Shadows

Chapter Two: Death Rose

by Bill Smith

There was a deathly silence in the clearing as Lia’s gaze remained locked on Bolthorn’s burning sword. For a few moments, no one spoke, then Lia’s head snapped back and she thrust her chest forward. A hiss escaped her mouth and the breath escaped from her lungs. Then she lowered her eyes back to the sword.

Lia turned around slowly to face Garen.

The boy was gaping. "You-You-"

Lia grinned and extended her arms to the side. "Sorry you had your hopes up."

Blue energy bubbled in the air behind her, and sparkled in the forest around them. After a few moments, it began spinning around them like shooting stars. Lia’s hands raised and a ball of electricity formed between her palms. Her voice reverberated through the forest, composing the threads of the spell.

She lifted her right hand higher and dropped her left. The ball of energy enveloped her raised hand and intensified as the incantation rose to a crescendo. By now, the forest around them was brighter than the sun.

When the final words left her mouth, Lia thrust her hand forward. A tunnel of swirling energies erupted from her palm and smashed into Garen’s chest. The entire clearing exploded in a kaleidoscope of brilliance.

Lia shielded her face with her arms as the wind blasted past her, whipping her cloak and hair back. When everything had quieted, she looked back at Garen, who was on his hands and knees, gasping for breath. The Morreks were gone.

The elf walked over and squatted in front of him.

Garen looked up and panted, "Wh-How come last time you...?"

Lia smiled, but her gray eyes were mirthless. "Don’t think too hard, you might hurt something." She put her hand on his head and dug her thumbnail into his forehead. A drop of blood collected on the bottom of her nail and she lifted it to her lips. "You’ve failed, and we’re going to get the Death Rose." Her tongue licked the blood from her thumb and she stood up. Lia walked back to the others and picked up her backpack.

Bolthorn was staring at her in awe. After a moment he re-sheathed his sword.

When Lia turned around, she didn’t see Garen. Her water-colored eyes searched the clearing, but he was gone. "Come on guys, let’s go. We won’t have to worry about him again."

Gollren wasn’t fat, like many merchants. He wasn’t terribly handsome, either, but he wasn’t ugly. His shoulders were broad and he looked well muscled, but he covered it up with a long-sleeve tunic and a wool cloak, despite the fact that it was boiling down here.

He rubbed his hands together as his crewmen lashed the boat to the docks and laid out boarding planks. Dock workers and natives of Rivertown watched with open interest as the foreigners began unloading their cargo from the northern ship.

Gollren spotted the dockmaster and started toward him. Before he got ten steps, a young woman rushed over to him, hoisting a backpack over her shoulders. "Excuse me, sir," she said, squinting from the sunlight. "My name is Lily, I’m the one who-"

"I remember you," Gollren smiled. "What can I do for you?"

"I’m sorry to trouble you, but I was wondering if you knew where I could hire an interpreter."

Gollren paused. "Well, I’m as familiar with these parts as you, ma’am, that’s why I hired one back in Reth," he pointed to the copper-skinned man weaving through the sailors to them. "He would have more knowledge than I, I’m sure. If I may ask, what is your destination down here?"

"Draconia," Lily answered. "My friend went there a while ago and I’m going to meet him."

"Draconia? I’ve never heard of that country," Gollren said. "And I’m pretty well versed in the geography of Kachara."

Lily dug a map from her backpack and showed it to him. The top left corner, which was marked as "Western Mountains" on every other map, was marked "Draconia" on this one. The entire country was located in the mountains, which meant they were mountain people or dwarves. "I’ve never seen this before. Who gave you this?"

"A Lienite in Althorien. A strange series of circumstances has built up to my traveling here, and I really need to see him."

"What do you know about this country?" Gollren asked.

"Uh, not much, to be honest," Lily answered. "Their national deity is Arraka, and he is a huge part of their lives, but that’s all I know. I guess it’s like a huge country of the Dragon."

"The Dragon Guild, you mean?"

"Arrakans, yes."

Gollren looked at the map again and began considering. The Dragon Guild had quite a bit of sway in Ahkran, and they could be a very powerful influence if they chose to be. Naturally one would assume that a country which worshipped Arraka as its sole deity would have similar traits to the Dragon Guild. They may even be as powerful. And if Gollren could establish a working relationship with them, for Shain, it may be quite beneficial.

"I have a suggestion," Gollren returned the map to her. "Why don’t you let me come with you?"

"Just you?"

"Me, my interpreter, a few others. We’ll go with up into the mountains and I can perhaps make some sales to the royalty up there."

"Um..." Lily said. She didn’t seem particularly thrilled about being party to the sale of prostitutes, but now that Gollren knew about the country he would go up there anyway. It would save her the trouble of hiring an interpreter and traversing the terrain alone. At least, that’s why Gollren assumed she agreed. "I would be in your debt if you would assist me," she finally said.

"Excellent," Gollren smiled. He turned to his interpreter and explained the situation.

The interpreter looked a little nervous and said in heavily accented Common Tongue, "It is not a necessarily known country. We are, that is, a strange place. People do not go there. It is not an explored country."

Gollren shrugged. "Doesn’t matter, we’re going anyway."

"As you wish," the interpreter bowed. "You want to purchase clothes for the cold of it."

"How cold?"

"Much."

"We’ll do that then." Gollren turned to Lily. "See that inn over there? You can wait there if you like. We’ll be over shortly. I have some things to take care of."

Lily nodded and walked across the boarding plank.

The only thing that came with dawn was more snow. The sky never showed, and more dark clouds just rolled in from the west, signifying another blizzard. As usual, the air was freezing, which didn’t help Ranon warm up when he awoke.

He looked around their small camp. The fire was now ash, or so he assumed, since it was buried beneath a layer of snowflakes. Alleria was still sleeping, but Gwen...Gwen was gone.

Her sleeping bag was empty, and tracks led off through the forest.

Fear gripped Ranon and he hurriedly pulled on his boots and followed her footprints. After a few minutes, he found her squatting by a frozen-over stream. Sobs drifted up from her small body as the grief surfaced.

For a few moments, Ranon stood uncertainly, until she looked up at him. Her eyes and nose were red, and tears had frozen halfway down her cheeks. "I don’t understand," she sniffled.

Understand what?

Ranon walked over and sat down beside her. She buried her head in his shoulder and shook silently as the grief poured out of her.

At first, Ranon had been utterly shocked that Gwen had bypassed her grief, but now he saw that she had just suppressed it.

Nearly an hour passed while Gwen wept for her dead family, and occasionally babbled out short tales of Wren and his memorable antics. Once during that hour, Ranon thought he heard someone behind them, but when it was convenient to look, no one was there.

After she had finished, Gwen sat up and sniffled. She rubbed her nose and mumbled, "Thank you. I just don’t-"

"It’s all right." Ranon rubbed the frozen tears from her face with his numb finger, and said, "We’d better get back to camp now."

Gwen nodded and returned with him to the glade.

Alleria was seated on the opposite side of the clearing. A fire had been built, she was warming her hands by it.

"When will you be ready to go?" Ranon asked her.

"I’m ready now," Alleria said.

"Then we’ll go now. It’s still almost a week until we get to Arangrad, and I want to find an inn to sleep at tonight."

Alyssa poked her head out of the covered wagon and looked at the dark clouds. Likely another blizzard would hit them. Hopefully they would make it to Arangrad.

She pulled her head back in and sighed.

"What is it?" Kamin asked, crawling out of his bedroll. He pulled a pair of fur-lined pants over his wool ones and then donned a long-sleeve shirt.

"More snow," Alyssa said.

Kamin kicked Jafrin, who moaned, "I’m awake, damn you!"

"Can you see when the snow will let up?" Kamin asked.

Jafrin sat up and looked around blearily. His eyes seemed to have difficulty focusing, but when he saw Alyssa he looked startled, then said, "Oh yeah, I forgot about you."

"Can you see?" Alyssa asked, slightly miffed. She didn’t like being forgotten.

"Maybe later," Jafrin answered, searching his bedroll for his clothes. "I’m too tired now."

Alyssa stood up and finished dressing, then grabbed her cloak from the dresser. "I’ll be outside," she said. The girl hopped out of the rear of the wagon and almost sprained her ankle when she landed on the hard dirt.

"Mornin’, ma’am," nodded one of the other refugees. He was leaning against a horse of another wagon.

"Uh, good morning," she replied.

"Care for some breakfast?" he asked.

"Uh, I suppose so."

He led to the center of the circle of wagons, where about six other mercenaries were eating breakfast. One of them was cooking strips of meat on a grill over the fire.

"How much do you want?"

"Uh, I don’t know. Normal."

The cook dug three strips off the grill and heaped it onto a wooden plate. The first refugee handed it to her. "You look mighty young," he observed.

"I’m sixteen," Alyssa replied, then furrowed her brow. When would she be seventeen? Always at the end of spring, so it should be another four and a half months.

A few of the mercenaries whistled appreciatively, and Alyssa’s paranoia prevented her from accepting it as praise - why exactly were they whistling?

"How did you do it?" asked one of the other mercenaries.

Alyssa debated whether or not to tell them, then decided that they were all helping her transport her gold, so at least she could provide them with a little background. She highlighted the story, and by the time she’d finished, most of the others were awake, demanding food from the cook.

Another refugee had carried out a keg of juice and was serving it to them, one cup at a time.

"Fuck it’s cold," Kamin said when he came out. He blew a white cloud from his mouth. "And we still have another six days till we reach Arangrad."

"Why don’t we stay at an inn, for Tir’s sake?" asked one of the mercenaries.

"Because I bought food and drink enough so that we don’t have to," Kamin answered, pouring himself some juice. "Next time save the juice for lunch and make the tea for breakfast," he said.

"I couldn’t find it," said the mercenary.

