In the most quiet corner of Kieron two people looked at each other for one long moment. The male shrugged helplessly and smiled, then whispered something to his companion. She gave him an affectionate look. The dagger shone with its own soft benediction between them.

At midnight the skies opened up and released hell upon the unsuspecting city far below. The air moaned and trembled with lightning that ripped apart the firmament, shrieking vengeance for some long-forgotten offense. From high above the rain fell, gathering speed and fury to crash against pavement and pedestrian with equal force.

Few creatures dared to venture out of their homes into the howling tempest. Most were content to crowd together in their houses, bent low under the weight of heaven's malice. Soon the storm would pass, the moons would rise to limn all of Kieron in a soft even glow, and life would continue unchanged. But for now, they could only wait and listen to nature's dark sister spend herself upon their streets.

Only the barest handful of beasts dared the narrow, garbage-choked alleys. Solitary figures reeled through the streets, at the mercy of wind and rain. Some of the figures were identifiable as humanoid, others were not so comfortingly familiar. Man or beast, they all moved with the same futile determination driving them out into the night that seemed like some prophesied apocalypse.

Deep in the heart of an alley, in the shadows that were darker than the night raging far above, something moved. A cat scrambled desperately into the corner of a gutted carriage. Water cascaded over its slick ebony fur as it cowered miserably, raising its head only to let out a pitiful cry. The rain and the lightning rumbled on without heed.

She was used to having her own way, in everything. As a baby, her every whim was humored, every desire gratified. Her childhood was full of extravagance and her adult years would prove to be no different. She had been bred to expect high class, it was the only way to live. Boats and gems and a house in the expensive northern quarter, all appeared as if her will alone could make it so.

Her displeasure was all the more sharp at finding herself in a minor district of hell. The southern slums were no place for her, especially in the dark of night. Every vice known to civilized man, and a few as yet undiscovered could be found in the few nameless blocks outside the city wall.

She picked her way slowly and very carefully through the ragged hole that separated Kieron from its parasitic sibling. Even from this distance she could see the battered, listing hovels and the unidentifiable garbage that choked the streets in the darkness. Her nose twitched in expressive distaste. She just wanted to get what she needed and get out, but the low rumble at her feet and the ominous black clouds predicted weather that would most likely slow her down.

All she needed was one small, lame little flower, and she could be quit of this hellish place. The idiotic dare had been precise; one flower from this place. That was all she had to find. She surveyed the zone beyond the wall and her hopes grew dim. Nothing could survive in this forsaken realm of poverty and stale, slow death.

She couldn't remember who had come up with that moronic dare, but the idea had been impossible to resist. It was poetic and perilous, and thus worth her time. Still, those clouds looked like they would spawn a monster of a storm, and she'd be caught in the midst of it. Any sensible person would forget that damn dare and go home for hot dinner and a nicely tucked bed.

Once outside the walls, her ears picked up the increased growl of the storm. It was moving fast, so she had to as well. Her eyes picked over the refuse at her feet. There was not so much as a handful of dirt in the decaying, abandoned debris. She had neither the time nor the inclination to make a deeper, messier search.

Quietly she skirted half-chewed buildings, their upper floors open to the sky, her eyes flashing between the ground at her feet and the shadows around her. Some of them kept pace with her, dancing unnaturally along the pitted walls. A shudder nestled in the small of her back, but she refused to feel it.

A wind picked up, throwing the intense smell of decomposition in her face. She choked quietly. Kieron was a dump, compared to Siva. Her own house was only a few dozen rooms as compared to the lavish mansions in the other city, but at least she was known here. She had power in Kieron, within the city walls at least. Out here, beyond those walls, anything could happen to her. She had no power in this place.

The clouds grew dark and crawled across the sky. Black fingers grasped the luminescent night and cloaked it in diseased gloom. Wider and faster and louder the vortex spun its web of broken power.

From its sudden, violent inception, the storm had whirled over the lifeless boundaries of the southern slums outside Kieron's walls to ooze, sparking chaos and anarchy, northward along Copper road.

A lone thief, crouched low against the roof of the only bank, lifted his head from his concentration to eye the fury of the storm. Gauging his chances against the screaming winds that were tearing apart the southern sky, he jumped back down into the shadowed street. The evening's interrupted burglary could wait for another, more auspicious midnight.

The healer's hall was built close against the city wall and felt most keenly the snarling darkness. Off a silent back corridor, a young cleric stared at the trembling walls of his small, plain room and frowned. Beneath his feet the ground muttered and shook, his chamber seemed to press down on shoulders that seemed thin and weak in comparison.

Something felt very wrong, the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably. There was broken power in the air, and a lot of it. With a feeling of disjointed urgency, he carefully closed his chamber door and set off down the long, silent hall, hoping the answers he sought would be worth the effort to pull his body through the corridors. At every step the air congealed and tried to push him back to his own chamber, behind his own door, and safety.

The ArchCleric looked up at the soft tap on his door with a thoughtful frown. With a tiny gesture the door opened and he was forced to suppress a smile at the expression on the young cleric's face.

Nervously the man entered, unsure whether to close the door behind him or to let his master do it. This time the smile could not be quelled. Another twitch of long, slender fingers and the door sealed itself noiselessly.

The older man seemed to wince and frown at the words, but the movement was so slight that his student was sure he had imagined it.

"It is, as you have felt, not part of nature. Your senses are sharp for one so young." At this, the young cleric straightened a little in his chair, but sternly denied himself any other acknowledgment of the hard-won praise.

"But," The old man called Shiyan lifted two fingers quietly, "it is natural, for all that it is a crime against our world. Do not be distressed by the storm, novice. It will pass as all storms do." No more words followed and the cleric was left with only the calm, unfounded assurance of his master.

He stood and bowed before quietly taking his leave, opening the door gingerly in case it chose to leap ajar and hit him. Magic unnerved him, it was simply not natural.

The raging tempest that grew ever closer was not magic as the magi performed, but it was not the work his master did either. There was a feeling, a flow of power that intoxicated his blood when the healing rites were around him. In contrast, the spells of the magi made his skin crawl. Not even the dark, disturbing fires of his own foreign battle-witchery could be worse than this. His entire frame shuddered with the broken whirlpools of power that sang through the air.

He departed quickly down the trembling halls to his own dim chamber and turned down the one lamp to sit in the darkness and brood. He would not be distressed by the storm, but he didn't have to enjoy it either. He took to his bed and tried to sleep with a sense of futile defiance at the screaming storm outside.

She stumbled and fell with a stifled cry, headlong into the filth that coated every surface of the lane. Wind pushed and tore at her, kicking her along spitefully, throwing all the disgusting matter from the streets into her face and eyes. Coughing and spitting, she managed to get a moment's reprieve by ducking into the mouth of a narrow alley.

The bruises were already making themselves felt along her ribs and thighs, and she could no longer breath without gagging on the rotting air. It was too dark to see her way home now, let alone one small, pathetic flower.

The girl cowered helplessly against the wall, terror melting her bones and crawling down into her stomach. The storm would surely kill her if she went out again, but so would whatever dwelt in the farther reaches of the back street. The buildings on either side of the lane were balanced against each other, letting only rain and darkness into the place. Sound eddied in the blocked street so that to her stunned senses, only silence and the sound of her death lingered.

The sound stroked chill fingers down her spine and she huddled, whimpering, in the lee of the wall. She was going to die. All the money and power she had enjoyed were gone now. She had no name, no title, no influence. No mantle of breeding marked her safe from violence, her body sent out only one signal to the jackals; that of prey.

Lightning shrieked a jagged edge down the twisted reality of her nightmare and lit up the alley for long heartbeats. There, in the dirty cradle of garbage lay a mangled body, blood slowly being washed off blue skin by the pounding rain.

Every horror story she had ever laughed at came back full force. Her stomach and heart raced for her mouth and a scream burned the back of her throat. Wide dull eyes froze her soul, sent her reeling backwards into the danger of the unprotected street. Another bolt of lightning cracked so near that ozone smoked in the dimness.

The scream cauterized her throat as she stumbled over the slick rubbish and fell, her eyes blank with terror, her throat bloody with screaming and choking. The shadow howled thinly and raced towards her, a demon of the storm and the slaughter. Fixed and unable to move, she watched as the beast flew towards her, so taken by terror that her mind was empty of thought. She couldn't voice a sound, the power had fled her body. And closer her death came.

A spear of lightning lanced down from the sky and kissed her body, leaving nothing but a smoking wreck behind.

The storm broke suddenly, fading away as quickly as it had formed. The last thin streaks of cloud vanished into the night, and the moons once again shone quietly over Kieron.

A young cleric looked up in relief from the tight ball his body had made during the gale. Sweat glimmered faintly on his trembling hands as he stretched them tentatively. In comparison, the walls seemed solid and unmoving as ever. Air rushed out of his lungs in an explosive sigh of relief. It was over.

Rain gathered in silent pools on the roof of the bank, ran in tiny streams from pool and puddle to collect in one small depression. Slender metal tools sparkled coyly at the bottom of the pool, untouched by the worst ravages of the storm and forgotten by one who made his living with them.

In the diseased confines of the southern slums, a clean wind blew over the washed detritus. Rivers ran under forgotten garbage in the streets, carrying away small items to gather in new collections on corners and in miniature lakes. For a few moments at least, a god's benediction shone over the forsaken district.

A cat picked its way delicately out of the sea of disaster that had fallen atop its hovel. Ebony fur fluffed and dried in the cool night air as the creature sniffed cautiously at the broken body in the alley. Its nose twitched as the tang of alcohol floated pungently off the battered corpse.

The carriage was nothing more than a pile of shredded wood now, the cat ignored it and ventured out into the street, mincing its way on tender paws.

Steam lingered over the lane, rising up from blackened buildings and hovering around a large area of seared pavement. Curious, the feline approached. It was not often that enough filth was cleared so that the street showed through.

Another scent beckoned invitingly, and the cat followed it with a grateful sniff. On the edge of the blasted region one small, bedraggled plant had somehow survived in the darkness beneath the garbage. Now it lifted a few tiny blooms to the cool light of the moons.

The cat sat down on its hind legs and examined the pathetic flowers thoughtfully, as if presented with a new and intriguing mystery.

From out of the crystal night a thread of sound soared thinly on the air, winding out of oblivion to streak through the street. It grew and slowed, circling over the garbage and the slick pavement, pouring like rain over the cat's fur.

The noise fluttered and beat at the air, struggling to twist itself into words. Louder and louder it screamed, leaving trails of piercing purity that ran in frantic circles over the scarred avenue. Cowering, the cat tried to melt away beneath the slicing blade of sound.

Relentlessly it ignited within the beast's brain and burned away any thought but agony. The cat lifted its head and wrung a death screech its tiny black body. The two sounds meshed together, one becoming indistinguishable from the other. Opposites merged to produce a melody of anguish, with torment a shrieking counterpoint.

The air shattered into a hundred fragments of sound that went racing through the garbage and the empty street.

She coughed and gasped in a deep breath, her lungs laboring to fill with sweet oxygen. Her hands gripped the charred slime on the pavement as though it were the essence of life. Sobbing and panting, she drew her beaten and blackened body to hands and knees. Every muscle shuddered as she struggled to kneel, head bowed, in the blasted circle of street.

Her knees wobbled and she fell back into the trash face first. Again she tried to make it to a kneeling position. This time she fell backwards onto her rump with a ragged squawk.

With shaking hands she pushed hair and filth from her face and stared blindly out onto the road. Nothing moved in the night breeze save a few ragged papers. In the darkness she brushed the caked muck from her hands, thankful to the concealing cover of night, for once. Where once it had cloaked her attackers, now it hid her from their eyes.

With a last, feeble cough, she rose painfully to her feet, stumbling against a wall both inflexible and intrusive. Wincing at the pain, she moved into the moonlight.

Her clothes still smoked faintly and were completely ruined, but she had already made an absent-minded plan to burn them as soon as she got home anyhow. Carefully she passed a hand over her cracked lips and winced at the gleam of blood on her fingertips. As if in sympathy, her throat tightened once more and the hot copper taste filled her mouth again.

Well, no one would see her; she hacked and spit blood on the pavement. Her eyes caught sight of the fragile plant that wavered between life and death on the edge of the cleared area. In shock she stood for a heartbeat, then harsh laughter tore through her lungs, shook her body until she had to double over to stay standing. The irony was more bitter than the taste of her own bile, burning the back of her throat.

"Oh damn..." Tears of pain and laughter ran down her bruised and dirty face as she faltered and coughed again. Kneeling by the weed, her voice returned as a breathy whisper.

"Come here, little flower, you're my ticket out of this hell." Her hand reached out, her trembling fingers opened to pluck the tiny bloom.

