of the castle walls more easily.

There were a few off-duty guards lounging around the barracks, and another pair guarding the castle gate. They weren't too much concern. Now that they were inside the city walls, people would probably ignore them. Getting to the king's chamber or throne room could prove difficult. The Honor Guard wasn't likely to let her so close to Borric if he didn't know them.

They walked into the castle without being accosted by the guards, and Lia led Olrick toward the advisors' bedrooms. "I'll convince one of the advisors that you are a god, and that advisor can convince Borric to hire you. Sometime tonight I'll get Borric on your side. Now we just want him to hire you so you can get started. I'm sure that some of your ideas won't be readily accepted, so you'll want the king on your side."

"Do you mind if I ask how you're going to do all this?" Olrick asked.

"Yes."

Because Lia had used a spell to expedite their travel to Althorien by two weeks, Olrick knew that she possessed magic. He just wasn't sure how much, and she knew that and she didn't feel like telling him.

When they arrived in the advisors' wing, Lia closed her eyes and felt the rooms. All of them were empty. "Damn," she whispered. "I need to find one of the advisors before we see Borric, unless he's alone now. I doubt it though."

"Where are they?"

A servant appeared at the end of the hall and came towards them. "Hey girl!" Olrick called. "Where's King Borric and his advisors?"

"Could you be any less subtle?" Lia asked

"I believe they're in council again," the servant replied. "Shall I-"

"Yes, show us where they are," Lia interrupted.

The servant hesitated then motioned for them to follow.

Lia and Olrick walked after the girl to another section of the castle, and ther servant said, "They're in here, but I think they don't want to be disturbed." Surveying Lia's clothing, she said, "Does His Majesty know you're coming?"

"Of course," Lia replied. "Lady Liangelle and Lord Olrick of Arangrad."

"Well," the servant hesitated again. "I'm not sure I should show you-"

"You brought us all the way here and you're not even going to show us in?" Olrick growled. "Don't piss me off, kid, I-"

"The king is expecting us," Lia cut him off. "He would be most grateful if you would show us in."

"But they're in the middle of-"

A mental nudge was all it took, and the kid shut up and opened the door. Several men, a boy, and a woman sat in the room around a square table. One man was standing up, pointing to a diagram of the city. They looked at Olrick and when the servant came in.

"Who are these people?" Borric demanded, standing up.

"I'm sorry, Sire, but-"

"I am Lady Liangelle," Lia said, and scanned the people in the room. None of them were mages. Her earlier fear dissipated instantly. This would be simple! "And this is Olrick Mahr of Midgard." She reached out and grabbed ahold of Borric as though he were a ragdoll.

For a moment the king looked dizzy, then he shook his head and looked at Olrick again. "Olrick Mahr?" he gaped. "I didn't know you were still alive!"

Olrick shot a glance at Lia, who took a step back and grinned.

"Who's he?" the old woman asked suspiciously. Lia figured the woman had been here just as long as the king, so she knew everyone important to Borric.

"Olrick Mahr is the best engineer in Tirn Aill," Borric replied.

The man standing up stiffened.

"Why are you here?" Borric asked.

Olrick shot another angry glance at Lia, then proceeded as he had been told. "It has come to my attention that you are about to be attacked by the Minion. I have come to lend my skills to you, Your Majesty." He bowed.

"If we could afford your services, then I would gladly have you," Borric said sadly, "but we are already in debt as it is, so. . ." he trailed off.

"Lady Liangelle will pay my fee, Sire," said Olrick.

Borric looked overjoyed. Dramatically so. "Really!?" he cried. "Oh Liangelle, you are a goddess!"

Lia bowed her head in mock embaressment. Olrick shot a glance at her.

"Olrick, this is our chief engineer Soleth Belfan. He will now be working under you in matters of tactical importance. When will you have some plan of action for the city?"

The entire room looked totally shocked at what had just happened, including Olrick. Soleth was furious, but managed to control it when he said, "Your Majesty, may I ask what qualifications this man has to be a-"

"Don't ever question Olrick Mahr," Borric said coldly. "Olrick Mahr was the tactical engineer in the Battle of Rathax."

"That was twenty years ago," the female advisor said. "And if I remember correctly, Rathax was reduced to a pile of rubble by the time the battle was finished."

Borric glowered at her. "The Battle of Rathax was one of the most stunning victories in recorded military history," he said. "The Har'kn trolls gathered their entire army and assaulted Rathax. Rathax was not a well-defended city. It would have been only a few days before their wall was breached if Olrick Mahr hadn't been there. He used several amazing tactics to delay the trolls' penetration."

"When they finally broke through, they demolished the city," said the boy. It was probably the other prince. Corin.

The king was standing now, and he turned on his son. "When the wall of Rathax was finally breached, 5000 trolls poured through. They flooded the city and moved straight toward the palace, which was the only refuge for the people of Rathax. They huddled inside the palace, waiting for death. Death would have come by dusk if Olrick hadn't saved them. Just as the trolls reached the palace walls with their battering rams, over five hundred traps were set off simultaneously. Do you know how many trolls survived the traps?" he demanded.

No answer. The entire room was taken aback by the king's vehemence.

"Ten. Ten trolls survived, out of 5000. In less than five minutes, nearly the entire army was killed, and not one soldier had raised a hand. I hope you begin to rethink your theories, people." He turned to Olrick again. "I'm sorry for the interruption. When do you think you will have some preliminary plan for us to work with?"

"Ah, I'll need some information from Soleth, but I already have some general ideas."

"Excellent," Borric clasped his hands together. "Soleth, sit down and let Olrick speak."

"Excuse me, Sire," Lia bowed. "I must take my leave now."

"Won't you stay tonight for dinner?" Borric asked. "We're having a feast! You and Olrick can be the guests of honor!"

It was truly tempting, but Lia wanted to meet Bolthorn and the others by morning, so she declined. She'd just grab some food from a tavern or cafe.

"I must decline," she answered. "Some friends are waiting for me in the east. If I may speak with Olrick for a moment before I depart?"

"Certainly," Borric sat down. "We'll be here."

Lia led the short man out into the hall and closed the door.

"Why are you leaving so soon?" Olrick asked. "You're a smart girl, and I could use your input-"

Lia shook her head. "Uh-uh. I have other stuff to do. Just listen. You're going to have a lot of cooperation when you do this, so use it. I know the mages and priests hated you in Rathax, but they won't hate you here, so use them if you can. And trust their magic. Another piece of advice: get Borric to sign you over with a contract. He is pretty weak-willed, but I'm not sure how long my spell will last. It was pretty impromptu, and I'm not great at mind-control...so anyway, just be careful and do your best. I'll be back in a few weeks."

Olrick nodded. "Ah, thanks."

The elf girl saluted and turned to go.

"Wait!" Olrick said. "How did you know so much about the Battle of Rathax?"

"I was there," grinned Lia, then she jogged down the hall.

Daren, Jerik, and twenty soldiers galloped over the hill, flinging clumps of snow and dead leaves behind them. The horses tore through the forest like mad, crashing through the (dead) underbrush and leaving an obvious path of ruin. The horses and humans' breath poured into the air and left white trails of steam floating over the newly formed path.

Daren rode behind Jerik, and the twenty soldiers followed after him. For nearly ten minutes they rode through the forest, until they burst into the open, and into a river. Jerik spun his horse around and did a quick head count.

"Daren and you three-" he swept a hand at the nearest group of soldiers "-come with me. The rest of you split up; I don't care where you go, but meet us back at Althorien. Any questions?"

Except for the river churning around their horses' feet, there was silence.

"Get moving," Jerik ordered. He swung his horse north, and motioned for Daren to follow him. They rode north along the middle of the river, which hadn't yet iced over. The other soldiers scattered into the forest and disappeared in short order.

Daren sighed and wiped his right cheek. It was a nervous habit; his cheeks were covered by a wool mask. Wiping his cheek had already become habit over the past four days.

When they had first faced the Minion, Jerik and Daren had been too close to the front line. Their battle had taken place in a narrow canyon, so only a few soldiers could fight at a time. Consequently, only a few Minion could fight at a time, so their overwhelming numbers didn't help in this battle. However, an archer decided to fire off an arrow at Jerik. It narrowly missed him, but struck a nearby soldier in the eye.

The arrow sank deep into the man's skull, and blood sprayed all over Daren's face. It was his first real encounter with death, but not his last. They hadn't been able to delay the Minion for a week, as Jerik had hoped. Instead, they held out for three days.

Orange Valley had turned into a slaughterhouse after the first day. When the Minion recognized that they were not facing the entire Althorian Legion, they threw all reservation away, and attacked day and night. Dark mages cast heinous spells that killed a dozen men at once; huge trolls used boulders to crush men; Shadows ripped through the ranks like lightning. It was the most appalling sight Daren had ever seen.

When there were only 400 men left, Jerik gave the signal, and everyone ran. The Minion pursued, and most of the remaining Legion were slaughtered in the flight. Only he, Jerik, and the other twenty survived. Four days later, they were still running from the Minion, who always seemed just behind.

This morning, they narrowly escaped the Minion, and had led the chase to the river. They were only three or four days from Althorien. Before Daren had seen the Minion, he assumed they would never be able to defeat Althorien. After all, Althorien was the most powerful city on the continent. But after seeing that bloodbath, Daren wasn't sure if Althorien could defeat them. Though they'd only fought a few at a time, he had seen the main part of the force, blanketing the walls of the valley. It wasn't a reassuring sight.

Just to be safe, he wanted to stay in the upper level of the city when he got back.

If he got back.

Garen was outraged. Lia had somehow hidden Aleya for the past two weeks. He spent hours searching for her, but she just didn't seem to sleep. Even when she was awake, Aleya was nowhere to be found. His efforts on her would be wasted unless he could finish the Dicharemic. He'd only drawn half of it on her back, and that would have no effect unless he could finish the other half.

But that wasn't likely. Lia, the bitch, had slipped past him once more. She was a lot more cunning than he thought. Garen kept promising himself he would stop underestimating her, but he never quite succeeded. Even after she killed Jekra.

Garen opened his eyes. He was curled up in the corner of a wagon that was headed for some town in the southeast. He sensed they were down there somewhere, but Lia had masked them so effectively that it was difficult to pinpoint them.

They would find the Death Rose soon enough, and Garen had to stop them. He would wait for them in Tranoth if he had to. Now, though, he had dispatched a hundred Shadows (in human guise, naturally) to search for them. There was liable to be a slip up somewhere, and more than one of the Shadows would be uncovered by commonfolk, but it was too late to worry about that.