Kamin frowned and Alyssa turned her back on the ensuing argument. She searched out Jafrin and found him sitting next to the bonfire eating his breakfast. Alyssa sat on the log beside him and he said, "Morning."

"Good morning," she replied. "So how powerful are you?"

"What?"

"How powerful a mage are you?"

Jafrin shrugged. "Never compared myself to anyone. Decent, I suppose." He stuffed a piece of toast in his mouth and washed it down with the juice. "Why?"

"I’m just curious. I’ve never met a magician before."

"We’re not all that special," Jafrin replied. "Just normal people."

"Can you teach some of it to me then?"

Jafrin paused. "Uh, we’re just normal people with a special talent," he amended. "You’d have to have the gift for me to teach any of it to you."

"Do I have it?"

"I haven’t looked."

"How long will it take?"

Jafrin set his plate aside and cleared his throat. "See the spot on my forehead?"

Alyssa suddenly noticed that there was a small blue circle drawn in the center of his forehead. "How did that get there?"

"Just stare at it."

Alyssa nodded.

"Keep watching."

Alyssa looked at it and Jafrin put his hands on either side of her head. They were silent for a few moments and Jafrin said, "Huh!" then withdrew his hands and picked up his food.

"Well?"

"I detected a faint potential."

"Meaning?"

"You can learn at least a little bit."

Alyssa smiled. "Really? When can you teach me?"

"Well, we have a solid six days of doing nothing but travelling. I’ll find some time in there somewhere."

Olrick scrutinized the war machines one by one. An arbalest, a catapult, a ballista, and a few others were lined up in the street for his inspection. It only took him a few minutes, but when he finished, he turned to Soleth and explained a million improvements that could be implemented to increase their efficiency.

Soleth kept his pride in check and said, "I’ll get my engineers on it right away."

Olrick walked back over to King Borric and General Garak. "How long do you estimate before the wall will be breached?" he asked Garak.

The newly promoted general hesitated. "I’m not sure."

"Speculate."

"Two weeks? That’s the hugest army I’ve ever seen, and I wouldn’t be surprised if-"

"One week, then," Olrick said.

"What?" Borric gaped.

"We’ll evacuate the lower level of the city by one week from now, and we’ll begin trapping all the buildings in the city. I also have another plan, but I’ll need to look in the sewers, the caves, and any other access points within the cliffs to see if its feasible. It probably won’t be, but it’s worth looking into."

A horse and rider clattered over the cobblestones and halted only a few feet from them. "They’ve begun the attack," the man said.

Borric jerked his hand at a nearby assistant and three horses were brought over. Olrick didn’t like horses, but he mounted one anyway. He had to see this army.

They rode to the city wall and could hear loud cracks as the Minion siege machines pelted it with boulders. The three men hurried up to the battlements and looked over the edge.

It was frightening.

The Minion had discovered the wooden lattice and removed it from over the pit. As Olrick predicted, bridges had been built over the spiked ring, but some soldiers were transporting loads of dirt and dumping them into the pit.

The rest of the army was charging across the field crazily, seemingly ready to jump into the moat and swim to the wall. The drawbridges were retracted, so there was no realistic way for them to cross the moat.

Another man joined the trio and said, "All my battle mages are prepared," he said to Garak. "They await your order."

"Who are you?" Olrick asked.

"I’m Hathor, who are you?"

"Hathor is the commander of the battle Magi," Borric explained.

"The mages await your order," the wizard told the king.

"Save them," Olrick said.

"Why?" Borric asked. "Look at them, it’s like a swarm of ants."

Olrick nodded. "But this attack will be easy to defeat without them. The Minion have come this far, so obviously they had some way of defeating the Karoks."

"Sheer numbers?" Garak retorted. "They could attack day and night like this and-"

"No. There’s something bigger out there," Olrick said. "Evil, by nature, is chaotic..." he trailed off as the Minion reached the edge of the moat. They coated the scorched plain all the way to the spike ring, and continued moving forward, even though Althorian archers were cutting them down like grass. "We’ll run out of arrows before we kill them all," Olrick said.

Then the Minion down below drew out bows and prepared to fire. Everyone on the battlements crouched behind a merlon as the mass of arrows struck. Some hit the city wall and fell into the moat, but most flew over the wall and into the city. A few screams erupted from the streets below.

"Move everyone at least a mile from the wall!" Garak yelled at one of his commanders, who passed the order along to soldiers in the street.

The battlements returned a round of arrow fire and arbalest darts and boulders, then ducked behind the merlons as more arrows flew up.

Olrick scampered past the open space between two merlons and crouched next to Borric and Garak. "Evil, by nature, is chaotic."

"No, there are four forces in the universe," Borric argued. "Good and evil and chaos and order. They are totally separate."

"This is hardly the time to get in a philosophical debate," Garak scowled. The soldier next to him flopped backwards, an arrow protruding from his eye socket.

"Nevertheless," Olrick said, "evil and chaos are often intertwined. In this world, at least. It takes something stronger than just orcs, Shadows, Darknesses, trolls, and goblins to unite all these Minion."

"Get to the fucking point!" Garak snapped.

The thousands of Minion outside the moat had finally set up a firing rhythm that remained constant, allowing no time for the battlements to recover and return fire without exposing themselves. The only thing left for them to do was wait until the Minion ran out of arrows.

"I’m saying that your mages should be saved until we see what’s leading them. We’ll need protection against it."

Borric nodded. "He’s right. In the last battle this-"

"But look at this!" Garak gestured at the constant river of arrows flying over their heads. "In the first few minutes of battle, they’ve got us pinned on our own defenses!"

"They’ll run out," Olrick said.

"Unless this is part of a plan," Borric said. He poked his head up and shot a glance out at the battlefield. Then he pulled back. "Shit."

Garak risked a glimpse out and an arrow bounced off his helmet, but he saw it too. "Do you think that’s worth our magic? Look at that!"

"Fuck you," Olrick said. "What is it?"

"It’s their leader."

Olrick swore and peeked over the edge. An arrow grazed his hair and he yanked his head back, but not before seeing the real enemy. It was a huge demon, flying toward the wall, carrying a sword of fire.

Now Olrick was scared. "Kill it," he ordered.

Hathor closed his eyes. Almost instantly, the attack of arrows halted. Mages all along the battlements stood in the open and raised their arms. A hundred lightning bolts lanced from the top of the western wall.

Olrick jumped up to watch. Their target raised his sword forward and all the lightning swirled into the blade. Electrical energy danced around the blade for several moments, then died down.

The creature laughed.

"Tell your men to attack," Hathor said.

Garak bellowed the order and all the archers spun out from behind cover and let fly with their arrows. The Minion tried to return fire but the arrows bounced off an invisible shield a few yards in front of the archers.

"Oh fuck," Olrick said.

"That thing’s still alive!" Borric cried. "Do it again."

Hathor seemed the most distressed. "If those lightning bolts didn’t kill it, I don’t know what can."

"Shoot it with darts," Olrick ordered.

Garak shouted the order and a few arbalest darts flew out to the hovering demon. It dodged easily, and maniacal laughter could be heard all across the battlements.

"That thing’s toying with us," Hathor said. "He could attack any time he wants, but he’s not. Our mages are no match for him if he-"

"Well do something then!" Borric snarled.

The wizard closed his eyes again and the mages hurled amorphous comets of energy at the demon. In response, it just flew up another hundred feet and let them pass harmlessly beneath.

"How far away is it?" Borric asked.

"About three hundred yards," Garak answered. "Why?"

"Get the priests!" Hathor cried. "Now!"

"Which ones?"

"Followers," the wizard answered desperately. "Now! We have to hurry!"

Garak yelled his orders at another soldier, and Olrick said, "What did you find out?"

"What?" Hathor asked.

"You just discovered something about the demon."

"It’s a demon lord," the wizard said shakily. "This is the most powerful creature in Gehenna, aside from the gods themselves."

"What’s it doing here?" Borric asked.

"There’s no way we can kill it without Aenis’ help," Hathor said. "This creature is a manifestation of pure evil-"

Then the demon decided to attack. It pointed its sword at a point on the wall, and fire hosed toward the rampart. They could only watch in horror as the fire exploded a few hundred yards down the battlements. Olrick flinched as the sound boomed across the city seconds later. When the smoke cleared, there was a huge gap in the battlements.

"Can’t your mages stop that?" Borric demanded. Snowflakes were beginning to settle in his hair.

The wizard swallowed and nodded. He closed his eyes, then looked back out at the demon.

"Unless you have some other way of defending against that demon," Olrick said, "there’s nothing I can do. We’re all dead."

"If the priests come," Hathor wrung his hands, "we might have a chance."

"What about that wall?" Borric pointed to the gap made by the demon lord’s fireball.

Olrick looked at it. It was too far to see clearly, but he guessed it was at least two dozen feet across. "If the Minion ever let up the attack, Soleth may be able to repair it overnight, if he works quickly enough. It won’t be as strong as-"

"Look!" Garak pointed. Another fireball was streaking toward the city, closer this time.

When the fireball was about fifty feet away from the wall, it struck the mages’ shield. The fireball flattened out and rippled away from the impact point in waves, like it had hit water.

"How long can they hold that up?" Borric asked.

"Not many more of those," the wizard said.

"I want the fucking priests," Borric said. "Get them here as soon as possible."

"They’re coming," Garak replied. He ordered some more troops to defend the gap in the wall and said, "How many more of those fireballs do you think he can shoot?"

"A million? I don’t know, not many people see these things and live."

The demon shot another fireball, which dissipated in the same manner. It raised its sword higher, and the sword began flickering. A moment later, a thousand little snakes of fire whipped out of the sword and lashed against the shield. They crawled along the barrier for nearly a second before it gave out.

"Get down!" the wizard cried.

