The atmosphere was one of gloom in the tastefully appointed chamber on one of the higher levels of the tree. Cyndre had his long, aristocratic nose in a book, Blackmage was brooding over some thick red wine, and the two younger wizards had vanished earlier.

The wine, he had noticed, was not a bad vintage. It improved with every deep draught he partook of it. He was sure that an answer would lay at the bottom of the large, beautiful goblet, beneath all that delightful liquor.

But what now? Nadcorp was aware of them, and on the run. Where usually Blackmage would have felt a considerable amount of pride from making the ancient killer so wary of his attention, now he merely sighed and watched his breath ripple across the scarlet liquid. It was going to be near impossible to trap the wily man now.

The decanter sailed majestically towards him, tipped itself just enough to top off his goblet, and tilted back with a perfect disembodied twist so that no wine was spilled. Bemusedly the powerful wizard watched the process, before waving the large decanter back to its previous home on the fireplace mantle.

Good place for wine, really. Blackmage delicately sipped at the vintage, tracking the warmth as it flowed down his throat and to his every extremity.

Oh yes. An answer. They needed someone a hell of a lot more powerful to defeat Nadcorp and bring him to justice, wizardly justice to be specific. But who? Who was as strong as Cyndre's delicious wine?

The answer was at the bottom of the glass. With one smooth movement, Blackmage knocked back the rest of the wine and peered a little hazily at the crystal bud that made the center of the goblet.

"Raist?" The elf's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he raised his head from his thick book. "Are you quite sure, Blackmage? Raist hasn't come to the tree in years. Five years or more, if I remember right."

"Come, come, Cyn. You have no courage!" The old elf drew himself to his feet, tilting precariously against the new and faintly disturbing cant of the room. "The Master of the Tower may not interest himself in our affairs, but he is still a mage. He will come to us gladly. As brothers we will seek out Nadcorp and triumph!"

At Blackmage's hurt look, the other man rolled his eyes. "Just one? You've filled that goblet six times by my count. You may have reached the end now, but that was certainly Not just one glass."

"Well fine then. Just ignore my perfect suggestion." Blackmage sniffed in pique and lowered his voice to a stern, prophetic rumble. "In vino veritas."

"I'm no souse. And I doubt I can get through that door. Whatever possessed you to build the door frame so it leans that sharply to one side?"

The library exploded in red and black fire. Or Cyberhawk did, he wasn't sure. He had turned away from Hecubus only a moment, to pull down a heavy tome of spells. His mind had seethed with the pleasure of an argument all but won.

All he had to do was point out the spell and prove his opponent wrong. And if Hec decided to become belligerent, he could always hit him with the book itself.

It had only taken a moment, but he never got to turn back. He dropped the volume involuntarily as his vision swam, and was strangely heartened to feel a resulting shock of pain flare up from his toes. This was no spell gone awry.

As the world grew dark and he fell away from it, Cyberhawk noticed two things that made everything suddenly clear; Jynx's emotionless face, her eyes dancing with glee, and the incredible headache beginning from somewhere near the back of his neck.

Cautiously Sidnee permitted herself a small, tight smile. Her office seemed almost overflowing with people. Wirinth in the large chair for guests, sitting almost painfully straight despite the marks of still healing wounds. But the token of Tsfaru's co-operation lay in her hands.

The large lump on the floor in one corner was guarded jealously by her other general, though Sidnee well knew what lay under the black cloak with the red lining. Knowing her temper, the rogue had successfully provided a better way to eliminate Blackmage.

Though Basbear was a grave loss, the gnome was prepared to look past Jynx's previous failure in light of her present accomplishment. Of course, if she failed again, she would have to be replaced.

Even Fain had brought her good news; the mages were still ignorant of any part of her plans, and Raist was too busy with his own problems to notice.

"Now." She spoke, and all eyes turned to her. Their attention was gratifying, warming past the cold finger of unease that trailed down her spine. "We have nearly all our allies ready for attacks on each of the connections that Caspia has to the rest of the world. Wirinth."

That notable raised her head even higher. "Wirinth, I want you to keep a leash on Tsfaru. Leave nothing of the docks when you're finished. But banish him as soon as that task is done. No need to tempt fate."

"Fain. Go..." Sidnee eyed the eager fighter, a little disturbed at his zeal. "Go do whatever you can to stir up more trouble. Just don't tell me about it later. I'm sure I don't want to know." He too, disappeared to pursue his own duty.

Lastly, Sidnee's eyes rested on Jynx's defensive figure, and the motionless bundle behind her. "And you... Tell me exactly how you plan to eliminate Blackmage with this mageling pup."

"That's what it looks like." Valentine lifted her eyes from the object in her hands to see DeSade. He was perched, cross-legged, on the low cabinet that ran along one wall of the room, his hands resting lightly on his knees. The fabric of his jumpsuit crackled with every little movement he made, with each airless breath.

Idly Valentine wondered what the iridescent blue stuff felt like. Most of her attention wandered down a dozen paths of possibility, each leading away from the silver ring in her hands.

"Around and around again." She murmured softly, her eyes tracing the delicate knots and lines that made up the band. "Someone gave this ring to Daryth. Since then, it has passed through several hands, to come back here." A thought occurred to her, "Does he want to talk to me?"