The only worry was Aleya. Once she found the Death Rose . . . Garen shuddered. He didn't even want to think about that.

With a loud creak, the wagon halted. The driver hopped off and walked around to the rear. Garen sat up as the driver peered at him. "Sorry, son," the man said. "I'm gonna turn west now, because the weather is gettin' worse the farther south we go." He gestured at the snow falling down around him. "Are you sure you wanna go south?"

Garen pulled himself up and he climbed out of the wagon. "Yes, I'm sure. Thank you for the ride. Is there any way I can pay you?"

The man grinned a shook his head. "Naw, kid, that's all right, you don't have to-" he cut off when he saw that Garen's sword was out.

Garen plunged the Soulstealer into the man's belly, and blood gushed out, only to soak into the blade. The man shuddered for a moment, his mouth agape, then he dissipated into energy. His soul was sucked into the blade and his dust gently drifted to the snow on the road.

With a sigh, Garen hopped into the wagon and began throwing the boxes out into the road. An empty wagon would move faster.

Aleya fingered the pendant inside her shirt. Lia had given it to her just before they parted ways in Midgard. It was just a small stone, but it protected her from Garen's dream attacks. Lia had enchanted it with the same spell as she had the casting circle.

Whenever Aleya fell asleep, it was almost impossible to wake up on her own. Borim would always have to pick her up and stand her on her feet for a minute before she could stand on her own. Even then, she was disoriented for an hour or so.

The amulet had other annoying side effects as well. She never dreamed. Her sleep was always deep, but she never had any dreams. Probably to prevent Garen from entering them. Another side effect was that her powers seemed to be missing.

Aleya never really had control over her prophetical abilities, but usually things would come to her once or twice a day. Nothing big, though. Instances where she blacked out and started speaking were uncommon. Usually, an image, sound, or sensation would hit her. They were usually confusing glimpses into other parts of Tirn Aill. Many of them were frightening, but Aleya had become immune to envisioned screams and scenes of bloody death. Mainly because she convinced herself that the scenes weren't real. It was like she was looking across a gap of space and time, through glass.

For a few years, Aleya had hated the images and blackouts, but around the age of fourteen, she became used to them. Now that they were gone, she was lacking. This amulet was like a mental ball and chain. As soon as Lia returned, Aleya was going to ask about a different way to protect herself from Garen.

With a sigh, Aleya put those thoughts out of her mind and looked at the town they were entering. It was larger than most towns they'd seen so far, but it was quieter. No one was moving about, which was understandable because it was winter, but only a couple of the windows were lighted. Normally, voices could be heard from the houses, sometimes even music. Everything was quiet, though.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"This should be Black Cliff," Bolthorn replied.

"Good," Borim muttered. "I'm tired. Where's the inn?"

Bolthorn pointed to a big building on main street. It was the only one with lights in more than one window. They rode up to the front, and a stableboy appeared from around the corner.

"I'll take yer horses, sirs," he said.

Bolthorn slid off and handed the kid the smallest coin he had. "Thanks."

Borim and Aleya dismounted and gave their reins to the boy, who walked back to the stables.

The inn's common room was also quiet. Nobody played music, and there was only one hushed conversation taking place. The largest group of tennants was four men seated in the corner.

Bolthorn walked up to the innkeeper, who was carving a wooden statue on the bar. He looked up. "May I help you?" he asked.

"We'd like a room and dinner," Bolthorn replied.

The innkeeper set the knife aside and dusted his hands. He yelled into the kitchen for three dinners. "Half hour," the man said. "All three of you staying in one room?"

"I would like to rent one room," Bolthorn answered.

The innkeeper looked at Borim and Aleya, who were in the midst of a quiet conversation, and said, "One gold."

Bolthorn slapped it down on the counter, then surveyed the room.

The man picked it up. "Althorian," he said. "I'll need another silver. Your coins are too thin."

Bolthorn scowled. "One silver would be too much to pay. Don't insult me."

The innkeeper snorted and deposited the gold piece in his apron. "Drinks?"

Bolthorn waved for Aleya and Borim to come over. "You guys want anything to drink?" he asked.

"Juice," Aleya answered.

"Ale," Borim said.

"Two ales and a juice."

"What kind of juice?" the innkeeper asked.

"Anything you got," Bolthorn said.

The innkeeper disappeared into the kitchen.

"What's wrong with this place?" Borim asked. "It's so dead."

"I don't know, but I hope Lia shows up soon," Aleya answered. "This pendant is starting to annoy me."

"You look dead," Borim observed.

"I feel dead."

Bolthorn saw them in the reflection of the wine bottles before they arrived. The group of men that had been seated in the corner were now behind them. One of them tapped Bolthorn's shoulder.

He turned around in his stool and looked up at them. None of them appeared threatening. All of them wore cloaks with the hoods down. No weapons were visible, but all four of them were standing there.

"Yes?" Bolthorn asked.

Aleya and Borim turned to look.

"I'm sorry to trouble you sir," said the first man, "but might I ask your name?"

"Yes, you might."

There was a short silence as they waited for him to provide it. When he didn't, the man said, "Well, what is-"

Without warning, Borim launched up from his seat and slammed into one of the other men. Aleya gaped, and Bolthorn jerked up, but the other men reached for their weapons.

Borim rolled to his feet as soon as they hit the ground. His opponent scrambled to his feet and threw off his cloak. A broad sword was attached to his belt. He reached for it, and instead of reaching for his own, Borim's punched the man in the larynx. With a choking sound, he dropped to the floor.

The other two men went after Aleya before she could react. One of them grabbed her waist and hauled her toward the door. The other one prepared to cut off Borim.

The first man drew back his fist to punch Bolthorn, who jumped inside the man's attack and shoved him across the room. He flew backwards, knocking a table and chairs over, then landed on his back. Bolthorn stood up and drew his sword.

Borim started to chase after Aleya, but the second man unsheathed his sword and stepped in the way.

"Not today, little boy," he grinned.

Bolthorn grabbed the hilt of his sword and pulled it out.

Purple fire enveloped the blade and bathed the room in its unholy glow. Both attackers paled and stepped back nervously. "What is that?" hissed one of them.

Borim used that opportunity to grab a chair. He lunged forward and swung it. The man blocked with his sword, which lodged itself into one leg. Borim kept running forward, shoving the man aside. The man hit the ground heavily, and jerked his sword out of the chair, but Borim had already gone after Aleya.

Bolthorn twirled Krenash once, then pointed it at the standing attacker. "Who are you?" Bolthorn asked.

The attacker hesitated, and Bolthorn swung Krenash at the man Borim had pushed. The man's block was futile, since Krenash clove straight through his sword and his body. Instead of fountaining blood everywhere, black smoke gushed out of each half of the body. Before he could scream, the attacker had dissolved into black smoke.

Bolthorn stared at the empty clothes, then looked back at the other . . . thing. "Who are you?"

The man stayed silent and held his sword out. Like he could stop Bolthorn.

"Who are you?" Bolthorn repeated.

No answer.

With a sigh, Bolthorn killed him.

Outside, Borim had his sword out, and was facing the last attacker. The assailant's arm was wrapped around Aleya's stomach, and his dagger was pressed up against her neck.

Borim stayed a healthy distance away, glaring at the man. "If you let her go, I won't hurt you," he said.

"Ha!" laughed the man. "You're just a boy! If I wasn't afraid she'd run away, I'd kill you right now."

"You'd probably kill me before she could get anywhere," Borim said.

"True," the man said. He debated whether or not to fight, and finally pushed Aleya away. If he waited too long, Bolthorn might come out, and that couldn't be afforded. The man drew his sword and leveled it at Borim's chest. "Ever died?" he asked. "I hear it's pretty fun."

"Spare me your petty witticisms," Borim spat. He didn't show it, but he was relieved that Aleya was free. Even if he died, she'd have a chance to get away. Then he noticed that she hadn't moved anywhere. "Aleya, get out of here," Borim said. She was still too stunned to move, so he said, "Now!"

"No, Borim, I-"

"Aleya, get your ass-"

Then the man attacked, and Borim was engaged in the sword fight. >From the start, it was intense. This swordsman was better than anyone Borim had ever faced -- not that he'd faced many. By the time he and Aleya had left their homes, Borim was as good as his instructor, if not better. But he'd been out of practice, and now he might have to pay for it.

The two swords flashed back and forth like silver vipers, ringing against each other and casting sparks into the air. Borim had never seen sparks fly in a sword fight before, but he'd also never seen a blade that was pitch black.

They moved in a circle around each other for nearly two minutes, locked in the struggle. When Borim was facing the inn, he noticed Bolthorn standing in the doorway. As they circled again, Borim's opponent noticed Bolthorn standing in the doorway. Bolthorn's mere presence distracted the man's attention for a fraction of a second, and Borim used that time to run his enemy through. He jumped back as black smoke started pouring from the wound, and the man staggered back, clutching a hand over the smoking wound.

"Fucking pissant," he growled. A glance at Bolthorn, and he snarled. Without another word, he ran down the street.

"Should I kill him?" Borim asked.

Bolthorn drew his long hunting knife from his belt, placed the blade between his thumb and forefinger, drew his arm back, and hurled the knife. The inn's torchlight glinted off the spinning blade until it struck. They heard a grunt, and he toppled to the ground.

Aleya winced and Borim said, "Nice throw."

"Been practicing," Bolthorn replied. "You guys go inside; I'll finish him off."

As they walked in the door, Aleya asked, "Why did you hit that first man?"

Once inside, Borim looked around the room to make sure no one else was an assassin in disguise. "The man was drawing his sword. You and Bolthorn couldn't see it because he was in the back."

"Oh, well, I'm glad you're here to protect me," Aleya grabbed Borim's arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.

Any time away that Ranon could spend away from Alleria, he was grateful for. That was why he was glad Wren's parents made him stay at their house this evening. If the weather was clear tomorrow, Barak Faror (Wren's father) would take them home.

Ranon was naturally a light sleeper. In the time that he had been Alleria's Guardian at the palace, he'd developed a healthy paranoia of everyone and everything. So it wasn't surprising when a barely-audible creak woke him up. What was surprising was that he could hear the creak over Jesher's snoring.

The door opened and closed very softly. Someone else had come into the room. Ranon didn't know who to expect, really. Wren didn't have any younger brothers or sisters, and they would be the most logical choice to come and annoy someone just an hour past midnight. Since this was Wren's house, the only people who could possibly be sneaking into the door would be his parents or Gwen.