A crash resounded off the silent buildings and fast steps thundered towards her. Eyes wide, breath still, she stared as a lithe form ducked into the alley where the drunkard's body was hidden. A curse, another crash, and then silence.

"I know you're here, bastard. Come out and die." The voice was rough and thick with rage. The person that followed it was a figure that had invaded every nightmare she ever experienced. He strode down the street without care for predators, for he was the most vicious one, and his heavy stride proved that he knew it. His sinister blade gleamed as it picked over the garbage, thrusting occasionally into the filthy piles along the street in hopes of piercing flesh.

She crouched down in the darkness, willing herself invisible with every nerve that screamed and shuddered with fear. It was too much for her to bear, her body was at the limits of its endurance. Head pounding, she closed her eyes and made herself as small as possible, melting into the sanctuary of the trash.

"Damn newbie." The ArchRogue muttered darkly under his breath, his eyes on the disaster before him. The dusty floor of the massive underground rogue's hall was littered with knots of fighting people taken from every race. Squabbles had broken out amongst his pupils after one had challenged another over some imagined insult to his giant ego. The result was riot.

Settled comfortably on the long sills of the windows that sat at street level, a few of the more experienced thieves had chosen their vantage points and were now watching the spectacle with every indication of enjoyment. A bet or two was called out good-naturedly from where they sat inside the night-darkened windows.

He snarled in a mixture of anger and resentment, and stamped out of the hall. Before he even set foot outside, his eyes and thoughts were already turning to the clean night sky. It was wonderfully silent, and he scaled the crumbled face of the nearby city wall without effort to crouch and brood. looking for all the world like one of the wasteland's deadly vultures.

ArchRogue. He still could not imagine what hellish plot had thrust him into that unenviable position. He was a Rogue, damn it, not some messenger to dash between player and god.

More and more he found himself being teacher and nurse, servant and scapegoat to every egotistical thief that walked through the fallen doors of the rogue hall. It had been years since he had gone into the shadows and hunted for the sake of the hunt.

Now he must petition to keep his class strong, and still keep them in line. It was an impossible job, and he knew he was not the one to do it. But they had chosen him.

With another wordless snarl he leapt down from the wall and loosened his dagger in its sheath. Time for a little stress relief.

It was pretty late. Well actually, it was really late. Nearly morning in fact. The two fighters fought their way upright and made their way towards the door of the tavern to a chorus of giggles. The only people giggling, however, were themselves.

The dwarf's claymore, cut down to a size he could handle, whacked into the back of his companion's knees. The half-elf crumpled to the ground with a gurgle, his head thumping painfully against the wood exterior of the bar.

"HAHAHAHA" Incapacitated with laughter, the dwarf pointed and guffawed at his fallen friend. "Uncool!" He held out a stubby hand in aid. "Lemme help you up."

The half-elf grabbed hold, the dwarf pulled hard with a loud grunt. Both went flying into the street, tumbling end over end, heads and limbs cracking against the pavement.

Even the few eyes that peered from the shadows dismissed the pair. Too drunk; they would have no cash worth the effort of mugging them. Most likely they had spent it all on cheap ale and dicing.

The square was a great place to pick up women. Ohhh yes... It was a wonderful place. Blackmage absently brushed his hand across his dapper goatee and wiped the slobber discreetly on his shirt.

Even in the early hours of morning, before the sun was even up, there were a few delectable tidbits floating around, lost and in need of guidance. Well he was just the man to guide them.

A sweet-faced lass appeared in front of him, a look of confusion twisting her features. The old mage discarded his wolfish grin for a fatherly smile with such alacrity that it could have been magic.

"Welcome to Kieron, my dear." His eyes twinkled with gentle merriment, while his brain secretly slavered over her full curves. "Please, allow me to show you around our fair city."

She placed her hands in his outstretched paws with a trusting smile, shying closer to him, further away from the chilly night that pressed even on the perpetual torchlight of the central square. Blackmage smiled with practiced charm and began to lead her away, his mind already cataloguing her diverse virtues.

Two figures tumbled to a haphazard stop at his feet. The mage looked on in distaste, but his lissome companion gave a frightened squeak.

"Gods damn you." with a muttered curse, he curbed his first impulse to kick the two derelicts sharply to make them move, and knelt.

"Are you hurt, neighbors?" Blackmage was all solicitude as he bowed his head away from the young thing's line of sight.

"Uncool, Bloom. Get the hell out of here before I shove a fireball up your a..." His words were cut short by the girl's approach. She placed a tentative hand on the supine bodies and looked at him with appealing worry in her eyes.

"Will they be all right, sir?" His chest swelled at the honorific, and he waved a hand over the two inebriated fighters in dismissal.

"Not to worry my dear!" The other hand slid around her waist as he threw wide his arms in an expansive gesture. "These two gents are well known for a weakness regarding the less civilized forms of entertainment."

So saying he stepped over the tangled bodies and helped his sweet escort to her feet with a gallant gesture meant to show off the fine flare of his robes. Her wide eyes implied success.

"Ohhhhhhh..." The dwarf ran a hand through his tangled hair and shook his head delicately. "Ohhh Uncool I think I hurt something."

His companion lifted sleepy, tilted eyes to regard him vaguely. "It's just your head Bloom, you didn't hurt nothing." This was enough to set them both off into giggles again.

"C'mon... I no... I now... I..." Bloom staggered against the huge monument. "Sorry, man." With a slurred apology to the masonry, he tried again, "I know that thing... is around here somewhere."

"Yeah yeah! I know its... around here somewhere." Light pierced his brain, a dim light that limned the horizon.

"Lessgo this way. If we follow the river we... we should get home fine!" Beaming at his triumph of logic, he dragged his sagging companion towards the east, and the slowly rising sun.

He took a determined step and fell into a puddle of murky water with a yelp. His dwarven companion sat down fast on his rump, his sides already shaking with the giggles again.

The rising sun pierced the last few veils of night that cloaked the southern quarter of Kieron. There was no bird-song in that place; all feathered beasts had long since gone the way of the cook-pot. The only music that floated through the already stifling air was that of human curse and cry.

The warm morning breeze circled languidly over the trash, raising such a discordant note that she woke. It was not the shouting that broke her fitful sleep, but the unavoidable fragrance of heated refuse. With a yawn and a wince she crawled out from underneath her dubious shelter.

Flies crowded in to taste her sweet flesh, she flicked her tail in irritation and sent them scattering. Agony throbbed low along the lines of her bones, drumming a hard riff along her spine. She stretched from ears to toes, going limp at the sound of cracking joints. Oh that felt so good...

She looked down at herself in horror. Fur! What the hell was going on?? A black rachis raced down the exact center of her back, she could feel the fur quivering as it stood on end. A sharp hiss fought its way up her throat.

This could not be happening! It must be a dream! Some nightmare sent to her as she slumbered in peace between costly silk sheets. Her nose twitched under a sensory assault as one stray breeze brought the unpleasant truth to her.

The storm, the demon, the corpse. The time when she believed herself dead, only to be thrust back into the world as though rejected by the gods. The fire in her chest as she begged for air in that dim and unholy place.

Thoughts whirled around her head, she cringed and lowered her ears, making herself small to escape her own visions. There was no simple way to make this go away. Her head thrummed an undercurrent of terror that shook her tiny body helplessly. Home seemed so far away now.

What could she do? Saunter up to the wide double doors of the house and walk in as if nothing had happened? On four paws?

No. She had never made any good friends, her money had always risen as an impenetrable barrier between herself and the world.

Who would wait long enough for her to explain her predicament? A good Samaritan, someone who cared about the welfare of others...

With another sharp flick of her tail she was off, streaking through the alleys like a bolt of black lightning, the storm of her emotions lagging behind. Even terror could not out-race her four slender legs and tiny paws as they flew over the garbage.

She raced the sun's dawning rays, ducking under garbage and through passageways so small as to be daunting to any creature but her. Even the rats this area bred were too big to slip through the pathways she chose.

The city wall! Without even thinking, her haunches tensed and coiled as she stopped for a split second. Even before she was fully motionless, her back legs had fired, propelling her into space, the red sun sparkling over her matted fur.

In a heartbeat she was over and gone, barely breaking stride once her paws touched clean pavement within the city again.

Those who were awake and sober enough to witness saw only a small black cat, running as if all the nightmares of Ridorthu were at her heels, to vanish in the bitter light of the dawn.

The whole world seemed new, in some small, significant way. The cleric couldn't figure out what made everything seem subtly different, but the result jarred his senses unnervingly.

Even when he descended to the hospital, on his way outside, the swirl of healing magic grated across his senses. It was not a feeling that alarmed him too much; the difference was slight.

But it was certainly annoying. He felt as if the entire world had turned just one fraction of a twist out of focus. Perhaps it was he that had stepped out of the right place.

"Sorrow!" A cheery cry sounded, and the young cleric lifted his eyes to search out the source. From a corner of the public section of the hospital a hand lifted itself and waved at him. Following the muscular line of arm, his eyes lit upon a lithe thief.

"Aivlys! When did you get in?" Smiling at his guildbrother, the young man moved to his friend's side, his trained eyes skimming over the injuries that another cleric was healing.

"Nice job there, Aiv. A little closer to the bone and we might have had to give you a new leg!" His companion laughed, though the sound was a little strained.

"Well you know how it is. Man meets Dryad. Dryad takes man home to meet her parents, and suddenly there's just no love anymore." The odd little thief sighed dramatically before yelping as the silent cleric's hands knocked his shredded leg.

"Stop twitching and you might have an easier time of it." The young elf put a companionable hand on the faerie's shoulder. "Pay no attention to this rascal, healer. You're doing a great job. Just new here?"

The tiny being nodded and went back to his concentration, reinforcing the luminescent river of power that focused through him and bent upon the injured leg. Aivlys and Sorrow exchanged a similar grin. New students were always so serious!

"So how have you been? I only hear from you when you decide to drop in backstage." With a warm smile, the elder cleric crossed his arms and leaned comfortably against the hospital wall.

"Here and there. You know how it is. I fight the good fight! I struggle to keep the ocean hordes from Kieron!" Aivlys waved his hands theatrically.

Sorrow regarded his fellow minstrel fondly. "You never change. How many of this 'horde' did you pick clean?"

"I called all the rogues in." The ArchRogue gave her a stubborn scowl as he sat down in his chair. "I'm the leader, I can do that."

His companion swung her feet against the giant table which dominated the room and made her look even smaller in comparison. Her sharp eyes watched him as she spoke.

"Let me make this clear, Basbear. There are around two hundred different thieves, murderers, and other rogues operating on Caspia right now. Most of them don't even acknowledge your existence, and you expect them to come running when you command?!?" She threw her hands up in disgust. "You're a mook!"

Basbear snarled and pushed himself from the comfortable confines of his chair. His head turned just enough as he stalked away to reply, "Shut up, wench."

They were a strange pair; the large, muscular ArchRogue and the petite thief. Even though half-elves tended to mimic their slender elven ancestors in build, Basbear was large enough to give any human pause. In contrast, Nyx was the smallest human ever seen on Caspia, she looked rather like a pixie.

"You moron. They're going to come here for the express purpose of using your sorry carcass for target practice!" The ArchRogue simply tuned her out, a skill he had learned quickly over the last few years.

The minutes limped past them, and still nothing stirred in the dim confines of the hall. Silently they waited; he stared off into space, she kicked her heels against a table leg.

"What the hell is going on?" Lodana stepped forward as the grey shadows unfolded. "Are you out of your mind, Basbear?"

Nyx glanced at the rogue leader with a smug expression before jumping off the table to pat the female half-elf on the back. Or at least, it would have been Lodana's back, if her associate hadn't been so short. As it was, Nyx's hand reached only high enough to give the sharp-eyed woman a familiar slap on her rump.

"Nyx!" Far from attacking the tiny figure, Lodana swung her up for a hearty kiss. Basbear shuddered and looked away.

"For the love of darkness, will you two stop that!" The next voice was Jynx's, her natural elven disdain coloring her tone with disgust. She nodded to Basbear absently and leaned against a wall, crossing her arms and glaring at nothing in particular.

One by one, the thieves and murderers and various rogues that Nyx had mentioned filtered into the hall, filling it beyond capacity. The four watched them, as wary of the newcomers as they would have been of an opposing army.

The shadows behind Nyx parted to allow a silent figure passage. Dressed in the dark grays and blacks that aided stealth, the elf turned as if sensing Basbear's black scowl.

She turned to give him a mocking curtsey, then shifted once again, just out of sight, only the flat green of her dead eyes betrayed her presence.

"She doesn't belong here." His voice rose to address the figure that barely breathed. "The kiddies are in the mage hall, go assault them."