Her spectral companion shook his head. She could feel him watching her, weighing how much of the truth she could safely hear and not come to the attention of the gods. The faerie stood abruptly and stepped closer to the cabinet, with its occupant sitting motionless on top. A drawer slid open under her touch and she rummaged through it, not entirely sure of what she was looking for.

Finally DeSade spoke, choosing his words carefully, "He says that he wore it to his death, far off the coast of Kieron."

"Ahh." She breathed in delight as her fingers found an old crystal bowl, buried between two tablecloths packed away for some future feast.

His expression curious, DeSade followed the fighter into the next room. The only difference between chambers was that the latter boasted a tangle of chairs. Choosing two fairly sturdy ones, Valentine arranged her prize upon one, and sat in the other, leaving her companion to lean comfortably against a wall. The soft crackling of his suit was the only noise.

"Damn." The air itself spoke as Leandra spun slowly out of oblivion, growing into full size and curling out of her fetal position with each revolution that brought her more and more into the real world. Her voice was full of annoyance, "Val, can't you just ask for me nicely?"

"This is important." The fighter flicked a glance at DeSade, who was trying his best to melt back into the wall, and out of sight. "You stay, too."

"Yes." Valentine leaned back in her chair with a soft sigh, feeling the tug of the half-healed wound. Maybe Basbear had been right, she wasn't quite well enough to be doing this sort of thing. "Make yourselves comfortable. It's time I got some real answers."

She laughed. "Don't look so scared. You know I only want to maintain the balance of power in Caspia. I have no designs on godhood." Her laughter died away as the memory of a soft giggle rose unbidden in her mind.

Briskly, she motioned Leandra towards the empty bowl with one hand, the other unhooking the magically sealed jar of drinking water from its usual place at her belt. Some of the pressure pulling at her side eased off, thankfully.

"Scry for me, Leandra." There was no gentleness in Valentine's tone or gaze. The other woman sighed and stared dubiously at the heavy crystal bowl, waiting for the ripples to slowly subside.

Tension crawled in a lazy circle around the three figures as the wizard raised her hands to call up the power that still clung to her past death and force a vision in the mirror of the water.

"Anything else your royal uppityness?" Leandra's biting sarcasm hadn't mellowed in the least, though she looked away from the gruesome sight as well. The only living being in the room chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, her sharp eyes taking in the way that both Leandra and DeSade kept glancing at one another.

The silver ring turned end over end, tumbling into the depths of the vision. The little splash it made, and the clink as it settled on the bottom was drowned out by Leandra's gasp and DeSade's choked cry.

A whirlpool grew in the center of the bowl, circling around the band like a tornado around its eye. Red fingers of blood curled through the waves, faster and faster.

"Uh oh." The air was dead calm, Valentine imagined she felt DeSade's frightened breath on the back of her neck as he cowered behind her. Even the elven woman had backed away, her own expression sick with apprehension.

"Damn it, Val... Don't you know better than to disrupt a scry?" Leandra ran both hands through her hair, "Surely Aren taught you at least that."

The faerie's eyes flashed dangerously at the name and she hissed, very softly. Both specters blinked in identical expressions of surprise as she reached out a steady hand and plunged it into the spinning center of the water.

Wirinth's brandy sat heavy on her stomach and on her tongue, burning sweet through every vein. The poison was cool in comparison, running like winter across her skin. The burlap of the sack was damp with water, water that poured in through her eyes, ears, mouth.

Something pulled at her, and she couldn't resist. Up, away from blue, bloated skin, through waves and water, to the shore. Nadcorp called her, and she came. Nyx held her, Aivlys gave her to Sorrow, who tied her to a little bit of ribbon and waited.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed, or is this just a hobby?" Leandra's acid tone wasn't the best thing to wake to, but the tiny faerie wouldn't complain. She pulled herself up with a groan, her hands finding a good grip on the nearby shelf.

DeSade's face was too close, concern shining in his eyes. With a sigh, she managed to push him away and tottered to her feet, unsteady though they were.

"That..." Val's voice was so rusty that she croaked, cleared her throat, tried again. "That was interesting."

A lifetime in his lucrative occupation had taught him that eavesdropping often led to new opportunities. Even in his arena of expertise, as it were.

Many were the times he'd turned a sizable profit off his merchandise by hearing of a coming clash between enemies. He'd made a tidy living selling weapons to both sides of several wars both large and small. And the information had been right at his fingertips, literally waiting for him to happen upon it.

The market for traveling claymore salesmen was indeed small, but Phantasmo made the best of it by any number of activities that some people of more confining morals might call questionable.

But how was he supposed to listen at this door? The man looked up into the roiling mass of clouds that encircled Raist's tower, over the barren wasteland that rose up out of the dark and impenetrable forest before him. His fear was overcome by frustration.

Even if he could survive the journey, the Master would know of his coming. There would be no selling advantages to be had here for Phantasmo.

Trea shrugged, settled her daggers more comfortably in their sheaths, and went. It was none of her business that Raist found his dusty texts more enthralling than she.

At least he had given her something to do. He wanted the cat from Hemjold, so it was her responsibility to relay his message to the white dragon.

Normally she would have protested; she was his lover, not his maid. But today the walls pressed in on her too much, and Trea thought of the clear air of Siva with longing.

So be it, she would get a little time to herself, away from Raist's impressive company. And he trusted her, she spared a last evaluative glance in the wizard's direction as she closed the study door soundlessly behind her. He would not have let her go if he thought she would seek help again.