Most of the fire snakes hit the battlements like lightning and left black scorch marks along the wall, but those that didn’t enveloped soldiers on the wall; most of them fell screaming into the city.

"That’s it," the wizard said. "We have no more defense against him."

Then Ghin jogged up the steps and said, "Sorry I’m late, fellas." He looked at the blackened merlons and said, "Not too late, I hope?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Garak demanded.

"Me, and those two up there, are your saviors," Ghin said. "I’m just nicer."

"Who two?" Borric looked to where Ghin pointed.

"They’re invisible." Ghin looked up to the top of the merlon and said to the air, "It’s just because I’ve known you longer than Marath has, and neither of you have any creativity at spellcasting...but that’s his fault, not yours." He jumped into the crenel adjacent to the indicated merlon and said, "Are we ready to kick some ass, or what?" Ghin looked at the Minion below and said to Hathor, "Keep them from shooting us full of arrows for the next few minutes, all right?"

The wizard scowled. "Who the-"

"Just shut up and do it," Ghin growled. He jumped up to the next merlon and cracked his knuckles. With a glance at his invisible friends, he said, "That can only be distracting you. Might as well let him know you exist."

Pause.

"Suit yourself," Ghin looked at the demon lord and raised his hands. "Time to die, motherfucker."

"This is Tranoth," Lia swept her arm around them.

Aleya looked at the city. Despite its decay, it seemed familiar. Not just because she had been here in her vision . . . it was as if she had been here in the past, or the future. With her visions, it could be either.

They passed beneath the crumbling gates to the ancient city. Most everything inside the city walls was in ruin; the buildings had been eroded by tenacious vines which had torn through the stones over several millennia. More plants had broken through the smooth cobbled streets. Once-clean stones were covered in green algae and moss; the whole place was in ruin.

"It looked better last time I was here," Lia said wistfully.

"When was that?" Aleya asked.

"Hm? Oh, a century or two." Lia shook her head and said, "Let’s go to the castle now."

The city was as quiet as a graveyard, and no one spoke until they reached the citadel, which was the least wrecked of all the buildings. Its towers had tumbled into the streets hundreds of years ago, so they had to pick their way among the rocks until they reached the main gate. The doors had rotted out of existence.

Inside the citadel, it was just as quiet, only it seemed hollow. To Aleya, it was like a tunnel through time, and she could almost hear voices speaking from the past...echoes of a dead age, these ruins their only remaining vestige in the world.

"Tomorrow is when we’ll get the Rose," Lia said. "I don’t want to deal with it tonight."

"Deal with what?" Borim asked.

"We might as well get it in the morning because we’ll be leaving then anyway," Lia said.

"Why not now?" Borim narrowed his eyes.

Lia gritted her teeth and said, "Because you don’t know where it is and I’m not going to go get it until I’ve had some sleep. Is that all right?" she glared.

Borim nodded.

Aleya frowned unconsciously. She had noticed some friction between Lia and Borim lately, probably due to Borim’s overt suspiciousness, and it was making her uncomfortable. Perhaps she would talk to Borim about it tonight.

Lia walked through the citadel as if she knew exactly where she was going. After about five minutes of walking, they arrived at the end of a hall, and Lia pointed to three doors. "These used to be bedrooms. Take your pick."

Aleya walked into the first one and looked around. It was dismal, with no light, so she had to light up a candle and put it on the window sill. Borim followed her in and looked around. A pile of mold and rotted wood in the corner indicated where the bed used to be.

Aleya stretched and said, "I’m getting pretty sleepy."

Borim looked at the hole where the door used to be, and said, "What did these people do for privacy?"

"They had doors, this one just rotted away."

"Joking?"

"Oh."

Aleya removed her bedroll from her backpack and sighed. "Borim?" she asked.

"What?" he said. He began removing his armor.

"You, um...don’t have to be so protective of me, you know."

"I’m sorry to inform you, but that’s my job. I took a lifelong oath to-"

"No, I mean, I know, but you’re a little too protective. Anything that Lia mentions that might even be remotely related to a mild threat you have to respond rudely to."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you’re too suspicious. Everything she says you have to question, and it’s not very polite. I don’t think she likes it very much."

"Yeah, but we’re being dragged through this-"

"Borim, we’re not being dragged through anything. Lia’s guiding us. The Oracle said I’m the chosen one. Lia knows it, and she’s helping us, so please don’t be so mean to her all the time."

"I just like to know what we’re getting into-"

"I know you do," Aleya said, "but just try to be a little nicer about it. Any time you ask her, you always ask her like she’s trying to hide something from us and she’s not."

Borim grunted and pulled off his vambraces. "If you say so."

At the end of the hall, in the last room, Lia sighed. As soon as this war was over, she was going away. Far away. Saving the world was not something she enjoyed doing; she never got any credit for it and she never felt the satisfaction that her father somehow reveled in.

She removed her bedroll from her backpack and set it on the cold floor. As she unrolled it, she heard Bolthorn come in the room. "Hi," she said.

"Hello," the warrior replied. He knelt at the bottom of her bedroll and said, "May I talk with you?"

"About what?" Lia removed the string from her hair and let it fall free.

"Last night."

"With Garen?"

Bolthorn nodded.

Lia sighed and said, "Let’s walk." She picked up her torch. They walked out into the hall and down the corridor. When they were out of earshot of Aleya’s room, Lia said, "What do you want to know?"

"I’m not very smart," Bolthorn said, "but I was able to figure out that something happens to you after I draw my sword. I’m guessing that’s why you told me to get rid of it."

"One reason," Lia said. They were walking down a stairway, into the heart of the citadel.

"What happens to you? Why?"

"Do you remember when I ran away from the temple? And when you experienced my memories?"

Bolthorn nodded.

"The people who tried to kill me in that temple were worshippers of Kra. They tried to destroy me, and Jonas is the only reason I’m alive now. Any time I see Kra, it’s like a horrible manifestation of the past. You don’t know what torture they put me through." She let out a shuddering breath and continued, "Your sword is a piece of Kra, and every time I’m exposed to his essence, it’s like reliving that torture."

"Then how come you didn’t relive it yesterday?"

"You’re not the only one I’m bonded to. Another of my bonds saved me."

"How?"

Lia shook her head. "Doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you at the chasm, I’m sorry."

"No, it’s my fault. I should’ve gotten rid of it. I’ll get rid of it now." His hands went to the buckle, but Lia stopped him.

"Keep it. This fear is something I’ve got to work through on my own."

They came to the bottom of the stairwell and stopped.

Bolthorn said, "But you said it was evil, right? What-"

Lia shook her head. "No. It is evil, but you’re in control of it, and you’re not evil, so that’s what matters." Those two ideas didn’t seem to mix in his mind, so she added, "Just keep it and trust me, all right?"

Bolthorn looked into her eyes for a moment and nodded. "Whatever you say."

"That’s better."

"Now will you tell me what the Death Rose is?"

Lia considered for a moment then said, "It’s a very powerful thing that will help us greatly when it comes time to face the Minion."

"When will we face them?"

"When we get back to Althorien. They’ve already arrived at the city."

Bolthorn’s mouth dropped. "When?"

"Yesterday. Their attack started today."

"How do you know?"

Lia grinned up at him. "Don’t question your elders."

"How much older than me are you? You definitely don’t look older."

Lia batted her eyelashes. "Why thank you."

Bolthorn frowned. "You’re very confusing sometimes."

Lia sidled up to him and put an arm around his rib cage. "I do it on purpose."

"Why?"

"It’s fun," Lia grinned. She stood up on her tip-toes and kissed his neck. "That confusing?"

"A little."

Lia pulled herself up higher and kissed him on the lips. "How ‘bout that?"

"Not at all," Bolthorn’s hands clasped behind her waist and bent down to kiss her.

Lia dropped the torch as Bolthorn’s lips pressed against hers and his tongue pushed past her lips. Within a few seconds, they were kissing passionately, and Lia’s back was pressed up against the wall.

When Lia’s hands went to Bolthorn’s pants, he pulled away from her and said, "Why should I fuck you? It’s just gonna be another-"

"Because you want to," Lia said huskily, mashing her lips against his and resuming their kiss.

She kicked off her boots and unbuckled Bolthorn’s sword belt. It fell to the floor. Both of them untied each other’s pants at the same time. Bolthorn pulled Lia’s all the way off, so she was bare from the waist down, but Lia lowered his just enough to free his erection.

Bolthorn put his hands under her armpits and lifted her up and pushed her against the wall. Lia’s hands grabbed Bolthorn’s stiff member and she aimed it up into her vagina.

He slid in, all the way to the hilt, and Lia grunted. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he ground his hips into hers, thrusting his cock into her moist depths. His hands held onto her buttocks while they fucked rapidly.

It was a quick fuck, over in just a couple minutes. Lia’s came a second before Bolthorn’s. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her ankles crossed at the base of his spine. She bit her lip to keep from screaming.

Bolthorn came as soon as he felt her thighs tighten around him and pull him deeper. "Fuck!" he hissed. His hips slammed into hers, sliding her up the wall as spurt after spurt of his seed emptied into her womb.

There was a short silence when both had finished coming, then Lia whispered, "There’s an empty room on this level."

"Aren’t they all empty?"

"Well, I guess so."

Alinor and Ghin floated a few yards above the battlements. Jonas stood below them and watched Marath.

The pair of wizards linked their minds and began weaving their spell together. Over the next few minutes, the power buildup became quite obvious, so that Hathor even noticed it. Then Marath noticed it and stopped shooting fireballs at the battlements.

"Stop hiding yourselves," Marath thundered across the battlefield. He spoke in Varennses, so only the pair of wizards and Jonas could understand him.

Alinor let the cloak drop away, and surprised cries came from the battlements below him.

Marath laughed. "You think you can defeat me?" he sneered. "Not even Alinor and Manjinar could hurt me; why do you believe that you two can kill me?"