The woman hissed softly, her lifeless eyes catching a spark of fire and flaring like murky emeralds in the blaze. She took a half-step forward, her mouth opening to respond.

The large half-elf ignored them both, recognizing a new rival. A lithe, darkly skinned elf had entered the room. It was hard to miss him, as he wore a cloak that blinded, all in bright colors.

"Hey there!!!" His voice resounded through the hall, cutting through conversation and silence alike. With a flamboyant gesture, he leapt to the rafters and stepped gracefully around the few people hardy enough to find seats up there. He jumped back down to the floor beside the half-hidden elf and sat down with a lusty sigh.

"Guy or girl." Basbear snarled under his breath. "All right! Listen up you jerks! I don't know where you've been, and I don't care, but I am your leader, and you're going to obey me!"

"You think you can live without me? Your daggers are sharp, your skills are many, you belong to the most powerful faction in Caspia. Do you think that's by chance?" Nyx rolled her eyes and glanced at the audience. His speech wasn't winning any support.

A sneering voice called out from the safety of the anonymous mob. "You beg the gods, Basbear. Crawl on your filthy hands and knees to beg for favors!"

Quicker than words or thought, the ArchRogue's dagger flew from his outstretched fingers to lodge in the dissident's throat. A circle of space suddenly appeared around the corpse as it toppled to the dirty floor.

"Anyone else want to question my leadership?" Basbear rasped and balanced his second dagger on callused fingertips. The room fell silent.

Nyx had both hands over her eyes, in an attempt to block out the complete disaster the half-elf was making of the meeting. She didn't see the sudden spear of golden light arc down out of invisibility to land by the cooling body.

"Sidnee!" The faceless chorus rose again, this time to welcome the tiny gnome into their midst. Basbear said nothing, his scowl evident at the interruption, but his eyes drank in the sight of the petite wizard.

"Here's the plan. Arenelys is dead, which means one of the powerful forces keeping us down is gone. We're going to step into the vacuum and take over Caspia." Her voice was low and terse, but the reaction to her words was instant and gratifying.

There! The hospital loomed ahead, comforting in its steady bulk. The morning sun glittered faintly off the last drops of dew that hung precariously from ledge and roof. She leapt easily to the top of the building, using crates and other structures as her path.

The windows were closed, an army of glass that foiled her attempts to enter. On the floor below, however, a few had been opened to let in some of dawn's fresh air, before the heat and the smell set in.

With a short, wordless plea to any nearby god, she fell from the roof. Down, down, her body twisted of its own accord, her paws stretching as she hissed and tumbled against the small windowsill. Her body cried out in outrage, but she fell into the room, into safety.

"Well?" The ArchRogue turned at the quiet voice that spoke behind him. The hall was dark and empty once more, the bloodthirsty legions of rogues having left. He was the only one that remained, save one other.

"Just be sure it doesn't interfere in my plans." She gave him a sweet smile. "After all, this will give you and I more time." Basbear brushed her hand from his leg carefully, and tucked it back into her own lap.

The gnome had to be satisfied with only that vague assurance, for he would speak no more. She shrugged and left him in the darkness, the only mark of her passage the last lingering glow from a golden light.

The sounds of cursing rocked the tower violently, crashing with more force against the stone walls than the nearby lightning ever could. Trea awoke from a sound sleep with a little cry as the words took on shape and substance to darken the very air within her room. Tugging the midnight blue velvet of her dressing gown around her, she hurried out of the chamber.

The stairs groaned in pain beneath her light step, stones grinding against each other with muted shrieks. Still the cursing continued. With a fearful look, the silent thief slunk away from the tower, and her chamber beside the master's bedroom.

Something was not good. Raist never lost his temper. Her feet guided her, all unthinking, to a tiny, barren room down by the dungeons.

"Come in." Pepper looked up for a heartbeat to acknowledge the elf's entrance before burying her attention in her book once more.

The comparison between the two women was disturbing. The slender witch wore a wedding band of pure, chill gold, but her clothing was drab, and her chambers bare of all save a few books and a lonely bed.

Her rival wore no ring to tie her to the master, but she floated on his power, and wore the gifts he lavished upon her. She could not help but sneer at the lost woman. This little thing was Raist's wife.

More like his bane, a stone that weighed him down. Without Pepper, he could soar high, and he would take her, Trea, with him.

"Oh yeah? How do you know that?" Her heart skipped painfully. All those plans he had shared with her, did he plot with his own wife as well? Against his mistress?

The mocking smile on the witch's face was faint, but recognizable. She lifted the book she was reading slightly, as if in a salute. "I am a mage, on occasion. He'll be fine in a few minutes."

Trea looked her up and down one last time before leaving, to print the scene upon her mind. Lips twisted in another sneer, she dismissed the other woman. Soon, Raist would get rid of the useless elf, and she would be the only one at his side.

With a silent sigh Pepper replaced the book atop its stack, carefully marking her page. Her eyes turned to stare out the one small window that looked upon darkness.

It was comfortable and light within the globe of gold that shot from the heavens to the ground and back again. She had found no other way of travel that fit her more perfectly, or more cozily. It was a little showy, sometimes, but mortals needed a reminder of her elevated status.

The globe lit upon two sprawled bodies, huddled in a shadowed corner of the courthouse. With a snap, the globe parted to form a beam of light, like an angel's revenge. The light set its exalted passenger down gently upon the road and vanished.

"Wha? Wha? Are we home? Hey Uncool... You alive?" With a tiny smile, the figure watched the dwarf slowly wake and rouse his companion.

"Uhhhggg... Let me sleep, Bloom. Or let me die." In irritation the half-elf batted feebly at his fellow warrior.

"Die then." Both men shot to their feet at the sibilant words, hands fumbling for weapons. A spell lodged in Bloom's throat before he could shout his charge, the strength bled from his limbs in a handful of moments.

Frantically he willed his friend to succeed, but the half-elf did scarcely better. His weapons slid from suddenly weak fingers and clattered on the stones of the street.

The look in Uncool's eyes was bleak as he glanced at the dwarf. They both knew what was going to happen to them now.

The figure pointed one short, stubby finger at each on of them with delicate care. Silence grew into a thundering climax, each fighter sank to the ground, and the silence continued its mournful song with no audience to listen.

Sorrow shook his head, a smile still lingering on his lips as he ascended the wide steps at the back of the hospital. His injured friend was a pleasant, if unsettling surprise. Innocent bystanders would do well to guard their purses when Aivlys chose to visit the continent.

It was far from often that the thief stayed long enough to create too much trouble. Usually his departure was hastened by more than a handful of irate shopkeepers.

The young healer nodded to a passing student who passed him in the quiet hall. Compared to the bright clamor in the hospital proper, the chambers allotted to the clerics were amazingly cool and free of the scents of disinfectant and balm.

His hand paused for the barest moment against the wood of the door that barred his room. The feeling was back, that mixture of magic and mortal nature, and something more. With a quiet shrug, he pushed open the door.

For some reason his subconscious had been expecting an attack, because he was startled to feel the words of a battle spell die on his lips. Nothing leapt out of the shadows to pounce on him, no dark mage-ling shouted words of power and death.

He was getting too jumpy. The effects of a thousand battles won and lost was beginning to take its toll. With a faintly disgusted sigh, he threw himself upon his bed.

A screech sounded from the depths of hell, sharper than the cries of the newly damned, more shrill than a legion of harpies. Sorrow vaulted from his bed, the words of paralysis falling from his lips as his hands moved to hip and back, unsheathing weapons with a life of their own.

The staff fell lifeless from his suddenly lax fingers to thud noisily against the floor. The war-cleric followed it down, collapsing to his knees and gasping for breath to clean the bitter taste of impending murder from his mouth.

"Of course I can help you, my friend." Her voice was soft and low as she held out her hands and accepted the desperate woman into her gentle embrace. "Come. Sit." The monk's hand gestured towards the sumptuous cabin of her ship.

The open door gave a glimpse of soft lighting and warm furnishings, all designed to make up the most comfortable sanctuary, on or off the seas.

"Oh! It's lovely." She followed the tall elf inside, her head tilted back to see all the beautiful pictures and expensive treasures. Two goblets of the finest silver stood filled with a clear liquid that sent up heady fumes. The little thief let herself be led to a seat near the table on which they stood.

"Thank you. I have wandered far and fought long for many of these things. But now my collection is nearly complete." Wirinth patted a pale and delicately carved wall fondly. "This is 'Thorn of the Rose'."

"It's alright now. I'll make everything alright." Selina drew a tiny hand across her eyes with a shudder and hugged the monk tightly.

The table rocked with the force of a hand slamming down on it. In comparison, Valentine's voice was soft, but stubborn.

"Well I don't see how we can stop it!" DeSade forced his fingers through tangled hair and kicked the table leg in frustration.

"It's not a question of whether or not we can, but how we will." The steel in the faerie's voice was unmistakable. Her companion sighed, knowing better to argue.

"Do you know how the power is dispersed, at least?" His mind tripped over the words and the concepts, but he managed to get his point across.

"Yes. It found a focus and broke. I can track that focus, for a time at least. In that, we have the advantage over some of the other factions."

"Factions? Is this a war now?" Archly DeSade raised an eyebrow. The look on the woman's face sobered him quickly.

"Oh yes. There will be a war, and half the people in it won't even realize that until they find themselves with a weapon in their hands and hatred burning away their thoughts."

Humming softly to herself, Wirinth bound the small package carefully. She took her time to make sure all the corners of the soft brown cloth were tucked in so that nothing could fall out. The wind picked up, sweeping across the Thorn's bow and bringing the faint tang of seaweed.

The elf heaved and lifted the bundle up with relative ease, walking across the deck with a nonchalance born from long years at sea. She set her parcel down upon the wooden side and peered down into the water.

"Perfect." She turned her attention to the small, compact bundle. With a gentle push, it slid over the railing and sank down into the midnight blue depths.

"I thought it was you." Lodana entered into step beside a cheerful looking elf. His eyes sparkled in recognition.

"Hi Lodana! It's been a long time." The rogue executed a deep bow, his cloak flaring dramatically behind him.

"Why do I get the feeling this wasn't just a social meeting?" The foolish elf may have appeared too young to be dangerous to others, but his senses were keener than most. He raised an eyebrow, then smiled appealingly, eliciting the faintest of answering smiles from the woman.

"No, I didn't. I was hoping to find her somewhere." He flashed a mischievous smile at Lodana. "She and I are old friends."

"That's what I'm worried about." Aivlys laughed, but his companion could not bring herself to make light of her uneasiness.

Curled up on the rug in the study, Trea wrapped her arms around her knees and watched the master attentively. Not that he was doing much, the only sound that echoed in the cozy room was of pages flipping one by one.

He was plotting again, she could tell. Every so often he'd pause to run a cool finger down the side of her cheek. It was only when Raist plotted that he acted so mundane, as if all his energy were bent upon the puzzle.

"Here..." The whisper caught her attention and she looked up to see triumph glittering in his eyes. "Power calls power. Dusk calls dawn."

She shrugged. It sounded like complete gibberish to her. But the weak elf stirred from his chair before the fire and strode from the room, robes snapping decisively in his wake.

He was on the trail of knowledge, a path she could not follow. The ways were too twisted and illogical to her. Why waste time tracking the quarry by paper? Her daggers seemed the only reasonable way to hunt.

The fire was far from cold embers when he returned, the soft rustle of black velvet awakening Trea's sharp senses.

"Not to worry, little one, she will not feel a thing." The thought of having Raist all to herself was simply too much for her to bear. Eyes sparking into life, she leaned forward.

The animal cowered beneath his bed and would not move. With a long-suffering sigh, Sorrow returned to his feet and stretched the knots out of his spine. He was getting nowhere.

"Fine. Fine. I'll sit here and mind my own business." He spoke loudly as he seated himself, then made a face. Here he was, talking to a cat. Worse yet, he half-expected the beast to answer.

"Oh!" A whiff of scent that must have come straight from the slums overwhelmed the healer so much he barely noted the tiny exclamation.

Nearly falling out of his chair with gagging, the young man lifted his streaming eyes to encounter a second nasty shock.

Dressed more in filth than in clothing, some figure barely recognizable as human and female had suddenly appeared upon his bed. His nice clean bed.

The female squeaked in terror and vanished. The only thing that moved was the black streak of cat beneath the bed.

Sorrow stared at his filthy bed and worried. Sometimes he had nightmares, strange dreams as a result of using the forces of nature against their own children in battle, but this was getting way out of hand.

Close together for warmth, even in the sweltering heat that sank through the heavy stone beneath the streets, the couple rested for a short, sweet time. Their niche was a small chamber set into the rock of the sewer walls, a hiding place nearly invisible to questing eyes.