Gliding down the silent hallways, Trea entertained a brief fantasy of returning to Roland, trying to wrest herself from the tangled web that she'd woven around herself. But she couldn't; her own love of danger kept her bound to the Tower.

Trea stopped short, halfway across the entrance foyer, her eyes going wide to hear her thoughts given voice. The words hung in the air and would not fade away like any normal echo.

"Wouldn't you rather go to hell, knowing what heaven was like first?" Rob shuffled out of the throne room, his arched body moving comically towards her. He remained upright, it seemed, by luck alone. His intense eyes gave her a slow once-over; up, down, and up again to stop below her chin.

Used to the treatment, the little thief growled and bared a half-inch of steel from a sheath at her belt to dissuade Rob from doing anything more than looking. The mutant shrugged, shoulders going up at vastly different speeds, and turned away with an air of drama.

"Suit yourself. I offered to show you ecstasy, but you turned me down. You'll regret this before you die."

She rolled her eyes. "The only thing I regret, Rob, is stopping to listen to you. Go haunt the daemon."

"Mark my words, you'll wish you'd slept with me." He slumped back into the grand throne room, leaving Trea with her disgust and amusement, alone in the high-ceilinged hall.

"Damn mutant." She muttered and stalked away, preparing to travel through the dreaded wasteland that separated her master's home from Siva, and the rest of the world. She would have liked a teleport to the center of the city, but Raist hadn't even bothered to offer his magic as her wings.

Trea laughed, and her voice echoed eerily through the dark and barren land that encircled the tower. She was getting as snobbish as her lord. It would do her good to walk on her own two feet.

His feet were nearly screaming with pain, and Phantasmo felt ready to collapse. He knew if he fell to his knees that his scoured bones would soon lay on the same hill he now labored to mount.

Already his eyes were playing tricks on him, teasing him with a whiff of clammy air, a glimpse of a shadow-shrouded spire. He could have sworn that mistily wavering figure in the blasted distance was an extremely unclad young woman.

Serendipity! His distractingly beautiful mirage wafted closer. The man wasted no time in thanking any of his myriad gods, but pulled the best of his wares from his pack, and opened his parched mouth to speak.

"Surely such a vision of loveliness has a need to defend herself from unwanted advances. One of my fine quality swords in your hands would certainly give any potential admirer pause for thought."

His mirage gaped at him in shock, and a small worm of doubt wiggled through Phantasmo's parched brain. No lovely lady of his delirium would look so... dumb.

Raist leaned back in his chair, the book forgotten. It had been distressingly hard to remain calm as Trea slowly moved out of the Tower's shadow.

He rolled his thin shoulders back until the cracked and the scar became slightly warmer than was comfortable. Irritably, he rose out of his chair and strode from the room, eager to act after too many days of long idleness.

"Rob!" His voice resounded through the walls with no thought for the physics of sound travel. Robe snapping satisfyingly around his ankles, the Master stepped through the portal in his bedroom and out into the chilly air of his dungeon workroom without breaking stride.

"So you are. How fortuitous. Get my third blue sharkskin grimoire." Raist spoke crisply as he made his way to his worktable, sparing neither look nor thought for his associate. Even the faintly forbidden taint to the air began to revitalize him.

"One of these days I'm not going to obey you." The desired volume appeared in Rob's differing hands with a crack and a whisper of brimstone.

"Mhmm." Distractedly Raist agreed, plucking the tome from the mutant's hands and flipping through it rapidly, avoiding the pages' poison edges with the ease of long familiarity. "Trea is long gone?"

"Excellent." Feeling more relaxed than he had in over a week, Raist grew talkative, "She doesn't need to find out just how weak I am. She could move against me, if she knew."

The master laughed softly. "You, Rob? Your hideous face would earn you a quicker death than mine on Siva's streets." He laid the grimoire down with loving care on the stone table and paused a moment to savor the bitter sweetness of his actions.

"It's your damn fault I look like a patchwork zombie!" The mutant stamped his feet angrily, which only fueled Raist's amusement.

"Shut up and sit down, Rob. You can rant later. I need the use of those mutations now, not your housewives harangue."

The other man snarled and laid his hands on the open pages, raising a soft whirlwind that encompassed the two mortals, the table, and the spell inscribed carefully on the thinly beaten skins of dragons.

Though the wind continued to rise, and an odor of opened graves crept through the room, Rob's voice could be heard clearly.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The heavenly face spoke, and Phantasmo mentally switched tracks fast enough to nearly derail himself. Stumbling to a standstill, he realized two things almost instantly; his mirage was real, and she had the voice of a shrew. His instinct started working overtime, supplying words for his moth before his feet had stopped moving.

The barely clad girl thrust her chin at him dangerously, hands straying to the hilts of two daggers clearly strapped to her belt. "And what's it to you?"

"Just as I said, ma'am. I'm certain you'll be interested in my merchandise, once you see it. I have several fine samples I could should you right now, if you wish."

She looked at him hard, rocking back on her heels as she debated whether he was joking, whether she should just gut him where he stood. Phantasmo read the emotions from her face and spoke quickly to head off any violent ideas she came up with. He tried to sweat innocence through his skin.