The thought of Gwen nearly sent him off into a series of wild fantasies, but then he remembered that this person was still in the room. Ranon sat up on the straw mattress (Jesher was on the bed, Wren was on a blanket) and squinted. The fire had gone out a while ago, but the embers shed some orange light into the room.

"Ranon?" came a whisper from the foot of his bed.

"Gwen?" Ranon was relieved. "What are you doing?"

"Come out here," she replied, opening the door again.

Somewhat confused, Ranon pulled on a pair pants and socks and followed her into the hall. Gwen stood in her nightgown and fur slippers. When he came out into the light, she grinned and openly admired his bare torso.

"What is it?" Ranon asked, self-conscious of her roving eyes. He absently noticed that the door to her parents' room was cracked open.

"You wanna talk?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"Come downstairs," she chirped, "it's warmer in front of the fireplace." Gwen grabbed his hand and dragged him down into the living room. The fire was blazing at full strength. She must have rebuilt it.

Gwen skipped over to the fireplace and sat cross-legged in front of it. After she patted the carpet next to her, Ranon sat down.

For a few moments, Gwen just looked at him with a smile touching her lips, then she said, "Where are you from?"

"Ah, Arangrad," he answered. This was the lie that he and Alleria had finally settled on.

"Why did you move away? Here, of all places?"

Ranon looked into the fireplace, and pretended to look bitter. "My sister Alleria got pregnant and she ran away. I came with her."

Gwen said nothing for a few moments. "Why?"

"Did I come with her? She couldn't survive on her own," he said. "I'm making all the money now."

"Oh. Where do you live at? I wanna meet her."

"U-uh," Ranon chuckled nervously. "That wouldn't be a good idea. She usually just-"

"Oh wait! Does she have blonde hair, blue eyes?"

Ranon nodded slowly.

"Yes!" Gwen smiled. "Me and my mother met her down at the market the other day. She's a nice girl. I hear she's going to work at the linen shop down there."

"Oh really?" Ranon said dangerously. Alleria never mentioned this to him.

Gwen nodded. "She would make a good-" she stopped when her eyes passed over his arm. "What's this tattoo?" her fingertip touched the caduceus on his shoulder.

Ranon glanced at it, then stammered, "It's ah, a tattoo my friend gave me."

"It's funny looking."

"Funny? I like it." Ranon flexed his arm to show it off, and Gwen giggled.

"You know Ranon, you don't seem like a Highlander."

"Well, I'm from Arangrad."

"No, I mean, you don't even seem like your from the Highlands at all. Have you lived in Arangrad all your life?"

Ranon nodded.

"Your accent seems a little off."

"How would you know?" Ranon raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever been to Arangrad?"

Gwen nodded. "Once. Two years ago me and father went as part of a caravan to sell his crops."

"Oh." Ranon had been several times, with his family. He was a noble, so his travel experiences were extensive, compared to the commonfolk. Like Gwen.

"How long are you going to stay in Brath?"

"Um," Ranon said, scratching his head, "we'll probably leave after the baby is born. Why? You want to come with us?" he grinned.

"Can I?" Gwen grabbed his arm anxiously.

Goose-bumps spread out over Ranon's arm as soon as she touched him, and he said, "You're - You're not serious, are you?"

"Of course I am! I want to get out of this town! Nothing goes on here. It's just a bunch of old farmers and housewives." Gwen sighed and leaned against his shoulder.

Ranon was getting nervous. Gwen's touch still sent tingles down his spine, even though he'd already been much more intimate with Alleria. He didn't want to reenact his situation with Alleria here, now. One pregnant girl was more than enough.

As soon as he realized what he was thinking, he admonished himself. It wasn't as though he was incapable of controlling himself. What was wrong with enjoying himself a little with Gwen? They didn't have to have sex, they could just fool around.

A little too far ahead there, Ranon reminded himself. Just because Gwen wanted to talk to him didn't mean she wanted to fuck him.

Ranon put an arm around Gwen's shoulder, and she took that as encouragement, laying her head on his lap and staring into the fire. Ranon's fingers twirled her hair, and he sighed. This was very nice.

"I just want to leave this town," Gwen said. "I overheard my mother talking about it to one of her friends. She said that it happens every generation. One or two people get wanderlust and have to leave the town. But she sounded so contemptuous of them."

"The people that leave?"

"Yes," Gwen sighed. "I wanna go, but I don't want to disappoint my mother or father by leaving."

"My older brother said that we really shouldn't care. Once we're dead and once everyone we know is dead, we're forgotten. Our existence is so futile, that what's the point? We're here for fifty, sixty years, then we die. No one knows you exist, and no one will remember you after you're dead. Do you really know who your great-great-grandparents are? No. The only way that you could really live longer is to make other people remember you, but that's not going to happen. Only a few people are remembered, as legends or myths. But their lives have been so distorted from place to place that no one really knows the true story. Generation after generation slowly changes the fairy tales until Thoren's story is nothing remotely similar to his real life, I'm sure. So even if we're remembered, we're not remembered for who we truly are.

"The only way you're going to enjoy life is if you suck it dry, for everything that you want. Everything material - no, everything that's not you, including the people you know, has no reason to exist. When you're dead, all of it won't matter because you'll cease to exist. When you're on your deathbed, sixty years from now, will you be glad that you stayed here to make your parents happy? They'll be dead, then sixty years from now you'll be dead, and nobody will remember that you ever existed. The only thing you can get out of this life is what you want. Suck life dry for everything it's got."

When Ranon stopped, Gwen was staring up at him from his lap, eyes wide. He couldn't read her expression, and wondered if he'd said too much.

"I'm not saying that you should leave if-"

Gwen sat up and turned to face him. "Ranon!" she cried. "You're beautiful! When you leave, I want to go with you!" Before Ranon could respond, she grabbed his face and kissed him on the mouth.

Ranon's eyes opened all the way, and he protested into her lips. Gwen used that opportunity to push her tongue into his mouth. He fell back in surprise, and she followed him down.

In a few moments, Ranon had given in, and both of them were involved in tongue-sparring. Ranon's arms were wrapped around Gwen's back, and hers stayed on either side of his head. They kissed for nearly a minute, totally lost in each other's passion. Ranon could tell that Gwen was getting aroused; her breathing had picked up, and her mouth seemed to have gotten hotter. Unless it was just him.

Gwen's hands moved down Ranon's chest, to the rim of his pants. A warning bell clanged in the back of his mind, but the stairs creaked, cutting it off.

Gwen lifted her head from Ranon's. "Someone's coming," she panted.

Ranon glanced around, then saw the curtains. "Behind there," he said. The Farors' curtains fell all the way to the floor, and were nearly a foot away from the window, so there was plenty of room for them to hide behind without being seen.

They scampered over to the curtains and stood up behind them. Their movement caused some reaction from the curtains, but they stopped moving by the time the person got downstairs.

Gwen looked through a hole in the curtain, and sighed in relief. Ranon put his head next to hers, and peeked into the living room. It was dark, but it looked like Wren. It could have been Jesher, but Wren was shorter and smaller, so it was unlikely.

The important thing was that it wasn't a parent.

"Do you wanna go out there?" Gwen whispered.

Wren walked into the kitchen.

"No," Ranon replied, angling his face so he could see through the kitchen door. Wren was beyond his vision, searching through the cabinets by the sound of it. "It's probably better he doesn't know about this."

"Why? Wren won't care if we're down here."

"Jesher will."

"Jesher?"

"Sh."

"Why is he all dressed up?" Gwen asked.

Ranon started. He had been so preoccupied with the identity of Wren that he didn't notice Wren was wearing a cloak and boots (probably all his clothes as well). "I don't know."

"I'm going to ask him," Gwen said.

"No," Ranon said, holding on to her arm. "Something's wrong here."

"Huh?"

"Just stay here for a moment." It was a gut feeling, something that Ranon rarely had, but he felt it would be safer for them to stay behind the curtain. A moment later Wren walked back into the living room carrying a plate of food. Leftover beef, from dinner.

They both watched him through the hole in the curtain.

When Wren pulled off his cloak, Gwen almost gasped aloud.

Ranon's hand clapped over her mouth and he pulled her back against his chest. Gwen didn't protest his movement. She just goggled.

The person in the living room wasn't Wren. His build was the same, but his facial structure was different and his hair was darker. He wore a black winter coat, which he doffed to reveal a black tunic. Scarlet lace tied his tunic together, and he had a black belt with a silver buckle. His pants and boots matched his outfit; the only thing that looked out of place on the boy was the sword.

It had a dark sheath, with a bone hilt and a leather grip. A group of beads and a pair of feathers dangled from the handle. The pommel of the sword shone brightly, casting almost as much light as the fire. It looked magical.

Gwen pried Ranon's fingers away from her mouth and turned around so her breasts were pressed against his rib cage. She stood on her toes and put her lips close to his ear. "Who is that?" she breathed in a trembling voice.

"I don't know," Ranon replied into her hair. They were being so quiet that their voices couldn't be heard a foot away, let alone ten feet away. Even so, Ranon feared that the boy would turn around and see them. Who the fuck was he?

"You don't know who he is?" Ranon asked.

"No!" she hissed. Gwen almost started crying.

On a primal level, Ranon sensed something was wrong with this boy, but he didn't know what. "Do you have a sword?"

"What?"

"Does your father have a sword?"

"I-I-I don't know," she whispered.

Ranon fell silent, wondering what to do. This was a most unusual situation. A boy, probably Ranon's age, had just walked from upstairs, gone into the kitchen, taken some food, and was eating it in front of the fireplace. If he didn't have a sword (a magical one at that), Ranon might confront him and find out who he was. Weaponless, it was a little too risky. Of course he had a sword, but it was back at his hut.

Then the boy spoke without turning. "You know, I thought I'd killed everyone. Where were you two?"

Ranon's blood went cold. He was either dreaming, or this was not natural.

Gwen's fingers dug into Ranon's arm.

"Gwen," Ranon whispered. "When I distract him, I want you to run out to the barn and wait there for me, all right?"

No response.

"All right?" he repeated more harshly.

"What if he hurts you?"

"He won't. Do it, all right?"

She nodded.

Ranon pulled his arm from her grasp and walked from behind the curtain. Despite his rush of adrenaline and fear, Ranon tried to remain calm. "Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Garen," the boy said, looking up at Ranon. He raised his eyebrows and added, "I should've taken your body instead."