"And deprive you of my sparkling company? Never." The human's voice held a note of bitterness that never entirely disappeared, even when he held her close. Her elven husband trailed his fingers absently through her hair, acknowledging the sentiment beneath the words, while at the same time ignoring the biting statement itself.

"It was a disaster. I don't know what our fearless leader is up to, but it's not good." Nyx stretched and turned to bite her husband's ear lightly. "He's made it so that the invasion is under my control, which means the silly bastard has another plan of his own."

"While I am in control, I will not let this invasion fail. I can give him that much, at least." Her eyes turned hard. "But if he sets us up to lose, Basbear is going to get a nasty surprise."

"Fair enough." With a pinch to her arm, he caught his wife's attention. The look she turned on him made him grin.

"Murderer!" Blackmage fell out of bed and into Armageddon. He hated to sleep alone, but the dozen hard faces glaring at him were not his idea of good company.

What happened to that delicious little morsel he had picked up? Oh yes, she had left him in search of more sedate entertainment. He sniffed in remembered pique. Well he tried to sniff. The sharp point of the spear at his neck was hard to ignore.

"Easy, easy. I'm not about to jump up and attack you." Soothing fears was one of Blackmage's many talents. Usually he made use of it on more pliable subjects, but his deep, smooth voice worked even on the suspicious men.

The spear pricked his neck lightly, sending a hot trail of blood to circle his collar lazily. Well... Maybe it wasn't as effective as he thought.

"Menke! Well hasn't it been some time!" The mage tried to clear his throat, but had to settle with a sheepish you-caught-me-with-my-pants-down smile.

"I have no pleasantries for you, murderer!" The powerful monk merely snarled and tightened his grip on the spear, the very spear that held the convicted man motionless. Suddenly, getting on Menke's good side seemed a very very smart idea.

The pool remained a silver mirror, giving up none of the secrets that lurked always beneath the surface of the water. With a weary sigh, Leandra stretched where she sat and pushed her chair away from the plain wood table.

"Are you kidding? This thing might as well have vanished off the surface of Caspia, for all that I can track it." Carefully, so as not to disturb the perfect stillness of the scrying bowl, the faerie peered into the water. Not even her reflection met her eyes.

Leandra cracked her knuckles and leaned back thoughtfully, steepling her fingers over her stomach. "One or two. Eliminating a few really wild guesses."

"You want to have Raist running around with this power? Or better yet, the one who shall not be named? I'm sure she'd just love to muck around with the energy left by his death." With a sharp eye, Valentine watched the woman's reaction, gauging the mage's loyalty as she chose a less comfortable perch atop the arm of another chair. She must not sleep, not yet.

"Ugh." The shudder traveled through Leandra's frame as she grimaced. "Alright. You win." With a long-suffering sigh, she pulled her chair back in front of the bowl. "Tell me again what to look for, my mind is going stale."

"A dissonance. A place that feels wrong, where time or space or anything is being twisted out of normal." Her fingers twitched, Valentine carefully threaded them together and folded them in her lap.

Leandra grunted, already poised over her mirror. "Oh yes. Very helpful." She glanced at the edgy fighter and snorted. "Not."

"Well..." Her eyes focused on the depths beyond the crystal water, Leandra spoke easily, not letting even her breath stir the glassy surface. "Either your target is dead, and the magic dissipated into the atmosphere."

"Get along? Get along!" Valentine fumed and jumped from her seat to face the woman's sly expression, hot words burning as they rose through her throat."

"Hush! There it is!" Curiosity and concern overcoming her irritation, the faerie leaned closer, as if to see what only the trained eye of the magi could. "I was right. Your target fled to a sanctuary." Smugly Leandra spun her chair around, knocking the bowl and splashing the silver water.

Fascinated by the slow cascade of water over the side of the table, Valentine spoke softly. "A sanctuary. A place where her hurt might be healed. The hospital."

The seer frowned. "If you knew already, why did you need me?" With soft eyes the faerie looked at her companion.

"Proof. There is no time now for false leads or missteps. In the next few days every person will make the one irrevocable move that will define their role in this war."

Leandra raised an eyebrow, half in doubt. Her eyes met only the steel that was barely hidden in Valentine's gaze.

The scene was perfect, everything was in place. Trea watched, the traces of a smug expression tilting her lips and eyes into a half-smile. Nothing could stop the rite from taking place, and then she would rule the Tower, and the master's heart.

The brush of velvet against the back of her calves heralded Raist's approach. His voice whispered upon her neck.

Perfect time, perfect setting. The only thing between her and Raist was one little annoying mage, and she would soon be gone. The thief could have screamed with all the twitchy anticipation and terror that commanded her body. But the master would not have approved, so she stayed still as death.

Her elven senses picked up Pepper's entrance only a split-second before the tall mage moved away from her and towards the door.

"Wife." The warmth in his tone was that of fires to destroy the dead and salt that poisoned healthy fields. Though the young witch wore the band on her left hand, Raist did not bear its match. He drew her into the room, the two of them moving stiffly.

To Trea's eyes they seemed like two sleepwalkers, shuffling in patterns they once danced, but now could barely remember. Her lover's eyes were hard gold, black diamonds, the woman's were soft coal in comparison. Still, the perceptive thief could not read anything of her rival's thoughts.

"Of course." Emotionless, the two spoke words that held no meaning, made sounds to fill the yawning silence that engulfed the room.

Raist led his wife to a narrow bed was the only furnishing in the dim chamber. "This will ease your rest, as I know you hate to wait long." Trea watched and listened, her curiosity whetted. The familiarity with which he spoke was hollow and empty of passion.

"Come wife. This will only take heartbeats." Obediently, Pepper turned to rest upon the tiny bed, her eyes flashing up to pick Trea out of the shadows.

Fists stuffed in her mouth, the thief bit back a scream at the knowledge that blazed from the woman's eyes. She knew. She knew that her death lay upon the bed, in the tiny, barren room.

Trea took a step to warn the master, but Pepper merely bowed her head and sank to the blankets, resting upon the altar that would hold her sacrifice.

"Close your eyes." His murmur was almost gentle, but suddenly the elf could detect all the silent promises of pain and destruction in his tone. Each word was one more stone upon Pepper's cairn.

The dagger rose slowly, accompanied only by the whisper of velvet as it reached the top of its arc and lanced downwards.

At the last moment, Pepper's eyes opened and the watching rogue had to fall back into the shadows to avoid voicing the scream that crawled up her throat. No terror widened the witch's eyes, she gazed with a calm serenity upon the silver shard of death as it pierced her chest. As if guided by some otherworldly power, her slender, pale hands came up to rest on his, driving the dagger deeper into her heart, where it kissed the thundering flesh and drew out her life.

A traitor. She was a traitor. Yes. Of course. She had betrayed the rogues. He had to punish her. She deserved to die.

Justifying it to himself and actually going through with the execution were two entirely different things. Basbear snarled and scanned the nearby street yet again.

Footsteps echoed faintly off the overhanging masonry of the city walls and he froze, his fingers already closing around the cool hilt of his dagger. It drew with a reassuring little hiss. Time to find out whether he was cold enough to kill one of his own.

His target moved silently, too silent for anyone to hear, save Basbear. He was the best, after all. The smallest of smiles darkened his face as he crept closer to the edge of the wall. At least the hunting would be good. Someone he taught would be harder to kill, more exciting.

Blood quickened in his veins as he knelt, sharp eyes picking out the point where she would be most vulnerable.

Pain shot down her spine, burning as it rippled over her body, hot as the blood that even now began to drip onto the pavement. Lodana drew her dagger and staggered into the shadows, flinching away from the next blade she knew was aimed for her heart.

The shadows wouldn't hold her for long, the half-elf bit down on her lip hard as her hand, already pale and shaking with shock and blood loss, reach back to touch the hilt of the dagger.

With a choked cry, she dropped to her knees as she pulled the blade from between her ribs, coughing up blood.

Basbear. Hardly able to believe her eyes, the woman stared for a long moment at the dagger and its unmistakable device. He was trying to kill her!

A tremor shook her body and she revised her thought. He had killed her. His dagger never failed to meet its mark, and this time the mark had been her. Already blood was pouring into her lungs.

The slightest change trembled in the air around her and Lodana cursed. The ArchRogue had faded into the shadows as well. She would either die slow or fast, depending on whether he found her.

Blood trickled down her fingers and the murderer shut her eyes tightly. Fast. She couldn't stand much more of this pain. With a snarl she threw her dagger into the light and followed it.

"Come out, Basbear. End this now!" Staggering badly, pale and dizzy, the rogue still stood and gathered her dignity about her. "If you must kill me, finish it!"

Lodana shouted in rage, demanding that he appear. All the while her crimson blood slowly fell upon the stones at her feet, coating them in a random pattern of droplets that almost made some sort of picture, the more he gazed blindly at it.

"The hospital isn't far from here. Go. There will be a boat waiting at the docks. Board it and don't look back." At the sight of her leader with her blood on his hands, Lodana snarled, her eyes wild.

"You tried to kill me. You severed the bond between us." Another dagger found its way into her hand and she sprang, all the power left in her weak body focused on avenging her own murder.

Moving faster than his own thoughts, Basbear came up under the thrust and cast his own blade across her neck, whirling out of reach again as the blood fell like rain from the cut that slashed through her jugular.

For a long moment the half-elf stared at his former student, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. A thousand thoughts, but his mind was blank, silent as the grave.

The golden light that arced over the street seemed to pierce his brain like the harsh light of divine judgment. A gnome looked over the corpse at Basbear's feet and nodded in satisfaction.

"Perfect. I had doubts about your loyalty, but you have proven well the strength of your word." A snap of stubby fingers, and Lodana's broken body vanished, leaving only the complex design of blood that hinted at arcane secrets.

A sweet smile lit the tiny wizard's face as she gazed upon the ArchRogue. "Well done, Basbear. There are less obstacles against us every day. With your help, we will succeed."

It was a very long time before the elven rogue turned and walked away, melting into the shadows that were his home.

From somewhere beyond hearing the chanting began, growing louder as Raist pulled the dagger from its sheath in his wife's heart, letting her ashen hands fall back to rest upon her chest. Terror kept Trea from speaking or even breathing as he kept speaking, lifting the stained metal of the knife higher and higher.

"Damn." The spell faltered as its caster cursed and flinched away as if struck. Stubbornly Raist completed the ritual, gathering the power that bled from Pepper's body and slowly making it his own.

When the master finally let the dagger lay beside the witch's corpse, he swore again, but softly, and eased open the top of his robes.

There, on his left shoulder, a few marks burned into his flesh like slow poison. Where Pepper's blood had fallen from the dagger onto Raist's flesh, it had seared his skin, leaving three scars. They looked much the marks an angel would leave, if it had shed tears of acid upon the magi's shoulder.

With a silent hiss, he banished the slight thief from his presence, impatient to use the power that spilled from his grasp like burning sand.

When she finally lifted her head to notice her surroundings, the tall trees of the grove towered over her, blocking out the light of the sun.

Pepper knew. She knew all along what awaited her in that tiny cold room at the hands of her husband. With a shudder, Trea knelt down by the roots of one massive oak and was quietly sick.

Blackmage tried to gather what little dignity he had about him as the four guards turned his room over, looking for damning evidence. He still didn't even know what he had done! Only one word had they deigned to cast at him, murderer. That wasn't much help.

Relentlessly the men worked; smashing, tearing, and destroying, all under Menke's watchful eye. The monk himself wandered about, keeping one stern eye on his prisoner as the weaponless man sat tangled in the blankets and watched, unable to stop the devastation.

The sound of shattering glass made the two men look up. What was once the magic-user's rare and powerful orb of scrying was now nothing more than a few glittering shards on the floor. The dwarven sorcerer shut his eyes and tried to get his heart started again, but it lodged itself firmly in his stomach and refused to beat.

Breathe... Breathe... He ignored the point of Menke's spear as it came up against his neck once more. Even the sharp pain of the point scraping his throat didn't break his concentration. He began to feel a dull throbbing in his chest. Good. He was alive again.

The spear twitched again and he winced. Did Menke think he would jump from his bed, deadly spells blazing from his hands? The suspicious man was more foolish than Blackmage had originally thought.

But foolish was good. He could work with that. But not right now. He lightly pushed the spear's point away from the scar on his neck. With a shrug, Menke turned away.

The muscular holy man strolled through the disaster that used to be a magi's bedroom, lifting bits of clothing and furnishings idly with the spear. He seemed to be very attached to the weapon, clutching it fanatically in his hands. His whole appearance was more akin to that of a battle-hungry warrior than some old and wise man of faith.

Blackmage rubbed at the dried blood on his neck and helplessly watched as the man prowled silently around the room, tracking something only he could see.

Menke slowly completed his circuit, nodding to each of the guards as they stood, all giving him looks that ranged from annoyed to frustrated. They had found nothing.