"I assure you this is no prank, ma'am. I'm but a simple man with a collection of fine claymores and a desire to share them with my fellow ma-woman."

The emotion that flickered across her face was definitely amusement. Her hands dropped from the daggers' hilts and the fighter breathed a voiceless sigh of relief.

"Your piety overwhelms me." She said, ridicule laid heavily on the words, "In return, I'll do you one favor."

Hope dawned upon the hapless man, and he half-turned, his fingers scrambling on the catches of his pack to retrieve a blade. "You will? Wow. Let me get this one I've been saving for a special occasion!" His hand closed on the hilt, his ears rang with the imagined sound of gold.

A flicker of movement at the edge of his vision made Phantasmo pause. It was the girl; she'd held up a hand. Her expression warred between severity and high amusement. "Put away your sword. I'll give you the one thing you really need right now."

"A guide out of this maze." The girl's eyes grew ridiculing. "You'd never make it out alive without me."

Raist raised an eyebrow at his companion, his concentration centered on the spell that shimmered around and through him, struggling to be free of his tenuous control.

"Cleave your head from your pathetic shoulders and become master of the Tower." Rob's claw-like fingers dug deep into Raist's arm with the intensity of his rapture. All exultant in his fantasies, the mutant paid little attention to the inconstant flow of power he fed into his master's spell. "Then I'd console your woman."

"I doubt she'd accept that." Raist disagreed through clenched teeth, his body aching with the fire of Pepper's dying curse, in spite of Rob's healing.

The mutant continued without hesitation, "Then I'd start a harem! I'd be a god! I might even take over the world."

"Of course you would." The ancient mage's mild voice held a world of sarcasm. "Speaking of which... Trea could never have let Roland up to the Tower without you knowing about it."

Permitting himself a wry little smile, Raist opened his cupped hands and whispered a word. Burning red darkness dripped like thick blood from his fingers, thinning into a fine net of mist that faded into invisibility as it flew out in an ever-widening circle.

"In fact, you'd have known Roland was here the minute he set foot upon the grove's earth. And yet you didn't warn me. You make a singularly pathetic guard."

"Not a good one, no." Secure in the power that enfolded him in warmth, the thin Master glanced again at the words of the spell that crawled, spider-legged, across the grimoire's page. "I should ask Trea to take your place. She'd probably do a better job of guarding the Tower."

Raist formed the words of the cantrip in his mind, tested the magic that lay temporarily quiescent under his hand. "Agreed. But at least she'd be better to look at."

Sorrow let his hand rest tentatively on the wall again. It was trembling; he could just barely feel the white masonry shake under his delicate touch. The world seemed to pause a fraction of a moment out of time with the beating of his heart. Disorientation crept rapidly through his body. Either he was out of synch, or Caspia was.

Engrossed in contemplation, Sorrow barely noticed the young lady. She rounded the corner where he stood, all perplexed, with his hand against the wall of the Sivan hospital and a troubled look on his face.

"Eh? Oh." He shook himself out, took his hand from the wall, and squinted politely at the girl. He felt as if he should have recognized her. "Can I help you?"

The stared at each other in equal confusion. With a peculiar gesture, the girl spread her hands wide in subdued frustration. "I think I'm lost. But I don't know where I'm supposed to be."

"Ahhh... Well I see your problem." Sorrow agreed and scratched his ear thoughtfully. "Do you know what you're looking for?"

A deep frown furrowed the girl's brow and she answered him slowly, "Yes? Maybe. I don't know." Another uncomfortable pause settled between them, and Sorrow tried to casually rub the back of his neck. His hair was standing on end.

"Great!" Sorrow suddenly grinned and relaxed, relieved that he could help. "Raist's Tower is right over there." He turned away and pointed confidently toward the black bruise of cloud that hung low over northwestern Siva.

"Odd." The cleric muttered to himself, then shrugged. His senses were clamoring their disquiet loudly, proclaiming that something was not right with nature in the streets of Siva.

"The plot thickens." Tapping her fingers compulsively on the edge of the dining room's expensive table, Valentine eyed her two spectral friends thoughtfully.

"This isn't the way things are supposed to go." Stubbornly DeSade spoke, his face pulled down in a look of displeasure.

Absently the faerie woman swung a booted heel onto her table. It settled with a tinny thunk. "You'll live." She was calm almost to the point of apathy, her reckless use of the scry spell had taken any energy out of her to act otherwise. The slowly healing gash through her ribs added to her weakness.

"So..." She mused half to herself, using the heel of her boot to push her chair back off-balance. The creaking chair legs were the only sounds as she rocked back and forth. "Nyx is in this too."

"Give me what?" Leandra and DeSade suddenly vanished noiselessly as the rogue stalked into the room with his usual disregard for manners and sound. Valentine laughed and rocked her chair back to its original position. She started to rise in greeting, but his stern hand on her shoulder kept her seated.

"I'm a rogue. I have to be perfect in all things. Which I am." He moved away as he spoke and carelessly spun a priceless chair around so he could sit, arms folded across the back, facing her. "Now what are you supposed to give me?"

Valentine fished the silver ring out of a tunic pocket and tossed it to her son. He immediately dropped it on the table with an expression of disgust.

Aivlys grinned, agreed, and buffed his nails ostentatiously on the front of his tunic. "Yes. Yes I am."

With a short laugh, Nyx dismissed him, and the young elf slipped away from the nondescript room above Harry's Bar. He'd informed her of his mission successfully completed.