Ranon didn't know what that meant, but he didn't ask that question. "What are you doing here?"

Garen bit into his steak and tore a hunk of meat off. He chewed on it with some difficulty and replied, "Forget it. I'm too bored to tell you. Just sit there and wait until I'm done eating."

If Ranon wasn't so scared, he would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He looked around for a weapon, but the only thing he could see was a fire poker. It was too close to Garen, though.

"So what's your name?" Garen asked.

"Ranon," he replied. He motioned for Gwen to go through the kitchen, and she started to tip-toe in that direction.

A moment later, Garen said, "Stay where you are, girl. I don't want to have to get up."

"Go, Gwen," Ranon said. When she hesitated, he glared at her, and she ran.

"Fuck!" Garen swore, jumping to his feet. He unsheathed his sword and leapt after Gwen.

Ranon moved to intercept, and Garen swung. "Asshole," he said. "What do you think-"

Ranon dove under the swing and slammed his fist into Garen's balls. The other boy's eyes bulged and he dropped to his knees. As Ranon was rising to his feet, he smashed his knee into Garen's face. The boy's head snapped back, spurting blood into the air. Too easy.

Ranon reached for the sword, but Garen kicked Ranon's legs out and came up to his knees. He raised the sword high.

Ranon was almost too shocked to respond, but he rolled aside just in time. The sword plunged straight down into the floor, all the way to its hilt.

Yes, it was magical.

"Fuckin' asshole," Ranon grunted. He scrambled away from Garen and jumped to his feet. As Garen was pulling the blade back out of the floor, Ranon did a spinning heel kick to the boy's head.

Garen's hands ripped from the sword and he spun full circle. He landed on his rear end, dazed.

Dazed.

That was all.

Ranon's spinning heel kick was strong enough to break necks, and Garen was fucking dazed. He grabbed the handle of the sword. As soon as he did, a hundred screams filled his ears, a torrent of horrid images flooded his mind, and he could see all the faces of the people Garen had killed with the Soulstealer...including Gwen's family. They were pleading to be released.

An instant after his hands touched the sword, Ranon staggered away. His equilibrium returned at the same time as Garen's, but he didn't go for the sword again. He ran after Gwen.

Garen grabbed the Soulstealer, which had fallen back to its hilt in the floor. "Get back here!" he yelled after Ranon.

But Ranon was already outside, running for his life. He knew the others were dead, since he saw them in the sword, but how did that boy...that demon get upstairs without them seeing? He could've come up while Gwen was in Wren's room, or he could've come before that, and gone into the parents' bedroom first.

The blizzard had stopped only a few hours ago, so he could see Gwen's tracks leading to the barn. But the snow was still cold. By the time he reached the barn, his legs were numb and he could barely walk straight.

Ranon pushed his way into the barn and looked back. The demon was stalking through the snow, after him. He closed the barn door, and tried to ignore his uncontrollable shivering. It was freezing, and he was only wearing a pair of pants. Gwen was probably in the same situation, wherever she was.

"Ranon?" she called from somewhere else in the barn.

"Stay hidden," he said. Ranon's eyes roved the barn, looking for a weapon. He found a shovel and grabbed the handle. Just as his fingers closed, Garen walked into the door.

"You shouldn't have done that," Garen said coolly. "I admire you for your-" Garen's eyes went wide as Ranon spun around suddenly.

Ranon wasn't aiming for the head. It would be too easy to duck, and that was probably the expected strike zone. Instead, the shovel broke Garen's knee with a sickening crunch. Garen stumbled to his knees. Blood oozed out of his left pant leg, onto the cold dirt. It would probably freeze in a few seconds.

Ranon drew the shovel back again, making sure he stayed out of the sword's range. When he swung it the second time, Garen blocked. The sword blade struck the wooden shaft, and cut clean through. The end of the shovel split off and hit the barn wall.

Ranon gaped at the truncated shovel, then looked for something else.

Garen laughed. He looked down at his knee and poked it with his left index finger. "Ranon? Was that your name? You're a pretty slick kid. I admire your skills and I have an offer for you."

"How come you always say that when you're about to die?" Ranon replied, dropping the shovel and grabbing a scythe. If he struck properly, the scythe's blade should still fly straight and impale Garen. It was disgusting, and Ranon couldn't believe he was doing this, but this kid was a demon.

Garen laughed again. "My knee will be healed in a few seconds. I think you'd better consider it."

Ranon grabbed the scythe and held it out as far as he could. He calculated his attack, brought the blade up, and swung down. Garen leaned sideways and struck the scythe's blade with his own.

The blade split in two and one shard buried itself in Garen's left calf, just below his knee, and the other half of the scythe missed completely. Garen took a poke at Ranon, but Ranon jumped back just in time.

Grimacing, Garen pulled the blade tip out of his calf. "You'd better quit this before I become irritated. My offer is for you to work for me. I'll let you live if you do it."

"Fuck you," Ranon threw the scythe away, then cast about for another weapon. His fingers were starting to numb.

"You'll freeze to death before you could kill me."

Ranon looked at Garen for a moment, then spat on him. He ran to the other end of the barn, where he'd heard Gwen's voice, and started calling for her. "Gwen! Come on! We have to get out of here!"

Gwen poked her head up from a nearby stall. "Did you-"

"Come on!" Ranon grabbed her hand and pulled her out.

She saw Garen kneeling at the other end of the barn, with the pool of blood spreading out on the dirt. "What did you do to him?"

"It doesn't matter, let's get out of here."

Without looking back, they ran out the back door.

An old hag was huddled in an alley, wearing a patchwork of dirty rags. A gnarled walking staff rested on the woman's knees, but that appeared to be her only possession. She was leaned up against the side of a building, seemingly asleep, but she was really watching the street intently.

In the alley across the street, another homeless person lay in the street, apparently sleeping. Two blocks north, a man smoking a pipe was crouched in front of the doorway to a run-down bakery.

At this time of night, no one would be in the streets. The lanterns were burning low, and clouds covered up the night sky, so it was difficult to see much of anything. This was the perfect environment, of course.

A few blocks north of the pipe-smoker, two men turned onto the street and walked toward the alleys. Almost at the same time, two blocks south, a boy turned onto the street, and walked toward them. At least, he looked like a boy. He was a lot shorter than the other two men, and he was smaller in stature.

The three men met a few yards away from the hag, and the boy said, "I thought you weren't going to bring your bodyguard."

Oshram Mallor sneered, "Don't worry, he won't hurt you."

"Hurry up and give me the paper," the boy said nervously.

"Not so fast," Oshram said. "How do I know that you'll give this to Alyssa?"

"What?" the kid choked. He was getting too nervous.

"Why don't you tell me where you're going to meet Alyssa, just so I know that you're legit?"

"But I'm not even going to meet her-"

"You're not going to meet her?"

"No."

"Well where is she now?"

The boy chuckled. His nervousness seemed to vanish. "I'm sorry, sir, but don't take me for an idiot. Just give me the paper, and she'll leave you alone."

Oshram reached into his cloak and withdrew a folded piece of paper. When the boy reached for it, Oshram held it up, just out of his reach. "If you tell me where you're going to meet Alyssa, I'll give you this, and a thousand gold crowns."

"She's giving me a million," the boy replied. "Give me the paper."

"I'll give you ten million."

"You're lying through your teeth."

"This paper is worth ten million gold crowns," Oshram said. "I'll give it to you, if you just tell me where Alyssa is."

"How do I know that paper isn't blank?" the boy asked.

Oshram handed it to him.

The boy opened it up. He held it up to the lantern light and looked at it. "You haven't provided the verification password," he said.

"Need I tell you?" Oshram said. "It's Black Harvest. You're going to tell her the password, though, right?"

"Of course," said the boy. He didn't even realize his mistake.

Oshram's arm snaked out and he grabbed the boy's tunic. He yanked the boy close. "You are meeting with her!" he hissed. "Tell me where!"

As he spoke, a crossbow bolt thudded into the bodyguard's back, and another one impaled his throat. His body hit the ground heavily. A pool of blood began to form beneath the corpse.

Oshram looked down at his guard.

The boy pulled himself free and said, "I sure hope you're not lying about the password. I have a message from Alyssa. She says: 'This is your last chance, cocksucker. If this is another ruse, you're finished.'"

Oshram continued to stare at the dead guard, then he coughed nervously. "The real password is 'forsynthia'."

The boy looked over the paper again and said, "Excuse me, but we raised the deal to 75%. Remember?"

"Listen, you fucking-"

The boy's fist flashed out and struck Oshram in the stomach. The kid was small, but he was strong. Oshram was left coughing. "Aenis, you make me sick," the boy said contemptuously. "All your money and you just have to keep it. Alyssa wants another 75% or you'll be in front of the Board tomorrow. She's given you too many chances."

"How much of it is she giving you?" Oshram asked, still recovering from the punch.

"Shut up and fix it," the boy thrust the paper back under Oshram's nose. "I won't even talk to you until it's fixed."

Oshram took the paper with a chuckle. "How old are you, kid? Old as Alyssa? World's bein' fuckin' run by babies," he muttered, drawing a quill pen from his coat. He hastily fixed the document, then gave it back to the boy. "Have a ball, kid. Hope she's payin' you a lot."

With that, Oshram turned on his heel and swiftly walked down the street.

The boy stood in the street for a few moments, then nudged the bodyguard with his foot. He reached down and unbuckled the sword belt. When he'd finished undoing the belt and had strapped it on his own slight frame, the old hag was standing next to him.

"Good job, Jin," Alyssa complimented him. "Let's get outta here before he comes after us with his mercenary friends. I'll bet you anything he's meeting them right now."

Jin removed the bodyguard's cloak, then draped it about his own shoulders. "All right, I'm ready," he said.

Alyssa and the boy disappeared back into the alleyway, soon followed by the pipe-smoker and the other homeless person. Inside the alley, the pipe-smoker patted Jin's shoulder, "Good work everybody. Now you just have to escape. Follow me." He led them into a door in the side of one of the buildings. Inside, he lit up a torch and guided them through a couple rooms.

It was a nasty building, probably crawling with fleas and other disgusting bugs, but this was a small price to pay. Pipe-smoker pushed aside the bed and revealed a hole in the floor. A most disgusting stench wafted up from the opening.

"Once you're in the sewers," pipe-smoker said, "head north for-"

"Which way's north?" Alyssa asked.