Blackmage breathed a sigh of relief and slumped against the headboard. He was safe. They could not convict him if there was no evidence.

He watched the monk with considerably less alarm as the man continued to amble through the wreckage. Menke paused to finger the brown traveling cloak that hung suspended on the door, one of the few things still untouched by the ravages of the guards.

His hand disappeared into the dark folds of the expensive garment, and Blackmage knew that this was what the monk had been waiting for. Well then! A little bribery and they would go away. The cloak looked like it caught the strange man's fancy.

"What the...?" Menke suddenly grabbed the cloak and threw it away from him with a shocked curse. His hand was covered in blood.

A damp blotch of crimson blood peeked coyly up at Blackmage as the cape fluttered and fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Silence reigned supreme. Not even the heady aroma that seeped from her fur and lingered over the bed could break the stillness. Carefully, the cat peeked at the motionless elf that merely sat and stared, dumbfounded, at the bed.

Her body ached unbearably, salvation was only steps away. She took a deep breath, sneezed violently, and crawled from her sanctuary. Still, the healer did not move.

So close. She could barely twitch her paws forward, all the pain had come rushing in to cripple her as her adrenaline drained away. Now it looked as if she would not have the strength to pull herself close enough to get the man's attention.

This couldn't be happening! She closed her eyes and slumped to the floor, all four paws giving way at once. The gods taunted her, bringing her within inches of the one thing that could take her pain away and make her new.

"Ridorthu!" The man breathed a mild curse in surprise. "My apologies, kitty. Guess I was seeing things." He peered at her still form. "Uh oh."

With a grimace of disgust, Sorrow placed a hand on the tiny body. It didn't flinch. It didn't move at all. With a quickly murmured cantrip, he channeled his god-given power into the silent heart and pumped life through the minuscule veins.

A pitiful cry was his reward. Bending all his thoughts upon the beast, the healer began to draw in all his knowledge and strength, casting them over the damaged cat's trembling form.

The faintest feeling of abnormality returned to plague him, buzzing at the edges of his power. A miniature storm buried itself in his blood and made him twitch, but Sorrow ignored it. He was used to the screams and blasts of battle, one annoying little sensation wasn't going to stop him from healing the pain that begged to be assuaged.

"Now Menke. Old friend!" Blackmage slung a companionable arm around the human's shoulder, his bones thumping painfully against the rock-hard muscles there. His appealing smile crashed with equal agony upon the black look the monk shot him.

Carefully, very carefully, Blackmage retrieved his arm and tried a new approach. Menke was being as touchy as some of the older women around Kieron; always suspicious, always ready to clobber him if he made one wrong move.

The monk, however, looked like he would do some real damage if he decided to swing at Blackmage's trim but weak body.

"Now I admit one or two girls may have done themselves in because I left them, but I've never murdered anyone!" The dwarven mage ran his hands through his hair, making the painstakingly groomed locks look a bit more disheveled. He tried on his best haggard appearance.

Blackmage pouted. He wasn't getting anywhere with the stormy-tempered man. Of course, his life had never depended on his persuasive abilities. Usually his audience was a bit more inclined to humor him as well.

There were places even the oldest and most powerful mortals could not go. Two people met in one of them, an ancient chamber of half-seen shadows and whispering lights of indescribable colors. The two were not mortal, had not been mortal for a long time.

"Sit down, please." The voice that spoke was soft and devoid of expression. A hand, too slender and pale to be elven, waved the newcomer to a seat.

"Excellent." The speaker leaned back into the shadows, letting only his red eyes glow from the perpetual fog that surrounded him. "When is the trial set for?"

"Two days. They must find a judge first." Thoughtfully the gnome tapped her fingers on the table. "I think I know who they'll pick." She propped her elbows on the table and sketched a glowing little picture into the strange wood.

"Wazoo is too young." The sketch vanished, another one appeared. "Beyond has distanced himself from mortal politics." A third caricature traced itself in soft balefire. "Xith."

The shrouded figure chuckled and his hand reached out to twist the picture one last time. "Xith will not accept. You will do it."

"Of course. They trust you, and your judgment. You are in the perfect position to further our scheme." They both stared at the tiny image as it flared green and faded, the sweet smile of the gnome lingering in the air for a heartbeat longer.

"No. Do not concern yourself with his prosecution, merely judge. The evidence against him will accumulate. You need not soil your hands with the creation of the magi's crimes."

The glowing eyes dropped in acknowledgment, and a near-skeletal hand brushed against the gnome's cheek in benediction. Her heart went cold.

With a quiet curtsey, she departed, the bright golden light of her passage fading quickly away. It shied from the unbreachable mist that cloaked her associate as if fearing to touch that aura of strangeness.

At the sight of a tiny figure entering his hospital, Shiyan stood up to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. They weren't.

"Hello Valentine!" The ArchCleric bowed and smiled at his faerie companion. "I've not seen you for a long time."

"WHAT?" The half-elf stopped in his tracks, jarring them both as he stared at her in shock. "You must be joking."

"But what evidence could they have against him?" It was impossible for the leader of the clerics to understand just how Blackmage could have gotten himself arrested for murder.

Valentine frowned and stared at the ground between their feet. "To put him out of reach for some plot, I should think." Her eyes were veiled when she looked back up at her friend. "There's always some scheme hatching, wouldn't you say?"

"But that's not what I came to talk to you about." The faerie gave him a sweet smile and the ArchCleric could do nothing but forget his worries and smile back. She had that effect on people. "I came looking for someone, actually."

"If that should happen, Shiyan, you'll be the first I call. No, I am trying to find a friend someone once told me about. He's about normal height, a nice man. He has a tendency to take in stray animals and such."

The man stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm... Yes I think I know who you're trying to find. He's in his chambers right now, let's go up to see him."

"Someone's here!" Sorrow nearly jumped out of his skin at the rapping at his door. Somehow, he didn't think the ArchCleric would appreciate him dragging in yet another near-dead beast.

Frantically he searched the room for a good hiding place. The kitten in his hands breathed shallowly, but with a steady rhythm that boded well.

"Just a moment! I'm on my way!" The elf called out breathlessly as he tucked the feline into the top drawer of his desk with a wince for the papers within, now irrevocably soiled. He made a mental note to bathe the cat, as soon as she was well enough, and he had time.

The half-elf nodded and waved him back to his chair. "I have brought someone who wanted to... By the axe of Ore, what is that smell?" The elder man almost staggered beneath the heady atmosphere that had long since filled the room to near-bursting.

"Ummm... Isarra was cooking again." Sorrow breathed a tiny sigh of relief when his master took the lie at face value.

"Ahh yes. I remember the last time she tried to cook." The ArchCleric shuddered. "Sorrow, I'd like you to meet Valentine." The small figure behind his master stepped forward and smiled at him in greeting.

The elf twitched and rose to his feet to cover the movement. Her eyes seemed to stare into him and through him, her gaze at once sharp and vague.

"The pleasure is mine, Sorrow." She sniffed once at the pall in the room and her smile turned wry. His skin rippled with the annoying feeling of being just a little out of synch with reality again.

"Umm... So how can I help you? Shall we step outside to discuss this?" The young healer ushered his guests out of the malodorous room hurriedly, before the cat woke once more.

"Not you, specifically, but yes, I know who you are." Valentine looked calm as she sat and watched him fidget. "A friend directed me to you."

A whisper of air raced about the room and Isarra perched on the arm of the ArchCleric's empty chair. She raised an eyebrow at her husband. "my cooking was it now".

"It was all I could think of. If you were there, you could have helped me!" He suddenly remembered the presence of a third person in the room. "Valentine, this is my wife, Isarra."

The two women looked at each other with equal thought, the odd fighter's dreamy eyes and the thief's dead eyes met and recognized an ally, or an opponent. The silent elf made a little half-bow from her comfortable perch.

"Of course." With a vague nod, Valentine dismissed the little thief from her concern, if not her thoughts. "Now Sorrow, my friend said you would be the best place to start looking for something that I've lost. It's very precious to me."

"Just what might this precious item be?" The healer's cautious words were rewarded with another little smile.

He was cool. He was hot. He was so sexy the girls could barely stand to be near him, because they were overcome by lust.

The fact that his clothes were blinding and caused any onlooker to become slightly nauseous had nothing to do with it.

Daryth strolled towards the docks, drawing stares and murmured laughter wherever he stepped. Oh yes, he was the man. By far the epitome of male perfection. He fingered the silver chain at his neck and the ring that hung on it.

Out there... The woman of his dreams was somewhere out there. And the day he would find her, he would give her that ring and make her his.

Especially since the docks did nothing for his clothes. The gloomy waterfront made him seem small and trivial in comparison against such a massive backdrop of depression.

Oh well. He had heard myths of Wirinth's sumptuous decorating. Soon enough he would find himself in more tasteful surroundings, with someone who could appreciate the sexy objet d'art that he was.

"Of course!" The elven rogue leaned back against a wealth of cushions and stretched languidly. If he had been a cat, he would have purred. "Thanks, Winnie. Damn, you pack a great larder. The booze is good too."

The monk gave him a strained smile and sipped at her wine. "So, Daryth. You still haven't told me what the problem seems to be." Her eyes flicked over the last pathetic remnants of a rich meal. "Perhaps we should discuss what seems to be bothering you."

He scratched at his chest and sighed happily. If something was worrying the slender little thief, it would have taken a mind-reader to detect it. "Well babe, I have some info, and I don't know who to tell it to."

Wirinth seemed to be drinking a lot, he noticed absently. Her knuckles were almost white around the stem of her glass. "How interesting. Why would you come to me with this, Daryth?" She had also stopped calling him dear.

"I figure you know a lot of people, and you could get the idea out to them that I have some hot stuff up for sale. And I don't mean me." He gave her an engaging grin and a leer.

The elven monk sipped her wine again. At this rate, she'd be done the bottle in a few more glasses. "I see. What sort of information might this 'hot stuff' pertain to?"

The response was less than heartening. He got a soft shrug. "Slander is one thing, but I fail to see how anyone would pay you for a comment like that with no proof."

His grin grew positively evil. "But I don't need proof, see. I wasn't the only one who saw him embrace the dark side babe. And boy was that some sweet dark side."

Wirinth looked disgusted. "How lovely for you. Let me break out the brandy and we will celebrate this windfall of yours."

"Jynx!" The elf's head shot up at the sound of her name and she searched for the origin of the hail. No one could be seen over the crowd in the bar. She shrugged and returned her attention to the dagger before her.

This was perfect. With one stroke she could destroy one of the main perpetrators of that sin she could not abide, and prove her loyalty to her leader. With one stroke of this dagger.

"JYNX!!!" The voice screeched closer and she slipped the evidence into her pouch. Time for retribution later.

"Thanks. I will. Got a message for you." The somber woman frowned, pushed the ale back towards her male companion.

"That's mighty friendly of you Jynx. Thanks." He smiled happily and ignored her as she slipped away from the table and melted into the shadows.

"Good. Go back to your night's entertainment, Aiv. I think we can handle it from here." He bowed and slipped away.

"Nadcorp, when you said you wanted to have some fun, I was expecting something a little more carnal, and a little less..." The woman glanced at their dim and musty surroundings, "dirty." The acrid scent of the sewer wafted up around them and she blinked to clear tears from her eyes.

They continued along the narrow passageway, picking their way with speed and stealth. The likelihood of anyone hearing them through six feet of ground and a foot of stone was decidedly slim, but they slunk anyhow. Some habits become too ingrained to abandon.

Nyx motioned a question, using her hands and eyes so that her voice would not break the silence of the dark sewer tunnel. With a tilt of his head, her husband indicated that their quarry was just ahead. The elf nodded curtly and they crept forward, towards the pile of rubble that blocked the end of the tunnel.

The rocks were shaky, but the tumbled collection of stones from the tunnel wall were still intact, forming a solid base upon which the two noiselessly walked. Slimy water lapped against the crumbling edges of the bridge, promising that it too would soon fall.

The pacing was starting to get on her nerves. Jynx forced herself to sit. The pause lasted a few moments before she was up and stalking the shadows of the room again.

"A body broke surface? How embarrassing for you." At Wirinth's offended expression, she almost fell back into the chair laughing. Only her adamantine will kept her from showing any more than a faint, malicious smile.

The female hunter gracefully turned and seated herself in the only chair that occupied the room. Her hands fell precisely upon the armrests and she curled her legs up, looking for all the world like impoverished royalty.

Wirinth's eyes narrowed. The implications were not lost on her. "I take it you've been busy while I was away."

"I might have been." She shrugged delicately and eyed her adversary. "I will see to it that Sidnee knows of your arrival. In due time." The tall, lanky elf made as if to speak, but Jynx waved her silent. "Dismissed."