Blackmage and his cronies were closing in, and Nadcorp still had nothing that would deter the rampaging mages from chasing them under Ridorthu and Azi re-awoke, an infinite number of lifetimes in the future.

Basbear was off in his own little world, and without him the rogue conquest of Caspia was damnably hard to coordinate. Only the gods knew what the ArchRogue found more important than his own people.

To make matters worse, Jynx had effectively vanished. Last seen with Basbear, she had sunk into obscurity with all the skill of a... rogue.

Which didn't amuse Nyx in the least. She had plots and people to manage, and no one was making the job any easier for her.

With a little sniff, she banished the troublesome characters from her mind just as easily as she had dismissed Aivlys from the room.

Daryth's ring and Basbear's well-known capacity to overreact would both lead her to the mastermind soon, though not soon enough for her temper. And after that, it'd be more than simple to find out exactly what that person's scheme was, and to use it to her advantage.'

"So lovely she paces, my savage beast." Nadcorp followed his own voice into the room, a wicked grin lighting his eyes.

"Beast is it?" She growled at her husband's smirk and unceremoniously flung a candlestick at him from off the dresser's top. Familiar with her violent form of greeting, he caught it and tossed it onto the empty bed.

"Swoon this!" An empty drawer followed the candlestick, lofted through the air towards Nadcorp's head.

He ducked easily, "Feisty little wench, aren't you?" The next drawer caught him full in the chest, "Oof."

Nyx laughed triumphantly, nearly dancing as she gloated over her fallen spouse. The sudden leer in his gaze made her stop short. "Don't get any ideas. The last time we were up here, Harry charged us for damages."

Nadcorp sighed happily in remembrance, "That was the most fun I've ever had in a bedroom. Even if they did make us pay for rebuilding the walls and buying new furniture." A drawer in either hand, the rogue rose and slid each one back into the dresser with exquisite care.

Sourly Nyx poke him in the arm as he straightened to a standing position beside her. "Enough reminiscing, you old fox. Did you stop the wizards yet?"

"Damn it, Nadcorp. Will you be serious about this? They could kill us!" Nyx's strident tone faded as she considered, then added truthfully, "Maybe."

"Really? Hah. Those mages couldn't protect themselves from an overly amorous badger." The conversation turned.

"Sure." Her present fears allayed, Nyx drew her dagger and prepared to do mock-battle against her husband. Mock battle with live steel, of course.

He towered over her, his feet setting a nimble pattern across the floor that brought him inches into her reach and out again. So she settled into a defensive stance and waited for him to make a mistake. Nyx could be very patient, if she needed to.

"Really? Who?" She didn't even blink as they talked. Her eyes tracked the almost sentient point of Nadcorp's dagger, deflected it away from her heart with a lightning spin and thrust that might have pierced his defenses, if he had been anyone but Nadcorp.

"No shit?" Stunned, Nyx paused a heartbeat, and her husband's dagger sliced perilously close to her ear. She could feel the cut ends of her hair falling like broken spiderwebs to her shoulder. "Hey! I wasn't ready!"

Nadcorp merely grinned and invited her deeper into a complex dance of steel and speed. Safe behind the wicked edge of his blade, he taunted her with sparkling eyes full of laughter.

"No." Not that his protests mattered, Jynx had made it clear that she would not untie the painfully tight ropes that bound him; ankles, wrists, knees and elbows, to the chair.

Experimentally he wiggled his fingers where they were strapped to the edges of the seat. His critical gaze noted the distinctly purple tinge to his nails. Cyberhawk wasn't an expert on bondage, but he was fairly sure the ropes were too tight.

"So... Anything I can help with?" He inquired hopefully. Even to his ears, he sounded pathetic. His captor strode purposefully around the room, straightening a dropcloth here, covering a richly-hued painting there.

"Uhhh... I just thought you might want help covering the higher pictures." He very carefully did not comment on her lack of height. "If you'll just loosen these ropes, I'd be glad to cover them for you."

"I think not." Her glance was wry as she turned away from him, her hands going to a peculiarly shaped sheath on her arm. One hand holding the white cloth, the elf fished around in the sheath with her other hand, humming very quietly to herself.

She seemed perfectly happy, Cyberhawk didn't think that boded well for him. Especially since he could understand the reason for the sea of white that surrounded him; no mage scrying his whereabouts would be able to place this shrouded room in Jynx's Siva mansion.

Jynx eyed a large painting of the sunset over the mountains that was much higher than she could ever hope to reach.

The dropcloth was thrown carelessly in the air, and she spun around with a sharp cry, her arm flying out straight as she balanced on the toes of one foot, her momentum incredible. A tiny silver object raced from her hand towards the slowly settling cloth.

The picture was demurely draped in white cloth, pinned to the wall by a very small, very sharp throwing star.

He looked at Jynx in sudden resignation as she completed her spin with a vicious grin hinting at the corners of her mouth.

A constant thread of profanity sailed majestically through the air, settled like fine ash in a circle around the three men. It ran underneath their quiet voices in a faintly ridiculous base line to the melody of their words.

"I don't know!" Hecubus threw up his hands in frustration and winced at the sudden action, his eyes closing in pain as he dropped them to massage the back of his neck. "Damn. That hurts."