"Might I remind you that you ran away from us," Alinor replied.

Marath snarled and flew straight up. When his black form had vanished into the clouds, Alinor and Ghin flew after him. They popped up above the clouds and saw the Overlord waiting for them. His sword was held low, and his eyes were burning. "You have tried my patience, Alinor, and now it has come to an end. Hope that Aenis has a nice place for you in Paradise. And your little friend, too."

"I don’t understand," Ghin said out of the side of his mouth, to Alinor. "You’re just so much more popular than me, but we’re both on the same level."

They completed their spell, and the threads locked together in a solid pattern. A sphere glimmered around them, and Marath chuckled, "Your puny shield will not protect you against me." He held his sword up in front of him and began building his own defenses.

Now, Alinor thought.

The two wizards flew in opposite directions and their shield split apart like two bubbles, one surrounding each wizard. They flew at Marath from two different angles, and each one attacked.

A blast of pure blue energy erupted from Ghin’s palms, and a lightning bolt shot from Alinor’s.

With a curse, Marath beat his wings once and flew back, out of their path. Both magical attacks crossed a few feet in front of him. The wizards were closing in as well, so he dropped down a few feet and swung his brand in a wide arc.

The blade missed Alinor, but struck Ghin’s shield dead center. Both wizards’ shields flared red with the strain. Fire enveloped Ghin’s shield, and Marath grinned maliciously as the wizard faltered. The Overlord drew back his sword for another swipe, but Ghin threw both his hands downward and struck Marath with a bolt of energy.

Clouds swallowed Marath as he was thrust into them, and Ghin jerked his apart. A hundred yard-wide hole suddenly formed in the clouds, as if it were being pushed apart by a giant circle.

The exposed Overlord hurled a barrage of fireballs at the pair of wizards, but they darted away. When Alinor was safely out of range, he spun around and raised his arms out to the sides. "Why not use what we have at hand?" he asked Marath.

Every snowflake within two miles began funneling toward Marath in a dozen streams of liquid ice. The first one struck him in the back and stunned him. Each following stream of ice hit him like punches, and began clinging to his skin.

Ghin fired another blast of blue energy, but Marath deflected it with the sword. The ice was starting to coat his whole body now, and his wings would soon be unable to hold him up.

With a roar, Marath’s skin burst into flames, instantly evaporating the ice. He drew his arm back and hurtled his sword into Alinor’s shield. The gray-robed wizard was tossed through the air like a ragdoll, but he regained his position a moment later.

Marath threw a fireball at Ghin to distract him, then whirled back toward Alinor.

For the first time in a long time, Alinor felt nervous. His shield was still erect, but it couldn’t survive another direct hit from Marath.

The fire on Marath’s skin winked out, and he raised his arms out to the side. "Time to squash the bug," Marath snarled.

Like a spear thrown from a mile away, a shaft of pure light lanced up from the battlements of Althorien, trailing white sparkles behind it. The spear smacked into Marath’s back and spun him like a top. When he regained his balance, Alinor was gone, but a new figure plummeted toward him from the higher clouds.

Only by a last second dodge did Marath avoid taking Manjinar’s sword directly to the heart. Instead, Manjinar’s gleaming blade plunged through Marath’s left pectoral and out through the base of his wing. The pair dropped to the earth like a rock, trailing blood. Manjinar yanked his blade out, then prepared to drive it through Marath’s skull.

With a howl, Marath slammed his palm into Manjinar’s chest, and released the last of his energy. The blow hit Manjinar like a battering ram, and knocked him a few dozen yards into the air.

Marath’s limp body crashed into the battlefield below, among the Minion. They immediately surrounded him and hauled him back to their camp.

Manjinar floated back above the clouds.

"Glad to see you’ve finally decided to take a hand in things," Ghin said dryly.

The Overlord shrugged.

Alinor joined the pair and said, "Why did you come here? I didn’t call you."

"You should have," Manjinar snapped. "That way we could have killed him once and for all."

"You mean he’s not dead?" Ghin said.

"Doubtful," Alinor replied. "Overlords are difficult to kill."

"No shit," Ghin snorted.

"I came because I heard them," Manjinar gestured at Althorien, which wasn’t visible through the clouds. "At least someone had sense enough to call me."

"Alinor’s got a stubborn streak," Jonas said, floating up next to them. "He does everything on his own."

"Fuckin’ party up here," Ghin chuckled.

"Lia has the same problem," Jonas said. "Both of them think they’re invincible."

"When were you going to tell me?" Ghin demanded of Alinor. "At the end of time? You know I wouldn’t have touched her if I’d known."

"Next time I saw you," Alinor replied calmly.

"I’ll let you two settle whatever it is you’re arguing about," Manjinar said. "If you’ll excuse me, I have better things to be doing." He flickered away.

"I think you’ve seen me in the past ten thousand years!" Ghin snapped.

"Twenty, I believe," Jonas said.

Ghin choked. "Fuck you!"

"You could have put two and two together," Alinor said.

Ghin put his hand in the crook of his elbow and jerked his forearm up. "May I have my potency back now? I helped you against Marath."

"Maybe later," Alinor said. "She is my daughter, after all."

"You know how protective fathers are," Jonas said.

"I think she’s old enough to take care of herself," Ghin shot back.

"Maybe after the war," Alinor said. "There are other things I need to think about."

"I’ll get you back for this," Ghin growled. "You can count on it."

"I will," Alinor said. He and Jonas faded away.

"Fuckin’ assholes," Ghin muttered. He returned to the city.

"Are you all right?" Garak asked.

Hathor nodded, but still leaned on the general’s shoulder.

"Whatever you did seemed to help," Olrick noted. "Look." He pointed at the battlefield, where the Minion were retreating with the body of the demon lord.

"I only stunned it," the wizard answered. "Caught it by surprise is all."

"Nice shot, too," Ghin touched down beside Borric, and all the men jumped.

"You’re bleeding," Olrick said to Hathor.

Hathor touched his nose and said, "It’s nothing. I’ll be fine in a few hours."

"Just don’t exert yourself magically for the next three days," Ghin said. "It could have detrimental effects on your abilities."

"Who are you?" Hathor straightened up and wiped the blood from his face.

Ghin shrugged. "I’m just a wizard. Nobody special."

"Who was the other one up there with you?"

"He’s even less special than me," Ghin’s eyebrows lowered. "And if you see him again, let me know."

"What’s going to happen to them now that the demon lord is dead?" Borric asked.

"He’s not dead yet," Ghin answered. "He’s just very weak. The Minion will probably attack tomorrow, and let him recuperate. He probably won’t even attack you again during this war."

"Then that means we have a chance!" Borric said, relieved.

"I’m sorry, I phrased that badly," said Ghin. "What I meant was, the demon lord will wait until you are dead before intervening in another battle."

Gollren surveyed his group. He was taking six potential sells, himself, Lily, Sh’kara, and the interpreter. After some consideration, Gollren had bought three horses for the slaves, one for himself, one for the interpreter, one for Sh’kara, and a packhorse. Then he’d bought an extra set of winter clothes for each person. They had been difficult to find since it was summer in Kachara, but the interpreter had managed to scrounge up some furs for a cheap price.

They had traveled for the whole day, and were almost at the base of the Western Mountains. The mountains were steep and rose almost straight out of the plains, instead of gradually building up from foothills. They almost looked impenetrable, but the interpreter had said he found a trail in.

Sh’kara sat back and touched her tongue to the chunk of meat impaled on her dagger. She took a tentative bite, then took the whole thing into her mouth. "Where are we going now?" she asked Gollren.

"Lily might be a little more qualified to answer that," Gollren referred.

"Ah," Lily said, looking at her food. "I only know what I’ve been told. My friend came to Kachara searching for Draconia, in these mountains, I suppose. I’m following him."

"Why are you following him?" asked one of the prostitutes. It was the half-elf, Laurel, if Gollren remembered her name correctly.

"Um, that’s a long story."

Sh’kara swallowed her meat and said, "So are they mountain people or what?"

"Bush men," one of the prostitutes said.

"I, uh, I’m not sure," Lily scratched the back of her neck. "They worship Arraka, I know that much."

"Why?" Sh’kara asked.

"Why what?" Gollren said.

"Why do they worship Arraka?" Sh’kara said. "Why do they even have the same pantheon as Ahkran? Wouldn’t it stand to reason that their entire religion would be based differently?"

Lily raised her eyebrows.

Gollren grinned at the girl’s intelligence. Sh’kara was his slave; he had seen her three years ago at an auction and fallen in love. She always wore shorts and a sleeveless open-neck, cut off a few inches below her breasts, which left her delightfully slim stomach exposed. Her short hair was dyed blood red, and her eyes were green at the same level of intensity. She had a tattoo of a uroborus around her bellybutton, and a bellybutton ring. Of course, she wasn’t wearing all these when Gollren had bought her, but he could tell she was different. And intelligent.

Now she was eighteen, and living with Gollren for three years had definitely changed her for the better. She had continued to mature into a beautiful young woman, and her skills in bed surpassed any prostitute Gollren had ever slept with.

"Obviously the roots of our religion extend far back," Gollren said.

"Very far back," Sh’kara said, digging an orange from the supply bag. She bit into it and let the juice trickle down her chin. "For the past millenium, there has been practically no contact with Kachara. We’re among the first people to be traveling here in all that time."

"Why did everyone just decide to come down here?" asked a slave girl.

"A ship from Harnash finally decided to brave the Sea of Storms," Gollren said. "That was about a year ago, and we’ve been slowly establishing contact with Kachara since then. Now everyone’s in a race to get here first and set up the best possible trade. We’re here to set up good relations with everyone by selling you."

"So you want to set up good relations with Draconia," Lily said.