The sound of teeth grinding echoed sullenly in the tiny room as the elven monk turned to go. "Watch your back, Jynx."

"I always do, Wirinth." She smiled faintly as the door started to swing shut once more. "Attend the trial tomorrow. You might find it educational. And give my regards to Quinn."

A shudder rocked through the building as the door slammed closed with enough force to buckle the wood around the hinges. In the silent emptiness of the chamber, Jynx grinned.

Sorrow chuckled and shook his head in amusement, his hands quietly unlocking and opening the door to his room. A wave of unholy odor, straight from the depths of hell, assaulted him, and the usually steel-nerved healer had to fall back a pace. In the short hour he had been gone, the smell had escalated to a near-corporeal state.

"powerful" Only the faintest ripple of air presaged the passage of his close-mouthed wife close beside him. Imagination painted her unseen movements upon his mind as she entered the room. "do you trust?"

"I don't really know." The translation of the minimal remark came easily to his mind. "She seems real enough, but this creature was near death when I found her. How do I know that Valentine isn't one of the people who brought her to that point?"

With the most silent of movements, he slid the drawer open to breathe a sigh of relief. The kitten was still there, and still breathing. Though the two talked normally, both having voices low enough to be unheard by the tiny sleeper, Sorrow found himself tiptoeing about the room.

"she has old blood" Isarra was suddenly perched on his dresser, staring at him with those dead eyes, like the flat green orbs of a corpse. "blood of gods"

"If she has skills of healing that are greater than my own, then I would gladly give her the kitten." With a shrug he held the softly breathing feline to his chest and indicated the stuffy room with a free hand. "Want to clean up in here, love?"

Quietly, so as not to wake his charge, Sorrow laughed. His wife grumbled and started to tear the sheets from the bed in preparation for washing.

"nearly forgot" More silently than he could ever dream of moving, the thief came to his side, letting one slender finger stroke the cat's ears. "blackmage accused of murder" At his widened eyes, she nodded seriously, "trial tomorrow morning"

The sound arrowed through the air, pure and knife-edge clean. There was a heartbeat's rapid thud as Sorrow and his wife stared at each other in near-comical horror. Then the cat woke.

It raised its head sharply to place the sound, and encountered Isarra. The tiny beast took one look at her still, expressionless face and her lifeless eyes and screeched, loud and piercing enough to wake even Ridorthu from his uneasy slumber.

Then it was gone, leaving only a black flash of tail that lingered at the edge of the window before vanishing as well.

With a laugh, he drew her out of the room. "Well that solves that. I hope the little one finds sanctuary, and water!"

Morning brought light to the upper halls of the courthouse, filling the dim confines with motes of dust and the occasional gold stream of sunshine. Mist and fog still hovered over the streets outside, but the courthouse was already beginning to become unbearably hot.

Belowground, the musty cells of the prison still held the heat from the previous day, adding their unpleasant note to the general chaos of scents and humid air that floated sluggishly through the chamber.

Hopefully Sidnee would arrive soon, take pity on those people already assembled for the day's activity, and cool down the chamber. Soon was nowhere near soon enough for those who blinked sweat from their eyes, wiped brows, and doggedly worked in the morning heat.

Hecubus ran his hands over his thin arms for the fourth time that morning, shedding perspiration like water. Checking the time of day by the intensity of the sun's rays lancing through the windows, he wished himself elsewhere. Anywhere else.

Even the fiery lair of Xith's fabled elemental would probably be cooler. And more peaceful, too. Crows screeched and cackled over the carcass of a poor dead animal somewhere nearby, their laughter sounding far too intelligent and malicious to the sensitive magi.

As if heralded by the calls of the black birds, Thundercracker sauntered into the courthouse, hands shoved casually into pockets, carrying no papers, nothing but an easy grin. Blackmage was as doomed as the hapless feast that even now the crows squabbled over. Both men knew it.

The two men arranged themselves at their respective tables, like generals preparing their bunkers for the day's battle. Papers and files littered the magi's desk, as if he could create a better defense by sheer force of written words. Paper to hide the lack of evidence. Every so often he'd have to run and catch a page as it floated off the table, pushed limply by the wind.

In contrast, Thundercracker had established himself by the simple expedient of setting his heels upon the desk, leaning back in his chair, and dropping off for a short nap. He needed no polished sermons, no painstakingly gathered witness. The path to an easy victory lay before him, paved with irrefutable evidence, sweet and simple as a child's song.

As the two men waited, patiently and impatiently, for the judge to arrive, Hecubus gnawed on a fingernail with all the nervous energy pent up inside him. He was missing too many pieces! Renowned for his quicksilver mind, the elven magi was completely at a loss when presented with the facts of Blackmage's case. There were too many questions unanswered, too many things he just could not know! He hardly knew where to start.

Brooding darkly to himself, the magi didn't notice as a small group of people formed behind him and Thundercracker, filtering into the room by ones and twos. Comprised mostly of conjurors and high ranking sorcerers, the group was very quiet; only murmured greetings and the brush of impossibly soft robes against the floor marked their presence.

Even in the morning sunlight, the room seemed just the faintest bit oppressive. No one raised a voice to break the muggy silence.

"Sidnee!" The murmur rose inevitably, like some errant wind, and sighed through the courthouse. It broke against the tall, imposing podium at the head of the room and tumbled between the ranks of hard-backed benches lined up like coffins upon the floor.

Led by the tiny figure, Hecubus and his relaxed rival made for the staircase leading to the prison cells below the courthouse. Their small audience followed, navigating the tiny stairs one at a time.

Empty of life, the first few pens held only the mold of old, rotting straw which caught at Hecubus' throat and stung acridly until he had to pause, dry heaves rocking through his chest. Finally they saw a motionless figure in the half-lit gloom, leaned back against the stone wall that wept filthy water and some rancid black substance.

The body moved suddenly, and Menke lifted glittering eyes to sweep the tiny gathering with an undefinable look. He bowed once, to Sidnee, and stepped away from the cell door, making himself comfortable against another wall with no apparent thought for what disgusting material his back was against.

A sheet of golden mist rose and fell with some unseen breeze, casting a cool glow over the open space before the heavy wooden door of the cell. Where its silky touch encountered stone, chairs grew into being, enough for all present. Sidnee seated herself on one that was set a way from both the prison cell and the other chairs and waited for the rest to follow her example.

Only when all were comfortable did she let the door open on the dark interior of Blackmage's tiny cell. He lifted his head wearily as he stepped from the chill darkness and blinked once, twice, before shuffling to the last empty seat by the sturdy monk. Quietly the accused man sat, shying away from Menke with a faint shudder.

The gnome settled herself down, looked up at the two men who were seated closest to her, one fidgeting and nervous, the other so relaxed he was nearly asleep.

The audience, about two dozen all told, were brought up to date with the events leading to Blackmage's present condition, frowns appearing among the magi as they heard of his actions in the square and his later disappearance, only to be discovered by Menke. Not a really amazing feat, since the man had been sleeping in his own bed when he was found.

Thundercracker took his time as he called his first witness, stretching languidly before extending his frame to a standing position. "Phantasmo here will comment on the character of the killer."

The old warrior shrugged and shot the tiny judge a sly wink. "Blackmage is quite a character, alright." She seemed to relax at his jest and nodded for the elf to call his witness.

"Yes. I know that man." The human who stood before the piercing eyes of the goblin judge wasn't worthy of note. Dull brown hair, dark eyes, the plain, tame lines of a human body accented with a fighter's well-trained muscle. But when one got down to facts, Phantasmo was so normal he could hide himself in a crowd and never be found.

His voice was carefully kept low and neutral as Thundercracker chatted like they were old friends. "So what did you think of him, when you first met him?"

"He was very arrogant. He had some girl following around him like a pet hobbit." The sour twist to the boy's lips implied envy rather than disgust.

"And did you think he could do something drastic, when you met him? Could he do something... evil?" The undertones that surrounded Thundercracker's skilled voice rumbled through the tiny space beneath the courthouse.

In contrast to the careful modulation that his coach practiced, Phantasmo grew more excited, and less controlled. "Yes! Yes, I think so!" A dark look seared the air between Blackmage and his accuser.

Like a crude trigger, the word set flame ablaze in Phantasmo's eyes. He leapt to his feet, throwing out his arms. "As Azi is my witness, I swear to you all that Blackmage is a murderer, a most foul demon of death and savagery!"

Chill silence fell in a thousand tons upon the hallway. The magi stared at the agitated youth with all the warmth of a vulture watching his next meal. Warming to his subject, the plain human began to shout, heedless of the decidedly cool reception.

"Enslaver of women! Black practitioner of the arts! He murdered in cold blood! He slew Uncool and Bloom, the two most virtuous and noble fighters to ever grace Caspia!"

Phantasmo continued for some time in the same vein, the centerpiece in a wide circle of silence. His words rippled out over the upturned faces of his peers and fell upon their ears in an ever-increasing tempo.

Soon, all too soon the young man burned himself out, mumbling incoherently, his hands clenching and unclenching. A snap of Thundercracker's fingers sent the burned out child headed back to his seat at the rear of the room to huddle and occasionally mutter imprecations.

"Well. That pretty much covered all I wanted to say." The genial hunter smiled easily and strolled back to his own chair.

She crept along the rafters, the fur of her belly sliding noiselessly along the rough beam as slowly, slowly she approached her goal. As if taunting her, the mouse raised itself up on hind legs to display a plump, gently rounded form. Some strange beast within her started to drool and tangle knots in her stomach.

One hit, and the mouse became hers. She devoured it hungrily, then choked as her gorge rose. A mouse? She had just eaten a mouse raw. Too weak to bring up the vile morsel, she curled up tightly and gagged as her stomach grumbled happily to itself.

At the sound of voices, she raised her head from between her paws and peered blearily out. Below her, a small group of people spoke to each other grimly, their words echoing oddly off the stone walls and low ceiling.

One of them stood; a tall, slender man in soft, dark blue robes. Her fur itched to rub up against such a comfortable looking substance but she laid her ears back in annoyance and ignored it. The man was speaking.

"My witness will also speak about Blackmage's character." He gestured, and a tiny female rose from the back of the small pool of seated observers.

A chorus of gasps chronicled the nymph's approach as she floated over the filthy floor to stand and face the other people. Curious, the cat hunched down and tilted her head over the side of the wooden beam. Everyone shied away from the creature's presence as she walked quietly to the front of the small chamber.

Even though her ethereal beauty was breathtaking, spiced by the subtle tang of wisdom and age, even though she was easily the most beautiful person even seen, the nymph did not bring awe to the faces of the seated people. Rather, they fell over themselves to get out of her way, eyes wide with fear as she ignored them all.

She recognized the woman as the powerful waitress who ran the bar not far from the central square. Once, before she had grown fur and a tail, she had visited the place only to be treated to a demonstration of the nymph's talents. Two children had tried to attack the helpless-looking woman, neither were able to move after she had finished with them. The cat had been impressed.

No basilisk had ever frozen so effectively, no witch's annihilate caused such utter motionless chaos as the waitress did. She instilled such fear simply by turning her gaze on whoever was unlucky enough to catch her attention.

There were few who met that dreamy stare and did not shudder, knowing, as the cat did, the strength that lay behind it. Even though she was tiny, the waitress had probably given each one of those people down there a sound beating once or twice during their childhood.

"Miss. Do you recognize the man seated there?" All eyes returned to the unprepossessing magi at the fore of the chamber as he approached the woman, careful to keep a respectable distance.

"Yes. Blackmage, son of Mab and Rob. Once a powerful force among the elders, now he contents himself with dreams of the grandeur he once possessed." A man, set apart from the rest, reddened and made as if to rise but was forcibly seated back in his chair by the scary-looking elf who stood behind him.

The cat tilted her head as muffled laughter rose from somewhere in the middle of the seated audience and the chastised man sulked, helpless to defend himself against the nymph's slander, or the audience's ridicule. He pulled his tattered robe around him and stared fiercely at a spot on the wall above everyone's heads.

Attention returned to the cool woman under question as she detailed the innumerable times that the conceited man had tried to convince her of his amorous expertise. Even the slender young magi who questioned her could not stay solemn at the long, frequently mocking account of Blackmage's attempted conquest. Finally, he remembered the real purpose of the waitress' presence and swallowed his smile.

The nymph folded her hands gracefully in her lap and bent a gaze of iron upon her questioner, "As well as anyone could."

There was a long pause as she summed up the imprisoned man in a glance. Her long lashes dropped over dark sparkling eyes, "He has not the ambition to use murder."

The waitress was allowed to return to her seat, and a moment of pandemonium gave the kitten time to wonder at the purpose of this strange gathering as the lovely nymph took the shortest path to her chair. Once again people fell over themselves to get out of her way.