In contrast, Cyndre was patient. "Can you remember anything? Was there any sound? Did you smell something strange?" His hands encompassed a small circle, wherein they could see Cyberhawk, surrounded by... nothing. He was the only distinguishable thing in a maze of shrouded objects. With a sharp clap, the scried picture vanished.

"No. No. No." Each word was punctuated by a fist, slamming into the chair's arm. Blackmage brooded for a moment, then went back to his cursing.

An edgewise glance at the old wizard proved that Blackmage would probably continue in the same vein for some time. Cyndre went back to the younger mage. "Hec?"

The elf slumped further into his chair. "No. Blackmage is right. I didn't notice a thing. I have no clue what happened. All I can guess is that someone hit me."

Blackmage's voice climbed a little higher, his terms unflattering in the extreme. Both of the other men ignored him.

"It had to be Nadcorp or Nyx! They've got him captive! They're torturing him with unspeakable torments while we sit here!" Blackmage thundered, his hands gripping the arms of his chair as he ranted.

Hecubus pondered for a moment, then nodded slowly in agreement. His eyes flickered to Blackmage, who had leapt from his chair in a fit of ire and gone to the mantle to fix yet another drink.

Fingers steepled together, Cyndre calmly regarded Blackmage, "We need Raist, yes. But I'll be the one to go to him."

"Ask that sneaky wife of yours first!" The elder mage hissed. The flash of temper that glimmered in Cyndre's eyes made Blackmage reconsider his words. He took another draught of the wine.

"Yes. I will go. I'm on better terms with him than either of you." The young wizard stood wearily, sweeping his robes about him, "And as for Alecto, she is none of your concern."

Even the empty air that filled the space Cyndre once stood seemed to reproach Blackmage and his hasty words.

"Not.... exactly." Hemjold looked very uncomfortable. His long tail was twitching crazily with the strength of his unease.

"What do you mean, you don't have her... exactly?" In contrast, Trea was still as death. She barely breathed. The dragon was painfully aware how vulnerable he was to a skillfully thrown dagger. He hastened to explain.

"She was here. She was happy. Then..." Hemjold spread his wings a little bit to indicate helplessness. "Then she was gone."

Trea moved close enough to stare fiercely into one huge, jeweled eye, her own terror matching his, flaring higher. "You don't have her?" She snarled.

A few bits of plaster fell down as Hemjold shuddered, his draconic body knocking against the walls. Even Trea looked pale, almost as pale as his hide.

The huge white dragon cowered before the petite elven woman. He could only hope that the high mage didn't kill the messengers of bad news. This news was worse than most.

Trea closed her eyes tight the moment she stepped from the musky-scented subterranean home of the dragon. Raist was going to be livid.

She had roughly two hours to find the damn cat. Or Hemjold's life was forfeit. Not that she cared about the stupid beast.

Raist nearly collapsed back into the soft embrace of his chair. Weariness throbbed through his body in a second heartbeat, and the burning scars bathed his left shoulder and arm in fire.

But it had worked. The spell was set. All he had to do was wait for Wirinth to use the blast spell she'd learned from his scrolls.

Lost in bemused thought, he barely noticed Rob shuffle in, slam the tea service down on an empty table and fling himself into the opposite chair.

He gave Sidnee's general his help. Sidnee betrayed him. Sidnee's general would die, because of the very help she had received from Raist. It was perfect.

"You gonna stare at the tea till it grows wings or something?" Rob's harsh voice brought him abruptly out of his reverie.

"Because you have to?" The steel rose silently under Raist's voice, warning his servant to watch his words.

"Oh." The master stretched languidly, ignoring the agony that cramped his side, "You remember when Wirinth borrowed the blast scroll?"

Raist covered the smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth with a thin hand. "The next time Wirinth tries to cast blast...." His voice trailed off, and Rob sat forward on the edge of his seat.

That was his least worry at the moment. The unbroken expanse of white that surrounded him was starting to prey on his sanity. Jynx had left some unknown time ago. He couldn't tell if it had been five minute or five hours. He was very alone.

Tied to a chair in the middle of a silent room, Cyberhawk wondered if he believed in the gods. The walls trembled at the edges of his vision and he shut his eyes tight. If there were any gods, they didn't find him important enough to rescue. He was the last person left in a world gone silent and dark. And no one would ever come for him.

Jynx padded into the room silently, and the elven mage could have blessed her. He wasn't alone. Even the presence of his captor made Cyberhawk's view of the world shift back into true. It was going to be alright. If she didn't kill him first, of course.

Hanging limply from her fingers by the scruff of its neck, a kitten mewed. The unholy light of triumph in the assassin's eyes did not make the captive mage feel any better.

Completely ignoring him, she cooed at the cat. "Sidnee warned me of you, Dark. But if I give you to her, you'll no longer be alive to mess up our plans."

"And I'll be saved." She flipped up the dropcloth on a huge, intricately carved cupboard with one hand and continued to address the squirming kitten. "But first, I need some sleep." Her fingers hooked under the handle of a door, and she tossed the cat in, closing the door again quickly.

Cyberhawk didn't dare move, he stared at her silently, hoping with all his body that she wasn't going to reach into that little sheath on her arm and pin him against the wall with a throwing star like one more white dropcloth.