"Hope they don’t kill us," Sh’kara grinned, biting into her orange again.

"What?"

"Well what if extramarital sex is an abominable sin and they kill us for trying to sell these girls to them? We know nothing about their culture."

"Nobody that dumb," said the interpreter.

"Do you know anything about this country?" Sh’kara challenged.

"I know they not kill you for trying to be nice. I never met body who not want sex girl."

Gollren laughed. "Well I’m reassured." He stood up and said, "I’m going for a walk."

Sh’kara bounced to her feet and tossed the half-eaten orange to one of the prostitutes. She followed him out of the clearing.

When they were out of earshot, Sh’kara said, "You don’t think these Draconians will buy all six of them, do you?"

Gollren shook his head. "Doubt it. I just wanted to offer a choice, that’s why I got the most diverse of the girls. Hopefully I can sell the half-elf and her friend."

"Who, Laurel and Janisa?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Why are you so eager to sell them?"

"Shain paid a pretty price for them, and wants his investment back by the time I return."

"You don’t necessarily have to sell them here."

"It’d be nice," Gollren shrugged. "From what Shain tells me, the half-elf might have some special skills."

"Like what, magic?"

"Perhaps. He said she had quite an effect on him, and you know how hard he is to crack."

"Tell me about it."

"If this country is as powerful as the Dragon Guild, it would do well to sell such a pair to them, especially with the half-elf’s magic working on them the whole time."

"If you say so."

Gollren stopped by a stream and sat down on the bank. Sh’kara sat behind him and began massaging his shoulders. Her hands loosened Gollren’s muscles in a few minutes, and she instinctively knew that he was ready for her.

Sh’kara removed her leather shoes and slipped her shorts off. She slid around to Gollren’s front and straddled his hips. Her mouth met his just a second later. He responded to her probing tongue and pushed his right hand between her thighs, then slipped a finger into her pussy. His left hand moved up and down her slim thighs and buttocks. Gods, she had tight muscles.

Sh’kara’s fingers deftly unlaced his tunic and unbuckled his belt. She bared his torso within a few seconds, and had unclothed the rest of him a few moments later. She leaned against him and pushed his back into the grass, still kissing.

Gollren lifted her skimpy shirt above her head and tossed it next to her shorts. His hands kneaded her breasts as they kissed, and they continued to kiss until Sh’kara felt Gollren’s erection throbbing against her buttocks.

She slid her body down his and lifted her hips up. Her left hand held his rod in place when she lowered herself onto it. Both of them sighed as he penetrated her to his base, and both began grinding against each other.

The heat built between them rapidly, and Sh’kara was the first to come, unless she was just faking it. At first Gollren assumed she always faked it, but he began to doubt that assumption after three years. Now he just didn’t care.

Sh’kara grunted into his mouth and plunged her tongue even deeper past his lips, and that set Gollren off. He grunted next, holding her small hips against his as he slammed into her and spewed his load into her hot canal.

Sh’kara’s vaginal muscles continued to contract around his cock, pulling the semen up into her. When both of them were finished, she sat up and crossed her legs on his stomach, while he was still inside her. She leaned her elbows on her knees and said, "If that girl does know magic, maybe I could learn something from her."

Gollren settled his hands behind his head and said, "You’re beyond that, my dear."

Aleya woke up in a sitting position, and saw everyone crouched around her, staring at her as if she were a ghost. Immediately her hands went to her face, checking for bruises or cuts. "What are you - What are you all staring at?"

"You started spouting off some poetry," Borim said.

"Sounded like a prophecy to me," Bolthorn said.

"What did I say?" blood filled Aleya’s face.

"Nobody had anything to write on," Lia said, "and none of us have very good memories - I don’t anyway, so I can’t quote it back at you. The gist of it was that the mourner and the dead brother must unite to defend against the Betrayer."

"What about the ‘life born of tragedy’ bit?" Borim asked.

Lia sat back on her heels. "I have no idea."

"What was that part?" Aleya asked.

"‘Life born of blackened blood to wed the avenger,’" Bolthorn quoted.

"Ooh, good memory," Lia said. "I don’t know what that means, but it sounds pointless."

"I’d hardly call it pointless," Borim said.

"Wait a minute," Aleya said, "how come I’m prophesying now? I thought the medallion-" she stopped when her fingers failed to find the pendant. She looked down between her breasts, but it was gone. When her gaze returned to Lia’s, she saw it dangling from the elf’s fingers.

"As soon as I pulled it off you sat straight up and started talking," Lia said.

"So that means I have my sight back?" Aleya was relieved.

"I would say so," Bolthorn snorted.

"Get dressed and we’ll go down to the tomb," Lia stood up and walked into the hall. Bolthorn followed her.

"Tomb?" That word sent a chill down Aleya’s spine.

"The Death Rose is kept in a tomb," Borim said. "Ajanor’s tomb."

Aleya donned her overcoat and stood up.

As she put on her boots, Borim said, "I, um, Aleya, do you know anything about this Death Rose? I mean, I know that you don’t, but I was wondering if you had any visions about it or anything."

Aleya shook her head. "No. I only know what I told you last night. Lia knows what’s best."

"How come we’re following her, if the Oracle told us to look out for Bolthorn?"

Aleya paused with her backpack half on her shoulders. "I...I don’t know. Maybe he knew they would be together."

Lia said from the door, "Are you ready?"

"For what?" Borim asked.

Aleya raised an eyebrow at him, but Lia waved for them to follow, and she led them down the hall. The group was strangely silent as they wove through the ancient corridors and stairways, moving to the bottom of the citadel.

They finally stood in a circular room, with designs etched around the wall. Lia moved into the center of the room and looked down. Aleya looked as well.

On the floor was a circle, and inside the circle was a picture of a rose. Time had worn away the paint and layered dust on top of the engraving, so it was difficult to tell, but Aleya could swear that the rose petals were pitch black.

"What is this?" Aleya asked.

"Gods," Lia murmured. She tilted her head back and smiled. It’s been so long.

With a start, Aleya realized that she had read the elf’s thoughts. It had happened a couple times before, but with such irregularity that it still surprised her.

Lia turned to Aleya and said, "Come stand next to me."

Without hesitation Aleya walked over and stood next to the elf.

"What are you doing?" Borim said. "I thought this was a tomb, but there’s only one entran-"

Aleya blinked when Borim stopped talking, and saw that they were no longer in the circular room. They were standing somewhere else, but still on the engraving of the rose. This room was huge, and looked like a throne room. It was also circular, but it was larger, and higher. The ceiling was a dome, with what looked like a skylight at the top; pure white light filtered through the skylight, illuminating Ajanor’s sarcophagus in the center of the room. A dozen pillars encircled the sarcophagus, and cast dark shadows on the wall.

The pair stood between two of the columns about twenty yards from the stone coffin. Aleya assumed that it was Ajanor’s coffin. She was struck by the handsomeness of his visage; it was amazing that someone was able to capture such a face in stone. Ajanor’s arms were folded across his chest, and the Death Rose was gripped in one hand.

Before Aleya had time to look at it more closely, she saw smoke gathering along the floor.

"What is that?" Aleya asked.

"Aelina," Lia answered grimly.

"What?"

"One of your sisters. Return when you have the Rose. Don’t stay more than an hour." Lia disappeared.

Aleya’s eyes widened and she almost groped for the missing elf. Lia had just left her alone, with . . . who?

Almost terrified, Aleya spun to face the congealing mist. It rolled across the floor like water, and slowly amassed into a humanoid shape. When it finally solidified into an actual human being, Aleya gasped.

It was as though she was looking into a mirror.

At least, that was her first impression. When she scrutinized the other girl more carefully, she could tell that the other was a full-blooded elf, like Lia. But Aelina’s hair and eyes were the same as Aleya’s, and her body structure was the same. Her face was slightly more angular. Freckles dotted the other girl’s nose, but the major difference was in Aelina’s emotions. Just by looking at her, Aleya could tell that she was restraining a flood of them.

For several seconds they just stared at each other, and Aleya prayed that her "sister" would speak soon. Finally she did, and Aleya cringed when she heard the voice. Aelina’s soft voice carried more hatred and despair than anyone Aleya had ever seen. And whoever she was, she had kept the emotions to herself, locked up in this vault, for thousands of years. Her voice sounded as though it came from a million miles away, across an infinite gap of time.

"Betrayal is the greatest sin," Aelina said simply.

Aleya’s mouth opened, but she could think of nothing to say, so she shut it.

Aelina continued, and walked forward, her white gown lightly brushing the floor. "I cannot understand, and never will, the mistrust that she held for me. My only true friend, my sister . . ." Aelina laughed bitterly. "And in my - our time of greatest sorrow, this is how she repays me!"

They were only an arm's length apart, and that was all the distance Aelina needed. The other girl’s arm shot out and her hand plunged into Aleya’s chest, between her breasts, into her rib cage.

Aleya’s body jerked and she gasped, but no air flowed into her lungs. Darkness seeped in from the sides, slowly at first, then it lanced into the center of her vision and blocked out everything.

When it cleared, she was standing in the same hall, but it was darker. Dim light was provided by four torches, one between every third pillar. Ajanor’s sarcophagus rested in the center of the room, just as she had seen it before, only now it was open. Ajanor’s body lay in the coffin. He wore his finest battle armor, which had been polished to reflect the dull torchlight.

Aleya walked over from the engraving on the floor, and stood next to his coffin. For a few moments she stared at his features, totally disbelieving her eyes.

Ajanor, the most powerful warrior who walked the face of Tirn Aill, was dead. He who, alone, slew a hundred thousand Minion. He who had defended Tranoth and Baranish with his life, for centuries, now lay dead, because of the demon Aramus.