Finally order was restored. She could feel the anticipation grow as an astonishingly tall, lanky man rose to his feet and sauntered, unaffected by the waitress' speech, to the front of the room.

The old warrior cracked his knuckles, gave the tiny gnome there an appealing grin, "Well, guess we should get some evidence in here."

There was a collective sigh as the short, powerful monk unfurled a crimson-splashed cloak. She could see the speculation in the eyes of the observers turn cold as they stared at the ill-kempt man who sat meekly under the watchful eye of the monk. Clear as daylight upon the shores Caspia, a scarlet hand of blood lay on the cloak, damning the man they called Blackmage.

Another young elven conjurer stood, somewhere near the middle of the main group, and spoke, his cynical tone penetrating the dark looks of his associates. "Hey! How do we know that's not just anyone's cloak or anyone's blood?"

Frowns appeared upon the faces of many people, including the judge. The muscular monk who was guarding the pathetically weak magi even took a step forward. Just one step. The sharply intelligent look in his eyes boded ill for those who might think of quieting him.

His slender cohort, who had questioned the nymph, looked pathetically grateful at the interruption. "Cyberhawk. Continue." A crooked smile was the response the tall magi gave him.

"It's all real nice that you guys have evidence, but I don't trust you enough to believe this makes Blackmage a murderer." Each word rung clearly in the still air, resounding through the completely silent tunnel. The speaker gestured at the limp material in the monk's hands, earning him a black look from that man.

"Who's blood is it? Is that really Blackmage's cloak? Who's to say he didn't loan it to someone?" A sardonic gaze struck the seated watchers, causing a few to blush with faint chagrin.

"And what would you have us do, Cyberhawk?" Deigning to speak, the tiny gnome steepled her fingers and smiled tolerantly.

"Really." She drawled, but her eyes flashed to figure in a dark, mist-shrouded corner near the back of the chamber. Startled, the cat peered over the beam, her sharp eyes picking out a shadowed figure, hiding deep in the darkness of the hall. Slender hands, too long and pale to be human or even elven, waved once, and she heard the gnome speak calmly. "Please. Perform this spell for us. We seek the truth, after all."

With a skeptical smile at the gnome's sudden acquiescence, Cyberhawk accepted the cloak gracefully from the monk who towered over him. Ignoring the man's scowl, he drew upon his wisdom, and poured power over the cloak that lay innocently in his hand.

No one breathed as moments tripped lightly past. When the young magi raised his head, all attention was focused on him so intensely he seemed to waver before them, as if a curtain of smoke had raised itself between the elf and his audience.

The monk spoke harshly, "I put my hand in the blood when I picked it up. I didn't know it was there." Cyberhawk nodded absently.

"But this doesn't prove that he killed Bloom. There's no bodies, either. Doesn't this bother anyone besides me?" He tossed the cloak back at the sullen and strode to position himself before the seated gnome who watched serenely. "What other proof is there against Blackmage? Or is this trial based only on rumor and speculation?"

The sound of a blade splitting wood made the magi spin around. Only a delicate hand could be seen, hovering in the air above the dagger that was thrust deep into the back of the accused man's chair..

"May I?" Cyberhawk gave the deadly-looking elf a cynical smile and a bow. With a shrug she indicated that he was free to take the dagger. No sound followed her steps as she strode from the front of the room.

Nadcorp smiled amiably at the dark-eyed woman as she neared. His wife was, as usual, arguing with some magi he had never seen before. The old thief hauled Nyx onto his lap, grinning at her squeak of outrage. Murmured laughter rippled behind the infamous couple, dwindling to silence as Jynx gracefully took the seat offered and turned her attention back to Cyberhawk.

"This spell?" Hands clasped thoughtfully, Sidnee gazed upon the tall magi as he wrestled to remove the dagger from the wood. "What is it called?"

The elf wheezed and leaned back against the table to catch his breath. "In the old texts it is called Lore, your grace."

"Ahhh. Thank you." No hand moved the bloody hilt as it slid easily from its place and twisted within a beam of golden light to lie gently on top of the wooden table. The tiny gnome gave Cyberhawk a faint smile and indicated that he should continue.

"Sit down, Basbear. I hate it when you lurk about behind me." Raist took another sip of his tea and pointed to the empty chair beside him. Black robes hung heavy on his arm, falling forward so that only a pale, white hand could be seen.

The ArchRogue scowled and took the offered seat, eyeing his elven associate suspiciously. The magi only smiled quietly and returned his scrutiny to the proceedings. Or part of them, at least. When Basbear saw what Raist was so intent upon, he grunted in disgust.

"You are pathetic." Only a raised eyebrow betrayed that the powerful spellcaster had heard him. "She knows you're watching her."

"Then get over it already. She doesn't want you." There was silence for a moment, so thick it seemed to billow through the back of the dank tunnel like poisonous fog. Basbear paused and decided not to say the rest of his thought. Somehow he doubted the elf would appreciate being told that the mighty gnome no longer needed his paltry powers.

It wasn't that Raist was all that powerful to begin with, the half-elf's mind wandered in the moment of stillness. Sidnee had always been the better wizard, but the two together had been a force to be wary of. Perhaps it was because of his former glory that Raist continued to hold Basbear's grudging respect.

That and his complete disregard for the sanctity of life. He had sent many souls back to their creators, but Raist held as many souls captive in the prison of his power, using the raped power to fuel his own dark schemes. The old magi had class, and arrogance.

Though Basbear could have given the magi one fatal knife-thrust at any time, power over magic, Raist never showed any fear, or caution.

The only sound that shivered through the air was the softest of laughs. "I did not come here to pine over the fair Sidnee, Basbear." The magi chuckled and shook his head. "She and I know where we stand. The rift is long and deep between us, and I will not be the one to cross it. Rather, I came to see what plot hatches in this snake-pit."

He eyed the large thief slyly, then glanced at Jynx through the few people seated in front of them. "And also to see what new alliances have formed in my absence."

Basbear snarled quietly away and stared ahead, past the observers who were mostly weakling magi. Only one face was turned back to see him in the dark-haired mass. Some part of his mind that survived on the inconsequential noted the rarity of fair people in the courtroom.

The rest of the his attention was centered on the ebony eyes that watched him. Jynx waited until he nodded to her in reluctant acknowledgement. Her lips curved slowly in a dark smile before she returned her sight to the slender magi still hovering over a dagger that held few clues. Lodana's dagger.

Something dangerous lurked in Jynx's eyes. The ArchRogue feared he knew only too well what the woman was after. She had him trapped, if she had Lodana's dagger, then she knew who really had killed the thief. With a noiseless sigh he leaned back into his chair, letting the shadows of the box cloak him.

Raist was watching him, the faintest of smiles chilling the magi's thin face. Already Basbear could see calculations flashing behind his eyes as the dark sorcerer began to unravel the truth behind the half-glances and hints he had watched.

That tested the murderer's temper too far. Abruptly he faded from view and made his way behind the short forest of chairs, heading for the light that filtered dimly from the stairs. He paused once in sudden contemplation.

Reaching out to put a hand on the back of the empty char, Basbear spoke, low and harsh into the ear of the magi, "I have not seen your wife here. Where is Pepper?"

Raist glanced in his direction with eyes of icy gold, "She is resting comfortably." At this, the old thief nodded to himself with dry humor and stepped away.

"Perhaps I will see her soon." He slipped out of the prison and emerged into the empty and humid courthouse. A pious reply murmured magically into his mind.

The benches were hard, the company in which he sat was harder. A single thief in the company of some of Caspia's most powerful magi, Aivlys didn't feel very safe. They eyed his sheathed daggers with open hostility, fingering their own weapons and spell components.

"Aiv." He looked up at the mention of his voice and smiled in relief. A slender man grinned at him and smoothed shoulder-length brown hair.

"Sorrow! Long time no see." The circle of thieves melted away, leaving enough room for the healer to sit. With an elven cleric at his side, Aivlys no longer felt cold stares itching between his shoulderblades.

He returned his attention to the front of the room, where Cyberhawk had straightened and was speaking again.

"Lodana's knife. Her blood. But this doesn't mean that Blackmage did it!" The young magi was angry with himself, it seemed. He scowled at the blade as if it offended him personally.

Phantasmo leapt to his feet again, crying, "It's a conspiracy!" He was answered by Nyx, who was nearly spitting with new hatred for the magi, "He deserves to die!"

"Lodana...." The last was murmured by Wail as he fell. The sound of his knees hitting the floor resounded throughout the chamber like nails driven into a the lid of a coffin. Even Sidnee, when Aivlys shot a glance at her, looked pale.

"Find her." The strong monk pulled himself to his feet with Sorrow's help and walked down the dark tunnel and slowly ascended the stairs leaving everyone in a silence so deep it strangled any speech or movement.

The dagger rose sharply into the air, glowing and sparking in fits. It grew incandescent as half a dozen magi scryed through it. Two heartbeats flew past, and the knife clattered to the filthy ground. Almost simultaneously, several quiet explosions rocked the dim space.

When Aivlys scanned the room, all the most powerful magi had disappeared, intent on whatever their scrying had shown them. With a sad sigh, the little thief settled himself into his seat and waited for the next disaster to happen.

A break was called, the haggard-looking magi on trial sent back to his cell and the door locked firmly behind him. Aiv didn't envy him his quarters, nor his company. Menke made himself comfortable by Blackmage's door with a faint smile on his face. It wasn't a pleasant smile.

In twos and threes the watchers filtered out, their murmuring filled the air with half-heard questions and accusations. Finally only a few people sat still where they had all through the trial.

Sidnee nodded to the remaining people and vanished in her customary flash of golden light. An answering flare glowed sullenly from the back of the tunnel, where two chairs had been pushed against the wall. With another little sigh, Aivlys left, alone but for his whirling thoughts.

"May Azi let her soul sleep in the shade of his tower." The soft voice murmured over sounds of horror as the first magi and their companions discovered Lodana's body. It was stiff and chill, and cloaked in a purple mask of dried blood that was sticky in the humid evening air.

Hecubus turned away and was violently sick as Shiyan gently drew the gummed strands of hair from the bluish skin and closed Lodana's blank staring eyes.

"I'll go get Wail." Swallowing hard against the bile in his throat, Hecubus stepped back slowly, unable to tear his gaze away from the ghastly sight.

"No." The ArchCleric put out a hand and everyone froze. "Get Sidnee first. She needs this as evidence." Even the elf could not be completely immune to aversion, he turned away, his face a pale shade of green. "And she can clean Lodana up. Wail should not see her like this."

Flies descended once more in a great cloud upon the corpse, nibbling gently at her cold lips and nestling into the crimson-lined cavity of her chest.

Voiceless, with no mouth to speak, no lungs with which to push air to her lips, Lodana's ravaged body lay upon the pristine stone of the bier. A circle of frustrated scholars retreated a ways from her carcass to confer. In whispered tones they spoke, as if their discussion might rouse her from her eternal sleep.

"Then what do you suggest, smartass? The tooth fairy killed her?" The last sharp retort broke their murmured argument. Staring angrily at each other, the four magi paused to catch their breath.

Hecubus hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his robe and shot one last glare at Cyberhawk before speaking. "Why would Blackmage use a dagger to murder her? His spells would do a lot more damage, and more reliably too."

"Simple." Thundercracker tapped his fingers against the stone, they made a hollow tapping sound. "Blackmage used a dagger to keep suspicion from him. His first two murders were not so well planned." Stunned silence greeted the lanky man's words.

"Easy enough. While the rest of you were chasing after the dagger's victim, I asked a good buddy of mine to scry the blood on the cloak." Jaws dropped all around the man. He merely watched them, a half-cynical smile on his lips.

"How can you say that Blackmage did it though?" As one, the men solidified around Cyberhawk, nodding or grunting in agreement with the elf.

"Even these blind eyes of mine can recognize a paralyze-blast combination. And this feeble memory of mine can remember what Blackmage's favored attack is."

"Shit." Hecubus muttered low enough that only the sharp-tongued magician in front of him could hear. Cyberhawk glanced back as if to verify what the old knight had said, then seemed to make up his mind.

"Sure." Thundercracker shrugged indifferently, "But Hecubus better stay. Uncool and Bloom have been out in the weather for a few days now."

The magi's head tilted up belligerently, then he glanced back at the ragged edges of Lodana's face and hurried away to be sick again.

The sound of joints popping filled the air as Sorrow stretched slowly, savoring the sickening crack as each knot of tension vanished. His slender frame hung limply from his spine as he stood in the center of his room. A groan escaped him as he turned slightly and fell face down onto his bed.

"It wasn't that bad, man." Aivlys draped himself over the only chair lazily, kicking off his boots and tossing them in the general direction of the door with one toe.