She winked at him and stalked over to the covered window, pulled the cloth down and twitched open the drapes. Outside he could see the faint red glow of Spyfel reflected off the buildings of Siva. Then she walked out, and Cyberhawk was left alone with the night and his fear.

Nibbling delicately at an exquisite sample of Kieron's fish, lightly browned, Wirinth went over her plans in her mind. The fish was truly excellent, and she relaxed, more than she had in the last few months.

She'd meet again with Sidnee on the morrow to discuss timing. Wirinth wanted to destroy the Kieron docks just before dawn, so that the fires would become a false sunrise on Caspia's last day of freedom.

Tsfaru, for all its struggles, was mostly docile. She'd only had to threaten it with the blast spell a handful of times. Things were going exactly as she had planned.

She reached for her glass of wine, and the daemon's face rose up out of the floor with an inarticulate roar.

Wirinth pushed her chair back calmly from the raging creature and spoke the words she had labored so long to learn.

"WIRINTH!" Sidnee's back arched as she screamed and fell. The death of her general pounded through her body like a divine hammer, smashing everything that came in its way. Like her consciousness.

The last thought that slipped through the gnome's mind as she collapsed in the middle of her workroom was that she had been betrayed... by Raist.

A breeze kissed her cheek and she turned into it, her sharpened senses questing out to find the source. Music filled her thoughts, dripping like precious rain upon the barren silence of her mind.

Jynx turned again, and the sound vanished. Silence whistled through her shaking body. All confused, she tried to find the sweet melody again.

For a time she walked, her eyes closed against the endless emptiness of the sand, and searched. A shadow fell across her and she opened her eyes. Sidnee stood, a dozen feet high, with her back turned. Awed, the elven woman stepped closer and reached out a hand.

She touched stone. Startled, Jynx jumped a little bit, then peered around to see the expression on the statue's face. Sidnee's graven features were anguished, and the intensity of the figure drove Jynx back, back into the sand. The statue dwindled with great distance, flying away from her. The world spun crazily.

And she heard music. Now half-angry, Jynx flicked out her dagger with a silent snarl. She would get out of this insane place by whatever means available.

For a moment, a hooded figure in the distance raised its head to bare a young face. He winked at her slowly.

Her veins were filled with agony and ecstasy, the twinned rhythms so familiar to her that she stared for a few moments into the dim night air, just listening to the sound of her own breath. And forgetting where she had felt it before.

The perfection of her prophecy faded away swiftly, and the faerie fighter was left sitting in her bed. She felt old, and full of regret.

In their deathless sleep, Leandra and DeSade shifted, frowned, and slipped back into the sleep of the dead. A thread of power bound around them, whispering silently in their ears.

Sorrow looked up into the sky, a joyful shout caught in his throat, begging to be spoken. Curled up on the roof of the hospital, he had drifted off to sleep in the dusk, comfortable upon the sun-warmed stone. Now he was wide awake.

In wonder, he held out his hands to catch the silver drops, tilted his head back and closed his eyes. The rain fell cool upon him, washing away his loneliness and his weariness.

Something had happened. Sorrow didn't know what it was, but the silent sound of nature's melody rang sweetly in the night air.

The inside of the cabinet was all inky darkness. Though her slitted eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom, she still couldn't see enough detail to tell how large her prison was, or how she could escape it.

Dark prowled the confines of the cabinet, the pungent smell of the wood tingling in her nose as she paced out the walls, her claws scraping quietly. It was a spacious cupboard, she would have more than enough room to stretch out and sleep. And wait for the woman to decide her fate.

"Deal with me?" She heard a young man squeak. Dark tilted a furred ear slightly, her feline heart thundering. Almost beyond her hearing came the sound of quiet footsteps. She sensed, rather than heard, the assassin leave the room.

Then only the sound of human breathing and her own silent heart filled the room. Dark tentatively raised her head, the tips of her whiskers brushing against the wooden door of the cupboard.

And she waited. She would not resign herself to sleep. Minutes passed like an eternity of stifled agony. The body of the man in the room shifted, and she heard the sound of rope on wood. Even he quieted, eventually. Dark still waited, only the tip of her tail moving as it twitched back and forth like the pendulum of a clock.

Finally she rose and lifted her face in a futile attempt to gauge the distance between her and the top of the inside of the cupboard. There was no way to tell; no light filtered in from the night outside to illuminate her tiny prison.

Slowly she balanced on her back feet and raised herself up, stretching, straining to keep upright as her whiskers rose higher in the darkness. She reached her full height, then fell back to her paws, yet she had still not touched the ceiling.

In the small midnight confines of Jynx's cupboard, she twisted - writhed in upon herself. Then started to grow.

Her head bent at a painful angle and the hinges of the door dug into her calf, imprinting themselves against her skin. The cupboard held her, but barely. Dark shifted uncomfortably, wriggling about as quietly as she could while her hand worked methodically up the seam between the door and the cupboard.

Something cold touched her fingertips and she paused, then let her hands picture what mechanism kept her imprisoned in the cabinet. She had not heard the click of a key. Her eyes closed, Dark traced the length of the steel latch that hooked over the door, then carefully pulled it free.

Her cell door swung out onto a milky gloom that billowed and filled her vision in waves. Fear kept her motionless for a long, terrifying moment before she hissed in amusement and gave the sheet a sharp tug, letting it fall to her feet like a blossom opening.