"That way," he pointed. "Head north for 455 paces, until you get to Clogville."

"Clogville?" Jordak asked.

"It's where you silly engineers built the new intersection of south-flow and west-flow pipes, then added another southwest pipe from another south-flow. Creates a seriously shitty mess sometimes."

"We did that to relieve tension on pipe W-34, which was corroding at junction-"

"Oh, and replacing the corroded pipe would've been too hard, wouldn't it?" pipe-smoker asked. "No, instead you had to take the easy way out by just breaking a new pipe through the rock into-"

"We did both-"

"And then grafted another pipe into the-"

"Guys!" Alyssa said. "Can we go now?"

"Never seen someone so eager to jump into a sewer," Jin said.

"After you reach Clogville, crawl through the grafted pipe until you get to the next pipe. Keep going north along that pipe until you arrive at the next ladder. That's your way out. If you need a bath-"

"I'll get one later," Alyssa said.

"Make sure you get one soon; otherwise you'll smell that way permanently."

Jordak straightened up and shook hands with pipe-smoker. "Thanks for your help," he said.

Jin shook hands with the man and Alyssa hugged him. "If you ever need any help," she said, "just let me know."

"Believe me, I'll find you sometime," pipe-smoker said.

Jordak crawled down into the hole, followed by Jin, then Alyssa. Jordak would lead the way up through the sewers, until they were safely away from Oshram's hunting team. If there was one.

Jordak was the city engineer who helped her recover from the cold sickness. Apparently a city engineer had pulled her out of the water and given her to Jordak, who rushed her home to his wife, Mara, who had taken care of Alyssa until she was healed.

As soon as Alyssa could write, she had a note delivered to Oshram Mallor, threatening to uncover him. This note demanded half of all his Black Harvest earnings. An hour after he found the note, Jin - Jordak's son - went and negotiated a meeting place for the transaction of the credit authorization. They'd tried twice before, but each time previous the credit authorization was bogus. Fortunately, she found out without getting caught. Sadly, if she didn't have the authorization, she couldn't get the money.

But that wasn't all. Since the Black Harvest money didn't really exist in a solidified account, Alyssa would have to go through the crooked banker who dealt with the Black Harvest. He was the only one who knew where that money was stashed, but there was a chance that he could frame her for reaping the Black Harvest money if she tried to retrieve it. She could be pinned as a Black Harvest ringleader.

That was unlikely, though. Sixteen years old, and she's already masterminded one of the biggest insurance frauds in history? Doubtful. The Board would never believe that, but they still wouldn't let her get ahold of the money either. She had to get the money, through the banker, who was probably waiting for her. On orders from Oshram Mallor, the banker would probably call in the Hawks on her as soon as she presented the authorization.

Alyssa jerked back to reality when she saw Jin's head disappear into the hole. Thinking about what would happen if Oshram's mercenaries caught her, she followed them down. After they'd climbed about fifty feet, Alyssa asked, "Why are we going straight down?"

"Althorien sewers are beneath the riverbed," Jin answered. "The city rests on pillars that are in the water. The bottom of the city is about five feet above water level, so there's no room to put pipes above the river, and we can't put them inside the streets, so they're below the river, inside the rock."

"Whatever you say, Jin."

The stench grew steadily worse the lower they got. Alyssa wrapped one of her rags around her face to keep out the smell. When her foot finally plunged into the warm muck of the sewer, she yanked her foot out. "What is that?" she gagged.

"Take a guess," Jordak said.

"Come on," Jin's disembodied voice urged.

Alyssa barely held her stomach in check as she lowered herself into the waist-deep crap. Jordak lit up a torch, and Alyssa almost vomited when she saw the shit that she was wading through and all the shit that lined the walls. "Oh gods," she closed her eyes and doubled up the cloth in front of her mouth.

"You'll stop gagging in about five minutes," Jordak said. "Follow me."

Alyssa noticed that both of them had clothes over their mouths as well.

The next half hour was the most disgusting half hour of her life. Though they traveled relatively quickly for sewer travel, it was a long distance from Clogville to the next ladder. The human waste and other garbage that filled these pipes belied the reputation of Althorien as a clean city. After Alyssa thought about it, though, she realized that all this shit had to go somewhere. At least Althorien wasn't keeping it in the streets, like some cities.

That led her to wonder where this shit did go. It had to end up somewhere.

When Jordak finally led them out of the sewers, into an alley, Alyssa got dizzy from hyperventillating the wonderful fresh air. When she was able to see straight, she saw Jin and Jordak squatting in front of her.

"It's so good to be smell the clean air," Alyssa grinned.

"Actually we reek," Jordak replied. "You just can't tell because the smell is ten times worse down there and your nose's adapted."

"What are you going to do now?" Jin asked. He pulled out the credit authorization (which he'd kept in an othskin bag, thank goodness) and handed it to Alyssa.

"We should all go back to the house and get cleaned up," Jordak said.

Alyssa shook her head. "I can't. Tonight I have to go see someone about the authorization, to see how I can avoid being framed by the crooked banker. I have a feeling that this is the real authorization. If it isn't, then Oshram is a dead man."

"We'll see you again, right?" Jin asked.

Alyssa grinned. "Of course, Jin," she kissed him. Their faces were the only parts of their bodies not covered in crap. "I'll try and be back tomorrow."

"What about...?" Jordak asked.

Alyssa grinned and hopped to her feet, then stood up. "Jordak, I will be faithful to my deal, don't worry. You'll get 10,000 to start up your business, which will be plenty. You might even want to stay here during the war, if you know how to make siege machines."

"I can learn."

"It's a war; they'll need 'em." Alyssa stood on her toes and kissed Jordak. "Thank you both. I'll see you as soon as I can."

She poked her head out of the alley and looked both ways. It was clear, so she sprinted north, toward the tunnels. They would take her up to the upper city and she would go to Galnor's house from there. He could help her figure a way to get this money without getting hooked by the banker.

As Alyssa ran, she hoped this would all work out. Things had a habit of screwing up if one didn't try hard enough. All her life she'd craved a better life than the one she'd been given. It was Alyssa's philosophy that the gods had made her a whore because they thought she was somebody else. It was all a terrible accident; one of the undeserving noble bitches was supposed to be a whore, but in the Divine Choosing of Places in Life an undeserving noble bitch had been mixed up with Alyssa. So Alyssa's goal in life was to become better than all the undeserving noble bitches.

They were all spoiled brats, anyway. Alyssa was the only one who would be rich who wasn't a spoiled brat. Sure, she was arrogant, but at least her arrogance was justified. Her keen sense of righteousness and her cunning business skills made her smart enough to rise from a whore to the highest place in society (shit, money could do anything, even make her royalty), which was better than any undeserving noble bitch could do if they had been correctly chosen in the Divine Choosing of Places in Life.

Alyssa ran all the way up the tunnels to the upper city, and ran out in the middle of a street. She skidded to a stop and looked around, popping her ears to adjust to the altitude change. She tried to remember which way was Galnor's mansion. After a moment of consideration, Alyssa realized that she still smelled like shit. When she'd been running, the odor had been left in her wake, but now that she was stopped, it rose off her like steam.

Finally, Alyssa gathered her thoughts and remembered which general direction Galnor lived in. Well, she lived there too, so...

Alyssa set off down the street, and jogged for another twenty minutes before arriving in front of Galnor's manor. She stopped before the front gate, and dropped to her knees, panting. Gods, she needed to exercise more.

A moment later, the front gate opened and a guard looked out. "May I help you?" he asked.

"I need to see Galnor," she puffed, hopelessly trying to regain her breath.

"At this time of night?" the guard asked. Then he caught a whiff of her, and said, "Listen lady, I think you'd better leave before I-"

"Shut up," Alyssa said, struggling to her feet. "I've had a hard day, so just let me see Galnor. I used to live here, two weeks ago. My name's Alyssa."

"You're Alyssa?"

She nodded vigorously, still gasping for breath.

"How do I-"

"Ask a fucking servant. They should recognize me. If they don't, Bree or Galnor will know me," she said.

The guard hesitated, then let her into the front gate. "Wait here in the courtyard," the guard said. He walked into the house and came out a few minutes later with Jalla in tow.

The servant looked at Alyssa in shock, then said, "Alyssa?"

"Yes, yes, it's me. Will you let me in? I need a fucking bath."

Jalla nodded to the guard, and the two girls walked into the foyer. "What happened to you?" Jalla asked.

"I had to crawl through a mile of shit. Literally."

"Why?"

"As a precaution in case I was being followed."

"Oh. Ah, would you like me to fix you a bath?"

"Fuck yes. Get Galnor up, too. I need to talk to him."

"Of course. If you don't mind my asking, where have you been for the past two weeks?"

"Cleaning sewers."

Jalla believed her.

Alyssa let it go and walked straight to the bathing room. She stripped down as Jalla filled up the tub. It was set in the floor, just like the ones in the Red Feather, but it didn't fill up automatically. Galnor had said that he would install plumbing when he got a chance. Then he corrected himself by saying that he would pay someone to install the plumbing when he got the chance.

When Alyssa was naked, she looked at her body. She'd gotten thinner over the past two weeks, and her ribs were now showing. The sewer water had left brown marks all over her body, defined by the creases in her clothes. Alyssa walked to the washbasin in the corner and began scrubbing herself with soap and water.

Jalla finished with the tub and went to get Galnor.

"Gods," Alyssa murmured, happy to be back in someplace nice. She ran the washcloth all over her body, over every inch and in every crevice, in case some of the sewer water had managed to get stuck in her hair or ass or something. Alyssa set down the cloth and dipped her hair into the washbasin. She splashed water over her head and rinsed out as much crap as she could before using the soap on her hair.

The door opened, and Galnor walked in. "Alyssa-" he cut off when he saw her. He sat down in the chair at the other end of the room and said, "Alyssa, where have you been? I've had people looking for-"

"Galnor, you wanna know something really neat?"

"Ah, what?"

"I'm going to be the richest girl in the world! But I need your help, of course."

"Um...could you tell me where you've been for the past two weeks?"

"See that pile of rags over there? There's a note inside it. Read the note."

Galnor searched through the rank clothes and pulled out the waterproof packet. "We should have these washed," he said. "They smell like-"

"Just throw 'em out," Alyssa scrubbed her hair furiously, until white foam was dripping on the tiled floor.