Aramus, whose mere presence caused flowers to wither and children to cry. Aramus, the bane of existence. He was the cause of the destruction of Tranoth, and Baranish’s descent into ruin. The forest would no longer be called Baranish, but Kranthae: Death. Those few elves who had survived the war would scatter across the world, and settle in foreign lands, with foreign names. Their heritage would be forgotten, and no one would remember the beautiful forest known as Baranish. Worst of all, no one would remember Ajanor, the elf whose life blood had allowed Baranish to survive.

Aleya dropped to her knees next to the sarcophagus and began to weep. The tears flowed freely, and streamed from her eyes onto the cold floor, glistening with the torch flames as they fell. An immeasurable time passed as she wept for the only soul on Tirn Aill who mattered, the only one pure enough to take up the Death Rose and wield it against the Darkness. When she had finished, and the tears had dried on her face, Aleya stumbled to her feet. With some difficulty, she reached up and closed the sarcophagus. The solid stone in place, Aleya reached around her neck and withdrew the Death Rose, hanging limply from its chain.

The Rose petals were as black as ever, not reflecting the slightest bit of light. The stem and leaves and thorns were green, but Aleya knew they weren’t living. The Death Rose was an inanimate object, a tool of the gods, designed for but one person.

Ajanor.

Aleya removed the chain from the Rose, and slid the Rose into the sarcophagus’ stone grasp.

She turned to leave the tomb, but halted a step away.

Ilissa stood behind her. Her best friend, who had been missing for three months.

"I-Ilissa!" Aleya stammered. "Y-You’re alive! I thought that-"

"I’m very alive," Ilissa said. Her voice was like ice. "I have been alive, and I’ve learned some things."

"Wh-What are you-" then Aleya noticed the knife blade gleaming in Ilissa’s hand. Her stomach knotted in fear, and she began backing away.

"Aleya, you and I are the last one in Ajanor’s bloodline, and it would be safer if you were eliminated. Safer for my child."

"Y-Your what?" Aleya’s back hit the sarcophagus, and the terror felt like a ball of ice in her heart.

Ilissa’s hand flashed forward and the silver blade buried itself beneath Aleya’s rib cage. Pain tore through her belly like fire, and she screamed. When Ilissa removed the knife, Aleya slid to the ground, clutching the wound and trying to stop the blood from bubbling between her fingers. She watched in horror as the red stain spread across her dress and created a puddle on the floor.

With the blade, Ilissa tapped the bottom of Aleya’s chin and Aleya lifted her head to look into Ilissa’s amber eyes. "I am with child."

"Wh-Whose?" Aleya tasted blood in her mouth.

"Aramus is the father."

Aleya’s eyes widened. "N-No," she whispered. "Ilissa, what have you done?"

"Ajanor preferred you over me, but Aramus would take me. Brothers are alike, after all."

Aleya swallowed down the bile and blood in her mouth and gasped out, "You-You can’t do this."

Ilissa lifted the blade to Aleya’s neck and cut it across sharply. Aleya didn’t even feel the pain, but everything grew faint almost immediately.

"I already have," Ilissa’s voice echoed through the haze overtaking Aleya.

The elf girl stood up and walked away from her dying friend. Aleya’s eyesight failed before Ilissa reached the edge of the room.

Aleya’s eyelids slowly opened. She was lying on the ground, with her face pressed to the cold floor. Tears had dampened the side of her head, and she thought she tasted blood. But when she touched her finger to her saliva, it came up clean.

Aleya struggled to her feet, and looked at Aelina.

Aelina’s face was a mask of pure hatred. "My one and only friend, the one I trusted with my life . . ." she trailed off and looked balefully at Aleya. "I assume you have come to take the Death Rose?"

Aleya nodded.

"You are Ilissa’s child, then?"

For a moment, Aleya didn’t know what to say. Was she? She didn’t know who any of these people were, even though the vision had given her some clues. "I-I’m...I’m not sure."

"What do you mean, you’re not sure?" Aelina asked. She sounded contemptuous. "Ilissa’s child is the only one capable of wielding the Death Rose. Unless you are just an unwary adventurer, come down into the...no, that is impossible. No one knows about me except Alinor, and he would not send you."

The words tumbled from Aleya’s lips before she knew what she was saying. "Ilissa never knew what she was doing. Aramus captured her, as you suspected, but he knew who she was, and he bewitched her and impregnated her. The spell lasted until she died. When her son was eighteen, she tried convincing him to come here and take it, but, realizing her motives, he refused and went away. Do not blame Ilissa; she was overpowered by the Betrayer, and deserves her place in Paradise.

"Now, a greater evil rises in the west, and the Death Rose is needed to defend Tirn Aill."

Aelina was agape when Aleya had finished. "So soon?"

"Time is irrelevant," Aleya said. "I am the last of the bloodline, and I am the chosen one. Will you permit me?"

Aelina stared at Aleya for almost a solid minute, then her features softened. She stepped aside.

As Aleya walked over to the sarcophagus, she noticed that her breath and her boots hitting the floor were the only sounds in the room. The silence was unnerving.

When she stopped next Ajanor’s stone visage, she was in control of her actions. Really, she had been before, when she spoke, but those words came from a deeper level of her psyche - not conscious. Now she was just the sixteen-year old girl from a small town in the Highlands; just a former temple attendant, who had traveled hundreds of miles for some strange artifact that meant nothing to her. Yet.

Trying not to shake too much, Aleya reached her right hand out and grasped the stem of the Death Rose between her thumb and forefinger. As soon as her skin came in contact with the cool surface, fire leaped into her body from the Rose. She screamed as the liquid heat rushed through her veins and burned her body from the inside out. It swelled from within, incinerating every organ in her body, until the fire was burning away her skin like paper.

At the same time, a million experiences and emotions cascaded into Aleya’s mind, sweeping away any coherent thought. In less than one second, the story of the universe unfolded in her brain, and the Betrayer was revealed. Hatred more potent than any she had ever felt infused her brain and all of it was bent on revenge.

Aleya gasped and choked. She was on her side, curled up into a ball on the floor. For a few moments, there was only her ragged breaths, but then she finally felt the sharp pain in her hand.

Aleya’s eyes slowly moved to look. Clutched in her right hand was the Death Rose. It was pulsing scarlet red. A few drops of blood dripped from Aleya’s closed fist, dotting the floor with crimson.

The thorns.

Aleya opened her fist and winced. The Death Rose’s thorns had punctured her palm in four places and three times in her fingers. Aleya struggled to her feet and held the Death Rose by its bulb. Her blood dripped down the stem and onto the floor. It was the same as it had felt in the dream. The Rose was solid, and most likely unbreakable, and heavy, as though it were made of metal.

Aleya looked around the room.

Aelina was gone.

Without staying to puzzle over this, Aleya walked to the circle in the floor. Before she even reached the center of the circle, she was standing back in the other room.

Bolthorn, Borim, and Lia were waiting on her. Lia had a huge grin on her face. "You got it," she said.

Aleya nodded.

"What happened?" Bolthorn asked.

"What happened to your hand?" Borim cried, walking toward her.

Bolthorn yanked him back. "Don’t touch that, boy!"

"I wasn’t, I just-"

"What happened?" Lia asked.

Aleya explained everything that had transpired in the room, and when she had finished, Borim was gaping.

Lia said, "So you don’t...have any...extra...knowledge other than that?"

Aleya shook her head.

"Do you know how to use the Death Rose at all?"

Aleya looked at it. It had stopped pulsing and was just as black as before. Her blood was still running down the stem so she tucked the Rose in her pocket and wiped her hand on her cloak.

"I can heal that," Lia said. She took the girl’s hand in hers and covered her palm. A second passed, and Lia’s brow furrowed. When she removed her hand, the puncture wounds were still there. "Um, Bolthorn, do you have any bandages?"

Bolthorn nodded and began digging around his backpack.

Lia stepped back, puzzled. "It must be because the wound was caused by the Death Rose. But the wound shouldn’t be any worse than pricks from a normal thorn, since you’re one of Ajanor’s descendents."

Bolthorn found his bandages and wrapped up Aleya’s hand. "If those are normal cuts, they should heal in a couple days."

"I, um, what am I supposed to do with this?" Aleya asked, pointing to the Death Rose.

"Keep it someplace safe, and don’t let anyone else touch it."

"Why not?"

"They’ll die."

"What?"

"Well, the Death Rose kills anyone not of your bloodline if they touch it."

Aleya gawked at her.

Lia shrugged. "That’s the way it is. Don’t ask me why."

For the first time in a long time, Aleya felt anger rising up in her. Probably an after-effect of the torrent of emotions that had been crammed into her brain, because normally she wasn’t easy to anger. "How did you know I was one of Ajanor’s descendents?" she demanded. "What if I wasn’t?"

"You are. The Oracle proclaimed you as the chosen one, remember? You were drawn straight to me and Bolthorn, and you would have seen if you weren’t the one. And, if you noticed, Aelina looked quite similar to you."

All of it was true, of course, so Aleya’s anger subsided. "You’re right. Sorry."

"Forget it," Lia said. "We have to go back to Althorien now."

With the morning came a new assault, but this one was solely the Minion. Marath was nowhere in sight, and the Althorians became more confident when he didn’t appear. Their confidence waned, however, when the arsenal of siege machines was deployed on top of the spike ring (which had been filled with dirt during the night). Over three dozen war machines sat just outside of the safe range, and tested their distances, hurling boulders and barrels of water at the city walls.

So far the attack had remained only on the western wall, but Garak was confident the Minion was bringing more troops around to the eastern side, so he kept a decent guard on that wall. All war machines but two arbalests stayed on the western half, though.

The Legion wore fur beneath their armors, to keep out the cold, which was severe now. Almost a hundred citizens had been pulled off the streets, just to keep the snow from building up on the battlements. Another fifty people kept the fires behind each merlon from dying. After two took arrows to the head, Garak loaned them suits of armor and helmets.