"Not bad? You weren't wedged between Jynx and Wirinth." The elven healer propped himself up on one elbow to eye his less ethical friend.

"What's with those two anyhow? I didn't think either of them cared what happened to Caspia, or some old magi." In reply, Aivlys put a finger to his lips and winked slyly.

"Secrets, my friend. Plots and secrets. That's what this place runs on!" A fit of giggles took him, and Sorrow let the subject drop as he watched his friend with fond amusement.

"What a weird trial, though. It was like trying to navigate Raist's grove with your hands tied behind your back and blindfolded!"

"No kidding. But it was fun! I'm glad I came back in time for this." The thief's grin was irresistible, and Sorrow laughed.

"Bloodthirsty ghoul. Get out, I gotta get some sleep before tomorrow!" Hefting the pillow in his hand, the young man considered whether or not to throw it at his friend. The faint scent of fading blooms caught his nose, and he carefully put the clean pillow back on his bed. Isarra would kill him if he asked her to do his laundry again.

"I'm going! I'm going! See you at the courthouse in the morning!" As if to spite him, Aivlys strolled from the room, whistling a mindless tune that cut straight through the fog in Sorrow's head and drummed incessantly against his brain. From the wicked grin on the young elf's face as he kicked the door shut behind him, Aiv knew exactly how annoying he was.

Sorrow couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle, and be glad that the mischievous little man visited the mainland of Caspia only occasionally.

"You stupid child! If anyone realizes that you work for me, we might lose the entire game!" Wirinth stood up slowly, taking the time to straighten her long frame stiffly. In contrast, the gnome looked up at her, smoldering eyes flaring once in the stillness of the musty air before being cloaked by long lashes.

"Let me try again." The elven woman tilted her head lightly to indicate she was listening, but refused to turn around once more. "Our plans are at a very delicate point right now. Any disturbance could upset the balance and tip things out of our favor."

Reluctantly the tall woman bent down a little to accept the gnome's hand on her arm. "It is not you I doubt, but those of lesser talents, who might not understand the gravity of our work."

"Basbear? Why?" Ushering her general into the giant easy chair, Sidnee sat down upon a cushion of air, placing herself at Wirinth's knee. "What have you heard of him. I would know if my trust is misplaced."

Pausing for a moment to collect her thoughts, the elf laced her fingers together over one knee. "There are those who know his true sympathies, and those who guess at them."

"I am loyal only to you, Sidnee. Trust in me." Thus saying, the elf slipped away, letting a breath of air be the herald of her absence as it crept in the open door before the room was quiet again.

"Your minions quarrel among themselves. When they fight each other, they have no time to covet your power." Biting her lip, the tiny gnome nodded, a frown darkening her brow.

Chill fingers smoothed the troubled expression from her face and the wizard turned her head slightly to avoid looking into the unnatural eyes that gazed at her. "Lovely little child. Keep them too busy to understand our plans, make them love you as they always have."

A shudder escaped her control, and the slender, impossibly elongated figure chuckled once, softly, before vanishing. Mist swirled in a compelling pattern on the floor and Sidnee stared at it mindlessly, her thoughts everywhere and nowhere.

So close! She paused for a moment on the crumbling remains of a wall to heave in a few deep breaths of rancid air. There wasn't even time to taste the staleness on her tongue before she shot to her feet and was gone again. Like salt drawing the poison from a wound, the young man unconsciously lead her away from the small, sweaty confines of the prison halls and into the sunset, where the light rippled and danced in the air. Blinking to clear her eyes, she sat on her haunches and tried to find the slender elf through the curtains of heat.

There! His form shimmered tantalizingly at the edges of her sight, half-hidden in a group of people who were making their way towards the setting sun. Reflecting off the pavement, the light blinded her for a moment, and her quarry was gone.

A flash of darkness was all the warning she gave before she disappeared, outpacing the slow orange rays of the sun as they fell upon Kieron's dim streets.

Raist cried out softly and fell to the floor. His form sprawled among the ornate furnishings in a heap of silken robe and skeletal limb. It was several minutes before he could bear to open his sensitive eyes again. For a long time he lay, just as he had fallen, listening to the harsh, broken sound of his breath as it fed his laboring lungs.

His left shoulder burned so hot he half-expected his robes to burst into flame or melt away when he reluctantly looked. Nothing. Only the heavy black weave of the cloth met his golden gaze while underneath his skin felt seared to the bone.

With an inward wince, he drew back the fabric to expose the thin, bony shoulder beneath. It appeared whole and healthy, the silvered skin smooth, broken only by the healing scars of Pepper's blood.

Not even the thick night daunted her as it flowed through the streets like black water. Trained to make her living in the depths of twilight, she had nothing to fear from any beasts that prowled the shadows. Rather, Trea cowered every time a door opened or a nocturnal sorcerer cast light to guide his eyes.

Far up the street, a handful of people stumbled out of the wide entryway to the bar. Bright light and noise washed over the quiet lane before the door closed again. The merrymakers went their own raucous way, past the place that she hid.

Frozen by terror, the elven woman did not move for a long time. No chill hand descended upon her shoulder, no velvet robes brushed against her cheek.

With a shuddering breath she straightened, taking one fearful glance over her shoulder, toward the dark windows of the palace.

Like a ghastly arm rising up in challenge to the bulk of the palace, Raist's beloved tower was also dark and lifeless. Even her trained eyes could not pick out the signs of the master's presence.

Nothing else impeded her as she slipped between blank-eyed buildings and over empty roads. With a softly hissed breath, she delicately lifted the heavy block which kept the gates of the library gardens closed. Her fingers were nimble as they deciphered the lock and opened the massive iron gate just far enough to allow her body passage into the grounds.

A net of captured stars and anguished souls fell upon her and she became entangled in the horror-filled mesh. Razor-sharp claws which she once despised as part of her new cursed body now came to her aid as they shredded and tore through the terrible lattice of evil. Still, they were not enough to free her.

"Shhh... Be calm little one. I will not hurt you." The quiet words were overlaid with something mysterious and oppressive. A whisper of sound that pressed down on her tiny form and forced lassitude into her veins.

Not even the strained breathing of her assailant nor his rattling voice could stop her headlong descent into an unnatural slumber.

"No!" Valentine struck the table with her fists as her knees gave out beneath her and she tumbled unceremoniously to the floor. The force of her blows upon the steady wood of the table rang out clearly in the small room, shivering ominously in the air.

Holding her red and throbbing hands in her lap, the tiny warrior stared out, through space and walls, to watch some far away scene unfold. Angrily she banished the image and hauled herself to her feet.

"He cannot win! It can't end this way!" She spun on her heel and grabbed DeSade by the front of his shirt, lifting him so that his toes dangled inches above the wooden floor. He boggled at her, unable to come to grips with the fact that the tiny pixie held him motionless, no matter how hard he struggled.

Her wide-eyed stare lanced through him as she drew another scene through the fertile window of her mind. "There must be a way to balance his power." Already the pixie's strange might was fading away. She let him down gently and patted his shirt flat against his chest.

Shaken, DeSade turned away to the table, lowered his powerful frame into the large chair. His tiny companion continued to stare into space, a slight frown etched across her brow.

"Why do you put yourself through this, Valentine? Can't you just walk away from the whole thing?" Half her mind played out the endless possibilities that grew from Raist's actions, the other half pondered the question.

"Why? Because I can't. Walk away, that is." Leaning against the warm paneling of the wall, the unusual woman considered her friend. "Someone has to make sure that this world survives. There are too many powerful mortals running around now, and the gods don't seem to care."

"I can't! I'd stop if I could, but I can't!" Her face turned away from him, and the fighter raised an eyebrow in astonishment. She wasn't going to... cry, was she?

"I was married to a god! He gave me his heart. Don't you think that changed me?" Valentine's eyes flashed angrily. "Well it did. And I can't go back now. I don't even know how. Maybe I don't want to."

With a soft hiss of exasperation at the confusion on his face, the tiny woman put her palms flat on the table and dove once again into empty space. Her eyes followed shadows that no one could see.

Her sleep was filled with dire murmurs, spirits that whispered things too low for her to hear. They burrowed into her dreams, populating her mind with grotesque images and half-imagined horrors. Finally, the onslaught lessened, and she realized her surroundings to be a fantasy. It was a hard struggle to reach out towards waking, the dream-monsters kept holding her back, but she eventually succeeded.

Opening her eyes only served to cast her into a nightmare all the more terrifying because it was real. Her entire world had withered to the black pouch in which she was carried. Nothing of the universe outside touched upon her cramped nightmare.

The dark sorcerer was mindful of his prize. He gave her water. He left a handful of plump dead rats for her supper. But the water smelled of slow poison, and the taste of unclean death clung to the rodents.

No matter that she had the body of a cat, her stomach still turned at the stench of dead flesh that wafted to her delicate nose. The only time she had not been starving was when the young cleric had fed pure power into her broken body.

But now... Days had passed since her last meal, and any water she had lapped at was full of dirt and less definable toxins. With a shudder that raised the hair along her flanks in waves, she bent down to the meal, her mind sickened by her own hunger.

"Who's there." Roland straightened and peered into the darkness, his body as taut with tension as if someone had screamed an alert.

In answer, a form disengaged from the shadows, showing empty palms that flashed white in the dimness of the library garden. "It's Trea."

Relaxing slightly, he motioned for his guest to step into the feeble light of Caspia's smallest moon. If she was hiding any weapons in her near-pornographically tight jumpsuit, he couldn't tell.

"Trea. Come in." The man turned away, just enough to flip the catch on the door set deep into the ivy-cast shadows of the wall. Most of his attention remained upon the unmoving figure at his side, never did he let too much of his wary gaze stray from her. Silently Roland held open the door and let her pass into the unlit recesses of his home.

It was a mark of their skill that neither stumbled nor slowed in any way to navigate through the dim territory. There was nothing but silence as Trea found a seat and waited until her host touched flame to the wick of a small lamp. He did so carefully, with an economic grace born from long years of skullduggery.

Finally he chose a large, faded black chair that was turned slightly away from the long wood desk between them. Sitting down, the thief began to tap a soft rhythm against his knuckles with a dagger that appeared almost magically in his hand.

It was a nervous habit that Trea found slightly disturbing, her eyes followed the flickering blade with a little frown before she spoke.

"I need your help." She stayed motionless as he scrutinized her, knowing well how awful she looked. No sleep for days, her nights spent alone in the master's apparition-tenanted Tower. It was a wonder that Roland hadn't checked for a pulse.

Some of the tension reluctantly faded as his expression remained wary, but attentive. He was real, not one of Raist's walking nightmares that could assume the shape of her greatest hope or desire.

Roland leaned back as her story softly fell out, the tapping of his dagger grew slower, then stopped. Fearful of the master's ever-present minions, she faltered in the silence. But there was one thing left to say.

If she was expecting a shocked response, she was to be disappointed. Her audience merely nodded, shrugged, and began tapping once again.

Roland snorted. The sound filled the tiny chamber, making the lamplight flicker in an unnerving mimicry. Feeling her chance slipping away, Trea shook her head, her expression desperate.

"I'm serious. I'll be next, once he tires of me! And no one will remember who I was, just like no one remembers her!"

The image of Pepper's hands clasped tight over Raist's, forcing the dagger deeper, drifted through Trea's mind. She shuddered and appealed to the eternally suspicious thief one more time.

"I'm bargaining for my life!" Defeated, she slumped her shoulders and glanced away. "I don't want to die forgotten."

When she looked back up, Roland stood before her, so close she could see the thoughts dancing silently behind his eyes. Every nerve along her skin twitched frantically as she forced herself to remain quiet as he evaluated her tale, and her plea.

Trea let herself out of the library gardens, carefully replacing the stone outside the gate. Already her savior was planning the work he would do.

"To our future." Jynx raised a fragile glass of blood-dark wine and smiled at her guest. He glowered, but touched the edge of his own glass to hers.

"To the future." The soft echo was not lost on the smug female as she sipped at her drink. Basbear put his own glass down without tasting the heady libation within. "Enough ceremony. State your demands."

"Demands? Why would I demand anything of you?" Jynx was in her element. She held the ArchRogue with chains of steel. From now on, he would dance to her slightest whim.

With a faintly malicious chuckle, she dangled the glass from her fingers. "I would never presume to make demands on you, Basbear. But I believe we can help each other."

The half-elf shook his head, a frown shadowing his dark features. A thrill ran up Jynx's spine, one of desire and power. "Just tell me what you want from me, then leave."

One eyebrow raised slightly, she considered her prey. "It's not that simple. Have a drink. We've much to discuss."

He downed the expensive wine in one swig. Sighing, she refilled his glass and made a mental note to teach him proper manners in the near future.