Bree opened the door and came in the room. "Alyssa!" Bree squealed. The girl scampered over and threw her arms around her friend's wet body. "Where have you been?" she demanded, tears coming to her eyes. "I thought you-"

"Holy fuck!" Galnor swore. "What the fuck is this? Some kinda joke?"

Alyssa shook her head and disentangled herself from Bree's grasp. "Get naked and join me, girl," Alyssa said. She began rinsing her hair.

"Alyssa, the Bank of Althoria doesn't have this much money. If you requested all this gold from the bank in its current condition, they would close. It would be physically impossible to get your hands on it. And whose money is this, anyway? The only people who have that kind of money are kings and nobles and-"

"Really smart merchants. Like me," Alyssa grinned. She slipped into the pool and sighed as the hot water surrounded her body.

Bree took off her clothes and sat in the tub next to Alyssa.

"Whose money is this?" Galnor asked again. "The only way you could get this kind of money is -- there is no way you could get this kind of money."

"I discovered the organizer of the Black Harvest. Or someone really high up."

"So what's this?"

"Seventy-five percent of their profits. And it's mine because they couldn't kill me in time."

"Who tried to kill you?" Bree said.

"Confidential," Alyssa answered.

"But this kind of money doesn't exist in the Bank of Althoria; if you try to pull this money, they won't let you-you-"

"There's a banker who's in on this too, and he's hidden the Black Harvest money somewhere, I know it. Otherwise, what's the point of having all that money if the bank doesn't even have that much?"

"Own the bank, probably."

"Huh?"

"If you have more money than the bank, then you could buy the fucking bank," Galnor said thoughtfully. "Who was it?"

"Confidential."

"I won't tell-"

"Confidential."

"Well, whoever it was, they may have been trying to control the Bank of Althoria, which is a surprisingly influencial force on this continent. If you could get ahold of that bank, then you may be able to do a lot more than just get the money. You'd control a shitload more. Maybe that's what he was trying to do."

"Well he said he wanted to expand his business down here, just after the war was done. I think...I can't remember what he said."

Galnor read through the credit authorization again. "But if this was from the Black Harvest, then that means the money physically exists. It must have been deposited in the bank. Holy shit! The money is there!"

"What are you talking about?" Alyssa scowled.

"The money was paid to the false policy-sellers in physical coins. Those coins had to be transported somewhere. Since the Black Harvest is an organized ring, and your culprit is from around here, right?" Alyssa nodded. "Since your man is from around here, he wants all the gold within his reach, so it's deposited at the Bank of Althoria. However, the amount of gold that you're getting from this is phenomenal; larger than any other account that exists, aside from the king's treasury, but that's not part of the bank. So he wants all this gold, but he can't draw attention to it, so he uses the evil banker to deposit the gold without recording it in the account books. So they stick the money in the vaults, but since nobody ever counts that shit, nobody'll know that there's an extra million or few lyin' around. They only count it through the books, and since the banker isn't recording it in the books, it's not really there. He's just recording it in his own books or something, so that he knows-"

"Yes, yes," Alyssa said. "I understand. I just want you to help me figure out how to get the crooked banker on my side. He's liable to frame me for the Black Harvest, if he can."

"Huh?"

"Do you think this crooked banker is gonna let me walk out of there with all that money?" Alyssa asked.

"Ooh," Galnor tugged at his lip thoughtfully. "Good point."

"Can you guys talk about this tomorrow?" Bree asked.

Galnor was staring off into space.

"Care to join us?" Alyssa grinned and swished her hand around the water invitingly. "The water's awfully hot."

Bree giggled.

Galnor looked at them for a moment. Alyssa could see the conflict on his face. Finally he said, "You don't know how much I want to join you girls, but I have to go work this out. It's late in the game, and we don't want this person to pull one over on you at the last second." Galnor stood up and walked to the door. He took one last look at them before disappearing into the hall.

"Damn," Bree pouted.

"What's the matter?" Alyssa smoothly moved behind the younger girl. "I'm not good enough for you?"

Bree giggled again. She leaned her head back against Alyssa's shoulder. "I'm so glad you're back."

"Now that I think about it," Alyssa's hand traced across Bree's collar bones, until her arm was loosely wrapped around the girl's neck, "no one really ever introduced you, did they?"

"Huh?" Bree's eyes snapped open.

Alyssa traced a finger down Bree's spine, feeling tremors shake her small body. "You know, back at the inn. Nobody really ever introduced you, did they?"

"Ah, ha ha," Bree chuckled nervously. "I don't think I was there long enough."

"Long enough, shmong enough," Alyssa whispered into Bree's ear. "Who needs an inn?"

"Alyssa," Bree began. She shivered when Alyssa's left hand moved across her bare stomach. "A-Alyssa, you know I've never done this before."

"Yeah, I know. You nervous?" her fingers dipped lower on Bree's abdomen, and brushed her nether lips.

"Yes!" squeaked Bree.

"Good," Alyssa licked Bree's ear. "That turns me on." Alyssa's fingers pressed more firmly against Bree's lower lips, and she moved her right hand down to the younger girl's breasts.

"Gods," Bree whimpered, totally relaxing her body. It wasn't long before she gave in to Alyssa's touch.

Alyssa positioned herself between Bree's legs and continued stroking, pushing two fingers in and finger-fucking her. Alyssa's thumb rested on Bree's clit and circled it as she thrust her fingers in.

Bree's moans continued and escalated as the pleasure built.

Alyssa was getting turned on herself, so she continued to finger Bree, and she sat on Bree's thighs, putting her knees on either side of the girl's waist. "Do me," she hissed, then pushed her mouth against Bree's.

Their tongues entwined, and Bree lost her breath when she realized she was kissing a girl. For a moment Bree forgot about Alyssa's request, then she fumbled with her hand and moved it to Alyssa's exposed snatch, only an inch or two from her own. At first, Bree just touched Alyssa's nether lips; she had never known what another girl felt like. Then she returned Alyssa's favor and pushed her own fingers into the older girl's pussy.

Alyssa's teeth closed around Bree's tongue when she felt the girl's fingers plunge into her depths. Two weeks had passed since she'd felt someone else's touch, and it was great.

For another few minutes they continued masturbating each other. Their hips were grinding into each other's hands, and by the time they came, their mouths had separated. Their orgasms overlapped, and both of them were convulsing against each other, still thrusting their fingers into the other's vagina.

After Bree's orgasm passed, her eyes opened slowly and adjusted to the light. "Do you think we should go to sleep now?"

"Do you know what 69 is?"

"We only have a few days before the Minion arrive," Borric said. "From what you've told us, what do you think could be implemented before they arrive?"

Olrick brushed his hair back and took another sip of tea. "How many days?"

"Four days to a week at best," Borric said. "I already have news that they have passed through the Orange Valley, even though Jerik has not returned."

"Jerik's your general, right?" Olrick asked.

"Yes," Corin answered. "My brother is with him." He shot a dark look at hist father, who ignored it.

Olrick scratched his forehead, then sighed, "Not nearly enough. Since you've already destroyed the wagon roads that lead from the lowlands to the top of the first cliff, we can't collapse those roads. The roads from the first cliff to the second cliff can be trapped easy enough, but that's not a priority until the lower city begins to buckle and they get to the top of the cliff.

"What we can do now is this: all three bridges crossing the Althorian River, south of here, will be made collapsable. When they cross the bridge, it collapses. The Minion's loss of life will be negligible compared to their total numbers, but they'll have to build a new bridge across the river, which may take some time.

"In the next two days, slaughter 90% of the cattle and animals in surrounding farmlands, cut them up, and store them for food. Either smoke them for the winter or freeze them in the snow. Designate a place in the city or in the Baring Caves to store the meat. We'll need a lot of food this winter. Oh, and I assume someone has worked out a rationing plan for the city?"

Tolir nodded, "I am doing that now."

"Good. The remaining 10% of animals will be poisoned the day before the Minion's arrival. You must have scouts in the surrounding hills; we have to know exactly when the Minion are coming, or this will not work. Poison them with Bersher Root. If things go right, the Minion should eat the animals and die."

"We don't keep storehouses of Bersher-" Tolir began.

"Then get some of your citizens to gather it. The street is lined with useless people. Get some soldiers to round up a few dozen, then send them all out to gather the root. It's difficult to spot during winter, because the plant's withered, but it should still be identifiable. The root is the only part of the plant that survives. Just feed one root branch to each animal; it'll even kill cows it's so fatal.

"Next: the Minion will, unless they are stupid, wait at the safe range prior to their-"

"What's the safe range?" Corin asked.

"I call it the safe range. It's the distance from the city walls that your catapults and war machines cannot reach. Varying, but I would suppose yours is 850 yards. What we will do is create a spike-pit in a ring around this area. Dig a ten-foot deep trench with a width of ten feet and fill it with spikes. Cover it with a wooden lattice, place grass on top-"

"Who do you think will do that?" Borena asked. "Our labor forces-"

"How many people live in Althorien?" Olrick asked.

"Right now, there are probably more than a million," Corin said. "I'll bet the whole damn country is crammed in here."

"You have plenty of labor force," Olrick said. "Force them to do it. Slave labor if you want. Promise higher rations during the war. I don't care, but somebody will motivate them to work."

"Jerik would be the best person for that job," Borric mused aloud.

"Find someone else since he's not here," Olrick said. "The spikes won't kill that many of them, but it will force them to tread carefully over that range. It depends on how they deal with it, but this could also be beneficial during the actual attacks. If they build bridges across the ring-pit, then they'll come across in concentrated groups, which means your war machines can fire at those specific bodies of soldiers. Reduced target area, you know.

"By tomorrow evening, I want an assessment of how much flammable liquid you've got in this city. Fire is one of the best weapons we can use against them, especially when they get close to the city walls. And since Althorien is above water, that puts us at risk to attacks from beneath the city. You said you've already put spiked gratings in place of the old grates, which is fine.

"Unfortunately, you've also built mortar over all access points to the river from inside the city."

"What do you expect us to do?" Olis asked. "If they Minion get under the city, they can just crawl up through those holes and attack us."

Olrick rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You will un-build those blocks because they are the most defensible places in the city; the Minion would be attempting to crawl vertically through an opening five feet above them. How could they get a good handhold on the opening? It would be practically impossible, and even if they could, you could have twenty soldier surrounding it, ready to stab them in the eye. The real danger would come if they attempted to destroy the pillars beneath the city. We'd all be chest deep in water then, at the mercy of the Minion.