It wasn’t until noon that the siege machines rolled forward and began bombarding the city with boulders and burning barrels of oil. The oil virtually exploded when it hit. For the most part it was just a distracter, except when it hit a merlon and splashed flames all over the battlements.

Several times during the day the Minion attempted to enter through the grates, but a vicious assault from above prevented them from having much success. Engineers still working beneath the city were equipped with pikes if it became necessary to defend. Eventually some Legion were pulled from the eastern wall, wrapped in othskin suits, and ordered beneath the city.

Magi were spanned evenly on the western wall, and deflected Minion projectiles when most necessary, but for the most part they battled with Minion mages, who made their first appearance today.

The Minion mages were Darknesses, the creatures of solid black with fiery eyes and dark capes. Those Darknesses that weren’t mages usually commanded a unit or garrison, because they were the most intelligent of the Minion. They had a habit of shooting streams of fire from their eyes, and the Magi were mostly occupied with defending against this attack, or shooting fireballs of their own.

Despite staggering losses on the Minion’s part, every single hour, they continued to come, and this perseverance was what frightened Althorians the most. The Minion did not fear death and would continue coming until the end of time if possible. Even scarier, their sheer numbers would have allowed that. The Minion had more than a hundred thousand soldiers, and most of those were just waiting their turn.

Olrick and Soleth and two other engineers walked through the Baring Caves hurriedly, each holding a torch. When they reached a fork in the passageway, Olrick said to the engineers, "I want a map drawn, to scale, of everywhere we travel in here, and I want to know the exact dimensions of these caves and their distance from the cliff and the surface."

When the engineers looked at Soleth, he nodded and Olrick continued down the right passage. "How far back do these passages extend?"

"We don’t really know," Soleth said. "We’re already farther than the storage rooms, and I’m not sure we should go much farther -- rumors of wraiths..."

"We have to if my plan is going to work," Olrick said. "I need to get deep enough into the cliff and find correctly aligned caverns."

"Are you going to tell me what you have planned?" Soleth asked.

Olrick shook his head. "No. There’s no way you would let me go through with it."

Daren opened the door to Corin’s room and walked in. "Corin?" he called.

No answer.

The prince walked through the suite in search of his brother, but couldn’t find him.

Probably in the war council already.

Someone knocked on the door. "Come in," Daren walked from the sun room into the bedroom.

A servant poked her head in the room and smiled. It was that same one he’d seen the other week in the servant lounge, and he’d always taken notice of her in the halls. He’d found out her name - Krissa.

"You asked me drop by this evening."

"Uh..." Daren said intelligently. "Yes...I did..."

Krissa slipped in and closed the door behind her. "May I guess why?"

"Uh..." Daren said.

Krissa dropped the latch on the door and walked over to him. Her arms slipped around Daren’s waist and she put her nose against his. "You’re a little glib tonight," she murmured. "May I ask why?"

Daren smiled. "Your beauty captivated me for a brief moment, but now I’m over it."

Krissa’s eyebrows rose. "Over my beauty?" she asked.

Daren calculated. How long until Corin returned? If he was at the war council and decided to leave right now, that would give them five minutes together. If he decided to leave now. But then, Corin had told her to meet him here, now, so he might be on his way.

When Krissa’s hands slipped down to his buttocks, Daren just thought, Fuck it.

"I don’t have long," he murmured, then kissed her. Her tongue pushed into his mouth just as eagerly as his into hers, something he wasn’t used to. His arms wrapped around her neck and they circled each other; somehow, they fell into the bed, Daren on top.

Krissa’s hands went to his pants and she untied them. As she pulled them down about his thighs, Daren pulled the hem of her gown above her waist. He slid his hand between her thighs and rubbed her nether lips with his whole hand, feeling for differences between this girl and the other servants. Krissa’s hair was thinner down there, and she was wetter, but other than that she was the same as the twenty-year olds.

Krissa’s fingers grasped Daren’s erection and she pulled him up into her.

A mutual grunt escaped their lungs as his cock forged into Krissa’s depths. She was tighter than anyone he’d been with before, but she was also younger than anyone he’d been with.

"Fuck, Corin," Krissa whispered.

Daren smiled slyly and kissed her ear. He began pumping his hips into hers, and she started meeting his thrusts with her own. After a couple minutes of rapid fucking, they both came. Daren’s grunts mixed with Krissa’s whimpers as he unloaded his seed into her body and she bucked beneath his body.

Daren didn’t even wait until he was soft before pulling out of her. When he pulled his pants back up, Krissa asked, "Where are you going?"

"I’m going to the war council," Daren looked at the water clock. The council would be starting in just a few minutes. "Sorry I have to run like this." He unlocked the door. "Thanks," he flashed her a grin and turned into the hallway. The door closed softly behind him.

Krissa looked at the door for a moment, then flopped her head back onto the mattress.

Corin turned the corner and saw Daren disappear into his room. He had meant to ask Daren about his imprisonment, but Daren had changed in the past few weeks. Now Corin was nervous in Daren’s presence. Three weeks ago they were best friends and thought along parallel tracks, but Daren had changed completely since his trip.

Corin brushed it off and opened the door to his room.

Krissa jumped back from him. "Oh!" she gasped. "I thought you went to the war council." Then she smiled seductively, "Back for more?" Her fingers slid up his arm. "It hasn’t even been two minutes."

Corin was royalty, and he had learned from his father how to read people, primarily other people, when negotiating deals for the kingdom. It was difficult to read people who did not want to be read, but for those who didn’t care, it was quite easy. Observation was the key: he instantly noticed the sweat on Krissa’s brow, the slight flush to her cheeks, the heat in her fingers, and the subtle smell drifting from her body. "Uh...no, I just forgot something," he planted a kiss on her cheek. "Come by later tonight, I have to go to the war council now."

He moved past her and went to his nightstand to search for some imagined object.

"What time will you be back?" Krissa asked from the doorway.

"Uh..." Corin was having trouble thinking. Anger was stopping his brain from working properly. "Uh..."

Fuck! Fuck Daren!

"I’m, uh, should be back by...by midnight."

"Do you want me to come by?"

Don’t hurt her feelings. "S-Sure."

Krissa closed the door and Corin threw his lamp across the room. It shattered on the wall and coated the stones in oil. Fuck! How could Daren do something like this? Go behind my back like this...

Corin stormed out of his room and pounded on his twin brother’s door.

"Huh?" Daren called from within.

Corin slammed open the door and glared at his brother, sitting on the bed. "What the fuck do you think you’re doing?"

Brief recognition flitted across Daren’s face. "What are you talking about?" he asked. The question was more a formality. In Daren’s mind, there was a small chance that Corin hadn’t found out, and Daren was just ensuring that chance didn’t exist.

"Fucking Krissa behind my back? Are you that fucking desperate? What about your damn servants? Decided that twenty is too old for you?"

Daren stood up and shrugged, as if it were of no importance. "There are plenty of servants in the palace. Krissa’s no different from the rest."

Corin’s eyes narrowed and he stalked over to his brother. Corin shoved his face in Daren’s and they stared at each other eye-to-eye; Corin’s eyes full of rage, Daren’s eyes totally apathetic. "If she’s no different from the rest," Corin said, "then why did you go into my room pretending to be me? Why did you fuck her? She thought it was me!"

"Did you talk to her about it?"

"No, she doesn’t know it was you, don’t worry about damaging your precious reputation among the servants."

"I’m not," Daren said, turning from Corin. "They’ll fuck me anyway."

Angered that Daren would dismiss this traitorous event so quickly, Corin put his hand on Daren’s shoulder to spin him around. "Don’t-"

That was as far as he got.

Corin saw Daren spin around before he could even pull his shoulder, and Daren’s arm shot out. Terrible pain exploded in his throat, and Corin staggered back. Air stopped flowing through his esophagus, and the world tilted away from him as he toppled to the ground. His head hit the stones with a crack, and darkness lined the edges of his vision. Within two minutes, it crept across the ceiling and encompassed everything.

Daren stood above Corin, his fist still balled up. For nearly a minute he watched in dread as his brother suffocated to death, struggling weakly. When Corin’s eyes finally glazed over, Daren swallowed and backed away from the body.

Gods, what have I done?

Daren repeated that question to himself over and over, until a distant yell from the courtyard, snapped him back to reality.

It had been a reflexive action. Two weeks out with Jerik, then a day in the Minion prisoner camp had put him on edge. Daren hadn’t even thought before he threw the punch.

What could he do, now?

Daren wasn’t sure how his father would react, but he knew that it wouldn’t be pleasant. Fuck.

Daren spun on his heel and darted from the room, barely remembering not to slam the door behind him. He had to get to the war council. If he ran, then he would make it in time.

The prince bolted down the hall, through unused passages, until he came to the meeting hall. Outside the door, he paused to catch his breath and regain his composure. No one could know about this.

Daren opened the door to the council room and everyone looked at him. He stopped for a moment, then realized that their eyes weren’t suspecting; they weren’t boring through his skull, they were just looking at him because he had opened the door.

All of Daren’s senses were alive as he walked across the floor and took his seat at the table. He could hear everyone’s breath, feel the cold air crawling across his skin, smell the lamp oil, and see every single detail in the room. In the minutes after his arrival, Garak summarized the troops losses and explained his strategy for tomorrow’s battle.

He was talking too damn slow.

Five minutes more, and Daren was growing fidgety. Finally he had to resort to counting the number of stones in the wall, just to occupy himself. When he was three rows from the bottom, someone knocked on the door.

"Come," Borric said.

Daren’s blood ran cold.

Garen walked through the camp, and was amazed at the number of Minion Marath had managed to gather. Garen didn’t even think that many Minion existed on Tirn Aill. Even more impressive, these Minion were an absolutely functional army, which was also impressive.