"No, we'll be performing construction beneath the city during the siege, that's why we need those access points open. Your spiked grates will not hold up very long if the Minion get close enough. We need to build more gratings behind those spiked grates. But these grates will be under water. When an orc or goblin crawls through your destroyed spiked grate, my grate will shoot up from beneath the water and impale him."

"What, a magical grate?" Corin retorted.

"No, I'll develop a spring-loaded contraption that holds the grate. It will be attached to the interior of the city wall, beneath the river. We'll place a trip wire or some other detection method beneath the water. When they touch it, the contraption will release the grate. The grate will shoot up and kill any invading Minion. I've done it before."

"Ingenious, but it sounds like it would take too much effort," said Tolir.

"You wish. You have a city full of blacksmiths and useless citizens just waiting for their death. Order the blacksmiths to mass produce the parts for this device, then teach your citizens how to put it all together. Test the devices. If it works, then your city engineers can carry them beneath the city and place them beneath the current spiked grates."

Borena laughed harshly. "Olrick Mahr, you are a joke! This idea is totally preposterous! It would never work-"

"Shut up Borena," Borric snapped. "It's better than anything you've come up with."

"But Sire," Olis said, "we don't have the money that it would take to-"

Olrick leaned across the table toward the treasurer. "We're not talking about money, you dickhead. We're talking about a fucking war! Remember that." He turned back to Borric and said, "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, today is beginning to wear on me. Perhaps we could resume this meeting tomorrow morning?"

Borric nodded and stood up. "Yes. We will reconvene here tomorrow at dawn. I know this is hard on all of you, but it will be harder if the Minion kill us all."

Ranon had just finished donning his winter clothes when Gwen ran into the room. "I can't find them anywhere! They're all gone!"

"Except for that dust," Ranon gestured to the layer of white powder on the bed and floor.

"Where are they?" Gwen sobbed, pushing her hand against her mouth.

"Gwen, get your clothes on," Ranon ordered. "We have to get out of here before he heals."

"But you broke his knee! He won't be-"

"I broke his fucking neck before that. He's still alive. I don't think we can kill him."

"But I don't understand-"

Ranon pushed past her and walked down the hall to her room. He started searching her wardrobe. "Where are your clothes? We have to go."

Gwen followed him in. She finally regained her composure, to a degree, and began grabbing a winter outfit. Gwen yanked on a pair of pants under her nightgown, then pulled off the nightgown and replaced it with a long-sleeve shirt.

As she dressed, Ranon looked out the window. Garen was limping through the snow, toward the kitchen door. "Hurry up, he's coming."

Gwen was lacing up her shirt. She walked over to the window and gasped.

"Tie it later, just grab your coat and let's go."

Gwen did as she was told, then shoved her feet into her winter boots. "Where are we going?"

"My house, then I think we'll go to another town."

"What about my-"

"They're dead," Ranon said.

At Ranon's answer, Gwen began crying softly. Ranon ignored her and ran downstairs, two at a time. She came after. He glanced through the kitchen, but Garen wasn't in the house yet. "Are you sure your father doesn't have a sword?" Ranon asked.

Gwen shook her head, still crying.

"Fuck, we have to get outta here," Ranon hissed, looking around. "If he decides to follow us, I need a sword."

"The blacksmith," Gwen said, wiping her cheeks.

"Where's that at?"

"In town." Gwen walked over to the fireplace and reached for a brick in the mantle. With a couple jerks, the brick came free. Inside the hole was a small pouch. Gwen grabbed the pouch and stuffed it in her coat.

Excellent. She wasn't a mass of emotions, like Alleria.

Ranon sighed and made sure they had everything they needed. Gwen was dressed up. She wasn't wearing a cloak, but she had on her winter clothes, at least. They were still freezing, and more exposure to the cold could be seriously damaging.

"Here," Ranon jumped over the couch and grabbed Garen's cloak. He tossed it to her. "Put that on."

Gwen dropped it as soon as she caught it. "Gods, no! I can't-"

"Take mine then," Ranon slung it off his shoulders and handed it to her. He picked up Garen's cloak and ran to the front door. "We have to go now."

Gwen clasped Ranon's cloak together and wrapped it about her body. They were hit with a blast of cold air when he opened the front door, and for a moment Ranon debated going out into the ice cold weather. Then he remembered breaking Garen's knee. The knee Garen was now walking on.

They ran out the door and left it wide open. They were forced to trudge through the knee-deep blanket of snow, but their desperation propelled them faster then they could have normally gone.

When they reached the main road, Ranon looked back at the house. It seemed perfectly normal; the front door was still open, the barn door was open, and the living room was lighted, but Garen was nowhere in sight. Thank the gods he wasn't following them.

Gwen looked back at the house and said, "Is this the last time I'm going to see my house?"

"If the demon leaves, then-"

Gwen shook her head. "I'm not going to live there. Don't you remember our conversation before Garen...? Now that my family's gone, what do I have to stay for?"

Ranon was stunned. Gwen was much calmer than she should be in this situation. Obviously she was able to harness her emotions much better than Alleria.

"Let's go," Ranon said. He started down the road. Gwen followed close behind, walking in his tracks.

There was no doubt in Ranon's mind that this would stick out in his mind as one of the strangest days in his life. He debated whether or not to say the worst, but it was definitely terrible. The worst day of his life was probably the night he fucked Alleria. Well, the night itself was wonderful, but its consequences were not.

Tonight, two of his friends had no doubt been murdered by Garen. They were only a few among many, from what he sensed in that sword. Ranon shivered at the memory. Grabbing the black-bladed weapon had been a very creepy experience.

"We should tell the sergeant," Gwen said. The sergeant was the leader of Brath's volunteer guardsmen. The sergeant was usually the only active member, since no one really caused trouble in Brath. It was a quiet town, up until now.

Ranon hesitated. "I don't know much about the supernatural, but I think that it would take a wizard or a priest to kill that demon."

"What's he doing here?" Gwen cried, tears coming to her eyes again. "Why did he have to come to my house?" She wiped her eyes and sniffled.

"Is there a mage in this town?"

Gwen shook her head. "There's the town sage, who pretends to know magic, but he's just a fake. I hear good things about the sage of Ferrivan."

"We should tell him what happened."

"Let's stop by the sergeant's and tell him too, so he can be prepared. If you could hurt him as bad as you did, the sergeant might be able to kill him."

"Ah, um, well, maybe," Ranon said. He doubted the sergeant would be able to do any better than he did, even with a weapon. Garen had underestimated Ranon's fighting ability twice, which gave him an advantage, but even so, Ranon was a better fighter than anyone he'd ever met, so he doubted the sergeant would have any luck. Despite his feelings, he conceded, "Ah, well, all right."

The sergeant may not have much of a chance alone, but the rest of the volunteer town guard would probably even the odds a little. What Ranon didn't realize was that the sergeant was brash, impulsive, proud, and overconfident. Twenty minutes later, Gwen would knock on the sergeant's door, explain the situation through tears, and then she and Ranon would leave, and finally the sergeant would commit suicide by trying to hunt down Garen on his own.

King Jorasa was the king of Draconia. Old age had dulled the king's brown scales, and his wings looked fragile. Jorasa's eyes had grown foggy over the past few years, so he couldn't see very well. Despite his less-than-perfect appearance, his presence exuded power and authority. He expected to be obeyed without question, and his expectations were usually carried out.

Doronar was instantly wary of people who carried such authority. Sometimes these people were true leaders, whose skill as leaders had earned them respect. Many times, however, they were just arrogant, and the people under them followed because they couldn't tell the difference or they just wanted a leader, whoever had stepped up.

The king was falnoran - three quarters human - but the only thing he obtained from his human blood was the human shape -- that was to say, he had two arms and two legs with the same general bone structure as a human. It was the same case with most citizens of Draconia; most of them had dracon scales, but were human shaped. The citizens of Draconia who were half human and half dragon were labeled Draconians. They were perfect mixes between human and dragon blood.

There were also dracorans, which were three quarters dragon and one quarter human. The resemblence between dracorans and humans was slight, if at all. And, of course, pure-blooded dragons also inhabited Draconia. Pure-blooded humans were nonexistent, though. Rinas was as close as one could get to being human. Falnorans with human blood were rare, though. Doronar had seen only a few other people with human build and human skin.

Rinas, Tal, Doronar, and Boldar knelt in front of the king. This was a huge throne room, so it permitted pure-blooded dragons like Tal to enter. The throne room stretched more than a hundred yards into the sky. There was no ceiling or roof, so the sky could be clearly seen from within the hall. An array of dragons was perched on top of the walls, watching.

Without a word, Rinas and Tal stood up, so Boldar and Doronar also stood. The king surveyed the two humans for a moment. In the back of his mind, Doronar could hear noise, as though someone was speaking, but he couldn't quite make out the words.

"It is an honor to have you as our royal guest," Rinas said, translating for the king's telepathic communication.

About seven days ago Boldar's services as translator became useless when speaking to Rinas. Since Doronar and Rinas had some kind of common bond that had drawn them together in the first place, their spoken words only served as a background for telepathic communication between them. That was Boldar's theory, anyway. Doronar bought it, because he was beginning to hear other voices as well, from other people he knew. The more time he spent with Mal-kar, the more he could understand, even though he wasn't picking up any language. Boldar said that Doronar's brain was beginning to align with the communications of the falnorans. It would be quite a while (if at all) before he could communicate with pure-blooded dragons.

"The purpose of this ceremony is to grant you the titles that you have been deemed worthy of. You will obtain the title of Dragon Warrior and Acolyte of Arraka; in addition, you will become an Initiate of the Fire Clan-"

"What-"

"Don't interrupt," Rinas reproved. "You will also be given the title of Junior Speaker." He stepped forward a little and turned to Boldar. "Boldar: as a worshipper of Lien, you will become the Royal Representative of Lien, and the Ambassador for the Lienites, and an Initiate of the Fire Clan.

"Both of you gain the status of Ambassadors of Althoria, and you are both promoted to High Citizens."

Boldar whistled appreciatively.

"What's that mean?" Doronar asked.

"We're both ambassadors, which - well, you could guess the benefits of ambassadorial status. We're also High Citizens."

"What's that mean though?"

"There are three levels of blood in Draconia: common, high, and royal. As High Citizens, we are given more regard than common people, like your friend Rinas. But as a member of the church, you gain that status anyway."

"I'm a member of the church?"

"He said you were an Acolyte of Arraka. Presumably that transfers from the Althorian Dragon guild."

"I'm a Junior Speaker, what's that?"