To draw so many creatures together like this was truly a feat, and Marath deserved compliment. However, the Overlord's brashness and overconfidence had cost him dearly, and now the Minion suffered. That mistake could not be tolerated.

Garen strode up to Marath’s tent, the largest one in the camp, and walked through the entrance. The half-ogre sentries paid him no heed.

Once inside, Garen stopped and looked around. The tent was octagonal, with an elevated platform in the center. Aside from the platform and a few caged humans, the tent was largely empty. An orc commander and General Shargoth, a Darkness, stood in front of the platform, conversing with Marath.

As soon as Garen was in the tent, Marath’s eyes rose to meet his. The eyes were like glowing coals. Garen met the stare unflinchingly, and appraised the Overlord. A large stab wound was located in his upper left chest area, his flesh had been burned away in several places, and his left wing looked broken.

"I’ve been wondering when you were going to arrive," Marath rumbled.

Garen strode down the red carpet and stopped between Shargoth and the orc commander. The orc looked totally incredulous at the sight of a teenage human walking into the tent, but Marath seemed not to care, so the orc only gripped his spear tighter.

"You look like shit," Garen said.

"They are stronger than we first anticipated," Marath replied.

"They are stronger than you anticipated," Garen corrected. "I am not one to make such foolish assumptions about an enemy."

Marath sneered, revealing blood-stained fangs. "You do not come here to reproach me. You are not the one-"

"If you had been more careful, then you wouldn’t be in this situation," Garen said.

"If Jekra had-"

"Don’t blame Jekra," Garen snapped. "Jekra was a stupid fool, and it is better he is gone. You should have been more careful, or else I would not have been needed this early."

Marath’s eyes were reduced to red slits. "Why are you here, then?"

"It has been suggested that you be replaced."

Marath stood up, his wings spreading to their full width - even the broken one. The orc commander trembled as the Overlord bore down upon them. Marath bent down and put a sharpened fingernail against Garen’s fragile human chest. "You do not replace me," Marath’s voice was lower than Garen had ever heard it. "I am capable of destroying these puny humans, and do not need you here to oversee me."

"Apparently you do," Garen raised an eyebrow and looked at Marath’s gaping chest wound.

"That was Manjinar’s handiwork," growled Marath, straightening up. "I do not need you here, Garen. Go, and continue your soul-gathering in preparation for the Gate. You are not wanted." Marath turned back toward the throne and took a step.

In one easy motion, Garen drew the Soulstealer from its sheath and bent his arm back. He swung his arm forward and released the sword’s handle. The Soulstealer flew straight for the ten feet that separated them. It sank into Marath’s back, all the way to the hilt, and the Overlord roared and dropped to his knees.

Shargoth responded first, and yanked his sword out.

Garen ducked the head swing and grabbed the orc commander’s spear. He swung the startled orc into Shargoth’s next attack. Shargoth’s sword sliced cleanly through the orc’s armorless chest. Both halves of the orc fell away.

Before Shargoth could attack again, Garen used the spear like a quarterstaff and beat back the general with a flurry of blows. A moment later, Garen had Shargoth frozen, the spearhead pressed against his throat.

"Marath served his part of his purpose," Garen said, "but he has failed, and another must be called in his place."

Shargoth eased his hands out to the side and took a step back. "Why? We can defeat the humans without him."

Garen jammed the but of the spear into the grass. "No. The wielder of the Death Rose approaches, and we must summon one to meet her."

"What about the Gate?"

Surprised that Shargoth knew about it, Garen answered, "It will have to be delayed." He looked back to the paralyzed Overlord. Marath was on his knees, facing the other direction, using all of his power to keep his soul in his body. Red electricity crackled from the pommel of the sword along Marath’s body, attempting to extract the Overlord’s essence. The Soulstealer could not complete the job alone; Garen would need some more time for what he had in mind.

"Shargoth," Garen said, "I will need a week of solid isolation in this tent. Continue the assault on Althorien, but try to make every life count. I suspect we may need them against the Death Rose."

Garen reached out mentally and took hold of the sentries’ minds, outside of the tent. They walked inside and up to the platform. One of them kicked the uprooted the throne from the platform and tossed it aside. Both half-ogres turned Marath’s body around, and deposited the Overlord on his back in the center of the platform. When his back hit the platform, the hilt and pommel of the Soulstealer were driven into his rib cage. Almost ten inches of the Soulstealer poked out from Marath’s sternum. Its blade was glowing brightly and still attempting to absorb Marath’s energy.

The expression on the Overlord’s face was one of pure hatred.

"You did not fulfill your duties as you promised," Garen shrugged, then gestured to one of the caged humans. One of the sentries lumbered over to the wooden cage.

Shargoth seemed unsettled by the sight of the immobilized demon lord, and he said, "Can you be sure Marath will not overpower your sword?"

Garen shook his head. "He cannot. He is already too weak from Alinor’s attack."

The sentry carried the struggling human over to Garen, and Garen looked at her. She was a few years older than him, probably a virgin, and her body would do well. Garen pulled out his dagger and cut the girl’s clothes off, then said to Shargoth, "I will begin the Incarnation now." He counted the prisoners in the tent. There were still five left. That should be enough. "Make sure food is set outside the tent at dusk and dawn, and make sure no one enters. If they do, I will kill them. Only in an absolute emergency may you enter."

Garen gestured at the sword, and the two sentries each took an arm and a leg of the girl. They spread her out over the sword, so her back was to the blade. She screamed hysterically, but stopped when they thrust her onto the weapon. It drove all the way through her chest as well, jutting out between her breasts. Her head shook violently as she struggled to move, but soon bloody foam was pouring from her mouth, and she was as paralyzed as Marath. The only thing that moved from then on were her eyes.

Shargoth turned his eyes from the sight and looked at Garen. "Who are you incarnating?" the general asked.

"Kra."

Daren was light-headed when he walked into his room and saw Corin at the foot of his bed. He half-expected Corin to be awake, rubbing his throat, but no such luck. Alrick Sarol, the healer, knelt above Corin’s body, feeling the prince’s still form. Borric, the advisors, a pair of guards, and a servant stood around the body. Daren remained outside the circle and watched.

After a few minutes, Alrick’s eyes opened and he said, "His larynx is crushed."

"When did it happen?" Borric said.

"No more than twenty minutes ago," Alrick said, closing Corin’s eyes.

"Order all guards on full alert," he said to the pair, "I want the palace searched inside and out for the killer." As the guards ran from the room, Borric turned to the servant. "Did you see anyone suspicious in this wing?"

"I only started my shift ten minutes ago," the servant said. "I didn’t see anyone."

"Find everyone who ends their shift at dusk and bring them to me," Borric said.

As soon as that servant was gone, another ran into the room, shortly followed by Hathor. "What’s going on?" he asked. Then he saw Corin’s body. "Oh gods."

Borric turned to the wizard and said, "Can you see who the murderer was?"

"What?"

"Is there some spell you can cast that would help us find the assassin?"

Hathor licked his lips nervously. "Ah, it would be somewhat difficult, now. How many people have been in the room since the murder?"

"Just us, two guards, and another servant."

"Too many people," the wizard said, "but I’ll do my best."

Daren’s brain finally numbed from his apprehensiveness, and he just watched as the Magi closed his eyes and concentrated. Strange echoes seemed to whisper from the corners of the room as the spell was cast.

Then the Magi’s eyes flew open and his gaze flickered to Daren, then back to the king. "I believe I have been able to narrow it down, Sire," he said.

"By how much?"

"Ah, well . . ." he glanced around the room nervously. "Ah, whoever the person is was able to cover their tracks, magically, or he is a member of your family."

"Impossible!" Borric exclaimed. "I’ve been in council for the past two hours and-"

Olrick coughed.

The king’s eyes slowly rotated to Daren.

Only with great difficulty was Daren able to hold his composure.

"Where were you?" Borric asked reluctantly, as if he didn’t want to know the answer.

Daren’s mouth opened, he said, "I..." He cleared his throat. "I-"

"Corin didn’t do it!" Krissa blurted from the doorway.

Everyone turned to her, and she blushed deeply.

A million thoughts rushed through Daren’s mind, but the most prominent was Oh fuck.

"How do you know that?" Borric asked.

"He-He was with me, and then he went straight to your meeting."

Borric looked at Daren, and all the prince could manage was a small nod.

"What, exactly, were you doing?" Borric asked in a quieter voice.

Krissa’s face reddened even further, but Garak said, "I think, Sire, that it’s more important we find the real murderer now."

That returned Borric, and he said to Halthor, "I want every Magi to keep a lookout for any suspicious mages in the city and I want the palace searched, magically. Is there no other spell you can perform?" Borric asked.

The wizard shook his head. "Too many people have been in here."

"Cancel the war council for tonight," Borric said.

"But Your Majesty-" Tolir said.

"Save it, until the murderer is found. I will not rest until he is dead at my feet."

Olrick said, "Your Majesty, it is highly doubtful that you could personally assist in the capture of the assassin. If you partook in such an excursion, it would not help us in the war, which threatens all of Althoria. If I may remind you, your first and foremost duty is to the kingdom."

To Daren’s surprise, Borric agreed. Usually his father was stubborn about personal issues like these - it had taken him weeks to calm down after Alleria’s disappearance - but now he was giving in. Not a time to question good fortune.

Daren’s gaze returned to Corin’s dead body, and he could feel the grief and guilt swelling in his chest. But then Borric was in front of him.

When Daren looked up at his father, he saw compassion from the man, for the first time in his life.

"I know how hard this must be for you, Corin," Borric said. "I don’t think you should attend the rest of the war council tonight. You may return to your room, if you wish."

Daren’s eyes snapped wide, and he suddenly heard what his father said.

Suddenly Corin’s death seemed far less important than its implications.

©1997 by Bill Smith (micro@oz.net)

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