"I think we've been promoted to gods just by coming here," Boldar grinned. "I think I'll stay here for the rest of my life. A Junior Speaker is the lowest ranking prophet."

"Great. Do any of these ranks carry responsibility with them?"

"Let's hope not," Boldar replied.

"Be quiet," Rinas said.

When the two had stopped talking, King Jorasa continued. Rinas translated for him, "These swords are gifts of Arraka. They are composed of scale alloy, and denote your title and ranks by engravings on the blades." A pair of servants carried two swords to Doronar and Boldar and handed them to the humans. "Accept them with Arraka's blessing."

Doronar glanced at Rinas, who nodded. Doronar and Boldar took their swords and bowed to the king. Jorasa couldn't smile, but Doronar sensed amusement from the old king.

Another pair of servants carried out a large pot of what looked like liquid fire. Heat waves distorted the air above the cauldron, testifying to its temperature.

"What's that?" Doronar asked.

"As High Citizens, you are required to take an oath of loyalty," Rinas replied. "It involves putting your hand in that."

Doronar raised an eyebrow and looked at Boldar, who had gone stark white.

"You know," Boldar whispered, "some prices are just too high to pay."

"It won't burn you if you don't consciously lie," Rinas explained.

"It better not," Boldar said.

The king motioned for them to stand in front of the cauldron, and they did.

"Put one hand in," Rinas said.

Doronar removed his gauntlet and held his hand above the liquid fire. Nothing. Still hesitant, Doronar touched the tip of his index finger to the fire. It was lukewarm. Doronar put his hand all the way in, and sighed with relief. Once Doronar's hand was in, Boldar stuck his beneath the surface.

Rinas proceeded to spout off a lengthy oath, intermittently asking if they would honor that set of criteria. The humans answered with "I do" each time, and by the end, no hand had melted away.

Jorasa ended the ceremony with a short speech, then all the attending guests departed or stayed to stare at the humans.

"The king wants to know if you can heal his son," Rinas said as Doronar was examining his new sword.

Doronar looked up at the king, then back to Rinas. "Wait. What?"

"Prince Sorasa is deathly ill, and the healers are helpless. They can barely keep him alive. He'll be dead soon, and we're looking desperately for a cure. Sorasa is the only surviving heir to the throne. He was poisoned by someone. There are two families chasing after the throne, and if Sorasa dies, then the king dies, the country may be in the midst of a civil war."

Doronar's jaw was hanging. "I...I have no idea who could cure him. I am not a healer, I'm sorry."

Boldar furrowed his brow. "Well it's no-fucking wonder they can't heal him, Draconians only worship-"

"Shut up," Doronar said, fending off another long lecture.

Rinas told Jorasa, who nodded sadly. "He wants us to join him for dinner tonight."

"What are we going to eat?" Boldar asked nervously. Draconian food sometimes had strange effects on his physiology.

Rinas shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Doronar finished attaching the scale sword to his belt, then said, "We have nothing better to do."

Laurel convulsed as Janisa's skillful mouth brought her to orgasm. She bit her lip to avoid screaming, but she couldn't help letting a little moan out. As her orgasm faded, Laurel collapsed next to Janisa on the small bed. Her legs were weak.

"Gods," she murmured.

Janisa scooted into a sitting position and wiped off her face. She licked her lips and said, "You taste funny today. Think it's all the fish they've been feeding us?"

"I don't care," Laurel yawned, squirming into a more comfortable position.

Janisa sucked her fingers clean then grabbed her gown. "I'm going up to the deck for some fresh air," she said.

"Now?" Laurel looked up through sleepy eyes. "It's midnight."

"It's past midnight," Janisa replied. "It smells like you painted the walls with your come."

"Hey!"

Janisa slipped on her robe and tied the sash around her waist. "You coming?"

"Oh fine," Laurel said. She got dressed and followed Janisa up to the main deck.

The boat they were on wasn't terribly huge, but it had enough room to carry more than a hundred prostitutes to the southern continent. At first Laurel had been afraid the captain would try to take advantage of them, but the captain had his own girl, so he stayed clear of them. And Shain had said he would order his everyone to stay away from her and Janisa. It had been two weeks and no one had tried anything, so she felt safe.

Outside, Laurel had to admit that it smelled a lot cleaner than their room. Not that the smell of sex was displeasing; it was just hard to ignore after a while.

"Wow," Janisa smiled, looking up at the stars. The wind was vicious, and whipped their hair out like...whips, but it was refreshing.

Laurel walked to the rail and looked at the water. The moon and stars reflected in severely fractured patches of light, making the water look chaotic. The sky was exactly the opposite: unmoving and calm.

The two girls stared over the edge of the boat for several minutes, until they heard a door open. A woman came from below, saw them, and walked over. "Pretty night, huh?" she said.

Laurel nodded.

"Yes," Janisa said.

"Where are you girls going?" the woman asked, leaning forward against the railing. She had long brown hair that was tied back in a pony tail. Instead of wearing a robe, this woman had on a pair of pants and a short-sleeve shirt. Laurel would have judged her as pretty in the daylight, but she didn't have the attitude of a prostitute, so she wondered why she was on the ship.

"We don't know," Laurel said. "Wherever we can be sold for the most."

"Sold?"

"You're not a prostitute?" Janisa asked.

"No!"

"Well, she's not wearing a robe," Laurel explained, "and she's a little old-"

"Old?" the woman cried. "I'm only twenty-one-"

"No, no, that's not what she meant," Janisa amended. "You just look older than the other girls we've seen. Most of us prostitutes are teenagers or younger."

"So that's what this ship is carrying," the woman said. "I didn't want to ask, but that's what it seemed like. Why are you all so young?"

"Young is popular," Janisa shrugged.

"What're your names?"

"I'm Laurel and this is Janisa," Laurel said.

"My name is Lily," the woman smiled, shaking hands with each of them. "Where are you from?"

Janisa looked at Laurel for a moment, then said, "I'm from Harnash."

"I'm from...uh, the Highlands."

"Really? What part?"

"Um, all over. I lived near Arangrad until I was eleven, then a town elder raped me and sold me into slavery. I stayed with him for six months, then he sold me to the Red Feather. After that, a merchant-"

"My master," Janisa interjected.

"-kidnapped me and sold us two to someone in Harnash. This is his boat, and we're going down there."

"To be sold," Janisa added.

"I see," Lily said slowly. To hear the girls talking so frankly seemed to disturb her.

"Why are you going to the southern continent?"

Lily chuckled. "It's a long story, but I'm looking for a friend. He went searching for a country that might not even exist."

"What's it called?" Laurel asked.

"Draconia. It's supposed to be Arraka's homeland, or something."

"Don't they speak a different language down there?" Laurel asked. "How are you going to find him?"

"I'll hire an interpreter, I suppose," Lily said. "Not that I have much money. But I'll figure it out."

Lily fell silent, and returned her gaze to the sea. They all stared out at the ocean for a few minutes more, then Laurel and Janisa decided to go back inside. They bid Lily good night, and returned to their room.

Jonas stood on the south-facing wall of the highest level of the city of Althorien, watching the waterfall below him. It had a hypnotic effect, if one watched it long enough. Uncountable amounts of water poured around and beneath the city, then dropped off the edge of the cliff, and fell for almost a half-mile before crashing into a small lake. The water continued its journey, though, toward the edge of another cliff. It traveled beneath and around yet another level of the city, then plummeted another half-mile to the lowlands. There it became the Althorian River, which flowed south for a few hundred leagues or so.

A flicker the size of a lightning bug drew Jonas' attention to the middle level of the city. Whatever it was had gone by the time he'd moved his stare, but there were plenty of other lights in the city. Jonas had seen many cities, but he had to admit that Althorien was one of the most beautiful. Or it had been. Now, human nature had corrupted it, just like it had a million times before. Gleaming white towers had become dull and gray; clean cobbled streets were now putrid homes to the most unfortunate of life's victims; a populace who had been alive with the joy of life was now haunted with fear of the future and a sense of apathy.

But Jonas could hardly blame them. The Minion was the name given to Tir's twisted creations. They were creatures who may have been - eons ago - good once. Tir's malevolence had infected the entire race, and the Minion had become just that -- minions to the God of Evil. The same thing would happen to humans if this war was lost.

As Jonas pondered the future, Alinor's ghostly form appeared on his right side and Lia appeared on the opposite side.

"Nice to see you, Little," Jonas grinned at the elf.

Lia stood up on her toes and kissed him. "I've got Borric convinced that Olrick is a god, but I'm not sure how long the spell will last."

"I poked around in Borric's head before," Alinor said, "and I don't think he's the kind of king to back down from a proposal he's already made. Even if your spell wears off in two days, he'll have already backed Olrick's plans; to pull out would be foolish. It would make him look stupid, and people would lose faith in him."

"How long before they get here?" Lia queried, looking to the southwest.

"Three days, maybe two," Jonas said. "They're pushing it to beat us here. When will you have the Rose?"

"I should have it here inside of two weeks," Lia replied. "They're waiting at Black Cliff for me. I'll be there tomorrow morning. It's a few hours to get down the cliff, and it's a two-day journey to Tranoth from there. We can just climb up the first cliff and move west until we hit Althorien."

"Do you have horses?"

"We'll buy some."

"How are you going to deal with Aelina?" Jonas asked.

"Aleya will do that," Alinor replied.

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then she's not the right one," Lia said. "But she is, and she will. Aelina is not the problem. Getting Aleya to use the Rose is."

"I can teach her if-" Alinor began.

"What, you think I can't do it?" Lia raised an eyebrow to Alinor's green irises.

"Well, no - I mean yes, but-"

"Look at that," Jonas jerked his chin to the southwest.

It was a clear evening, with almost no cloud cover, so they could clearly see for many leagues. About twenty or thirty leagues southwest, they could see the campfires of the Minion.

"What is that, a forest fire?" Lia said.

"No, that's the Minion."

"I was joking," she said. "I'd better go now. I'll see you when I return." Lia kissed her father and then Jonas.

"Good-bye," Jonas said.

Lia turned around and dropped off the battlements. While in the air, she transformed into a bird, and angled away from the waterfall.

As the men watched her fly away, Jonas asked, "Even with the Death Rose, do you think we have a chance?"

"The human race has a chance of survival, yes," Alinor replied.

"Why did you phrase it like that?"

"Because mankind has a chance of survival, but Althorien, these people, this country," he said, gesturing at the city below them, "they will all die."

END OF WINTER 05