"Whoa�" Her head swung in the direction of the low exclamation, and Dark made out the form of some hapless man, bound tightly to a sturdy chair. His own attention was on her. With regret she remembered the perfect sight she enjoyed as a cat, then moved closer to see the expression on his face.

"That's some trick, lady. Wish I knew it." The young mage who spoke was the same she had heard from inside the cupboard. He tried to move, constrained as he was, but had to settle with a faint shrug.

His fingers were already a dark, ugly purple. Dark frowned and made a sudden decision. "Don't make a sound." She whispered, then crept closer.

Cat's skilled didn't help her in human form, but she managed to reach the mage's side without making too much noise, her fingers already searching out the tangled knots of his ropes.

The minutes passed faster as she bent all her concentration on threading ropes through the maze of knots that held the man efficiently and painfully immobile. Finally they began to loosen around his wrists.

"I can't help it." His voice was a vicious whisper, nearly as quiet as hers, "The blood's flowing back into my fingers. It's agony."

She nodded, then began work on the ropes that strangled his ankles. Soon enough, the poor man was trying not to twitch continuously as his limbs flared to life once more. Dark flicked a worried glance toward the high window, wondering how much time the assassin needed to sleep. Surely not much.

"No. I'm Cyberhawk." The young man's hands moved to another knot that had dug noticeably into his side. He gave a little gasp of pain, but worked with determination.

She spared a moment to sit back on her heels, watching him in utter disbelief. "You can't mean to battle her. She's obviously better than you. She caught you in the first place." Her ears pricked at an imagined sound as tension crawled up her spine. Dark rose to her feet and stepped back a pace, every fired instinct crying out for escape.

"Nonsense." The mage Cyberhawk dissolved the last of the ropes with a pitiful little fireball and rose dramatically, "I have her right where I want her!" His whisper was fierce.

Then he shouted as the pain of his legs reached his brain, and he toppled like a small tree. The crash was loud enough to make Dark shift shape, even as her feet turned to paws and she raced out of the room. She careened into the empty kitchen, then paused, guilt weighing her down.

Reluctantly Dark crawled back towards the open archway, then peered out. Her black-furred nose barely edged past the entry far enough for her to see. The assassin woman had woken, and was even now kneeling by the helpless body of the captive Cyberhawk.

There was no time. She couldn't afford to stay and rescue the mage. Dark fought with herself, though she was already turning and fleeing into the darker depths of the kitchen as her hearing followed the conversation in the other room.

There was the sound of a sharp blow falling on a dense object. Dark, in the silence of the kitchen, sighed. Well she had tried.

"How the hell did you get yourself untied?" Jynx mused as she sat gracefully on the floor beside Cyberhawk's unconscious body and inspected the ropes that lay in a lazy circle around the base of the chair to which he had been tied. Some few were frayed by fire, but most of them were untouched. It looked like�

"Shit!" She spat in sudden comprehension, jumping to her feet to yank back the door of the cupboard. The long white sheet that had hung from the cabinet's crest fell away as her hand bunched in the voluminous folds and jerked them down. The slowly setting sun linen showed her what she had feared. The door was no longer latched, but only hung closed. The sheet had hidden the cat's escape.

Jynx stood poised in the middle of her living room with a pool of white material hanging from her fist, and the dark robes of the mage a spill of color against the austerity of the room. For a moment, she let herself hope that Dark was still trapped somewhere, unable to find her way out of a room, but a check on the house wards showed beyond a doubt that the creature was long gone.

Doom came crashing in on Jynx like a wave on castles of sand. She had nothing to redeem her in Sidnee's eyes now, nothing but the weakling mage. The elven thief was no longer certain that Cyberhawk would give them the leverage needed to control the mages. From what she had seen, they were probably glad to be rid of him.

Damn it. She needed to take care of Blackmage, somehow. Jynx felt like she was playing a deadly game with only one card, and no knowledge of the rules. Kneeling down, she grabbed the mage's robe as in both hands and hauled sharply, moving and standing to be under the full weight of the young elf just as he flopped unceremoniously over her shoulder.

She couldn't tell Sidnee about her failure. Not until she had a plan. Cyberhawk's capture would not keep her high in Sidnee's favor for long. Jynx needed more cards. She needed a plan.

Basbear settled on his heels and waited patiently, becoming no more than another calm shadow against the cool tiled wall of the manor's hallway. He listened to he sounds that drifted out of the single room at the end of the long featureless hall. There was the slap of bare feet against bare wood, labored breathing, and the occasional softly muttered curse. Beneath it all ran the soothing sound of fire sparking in its honored place.

The hall smelled faintly of smoke and sweat and magic. It eased his tension like no other combination could. There was nothing of deceit here; no plots, no plans. Just clean anger and love and power.

The ArchRogue crossed his wrists and rested his hands on his knees as the sounds continued, laying their balm on his troubled thoughts.

Finally Valentine emerged from the practice room, stretching her muscles even as she came upon Basbear. She granted him a warm smile and gestured that he could accompany her.

"Not bad." The faerie beat her wings a few times to let the moisture dry on them. The air carried the perfume of her magic as they continued back up the corridor. "It's been a while since you would let me get a full practice session in." With a sly smile she winked at him.

Basbear laughed a little, easy in his mother's company, though the memory of her blood spilling over her ribs gave him a chill. "It was for your own good, Val. I nearly had to tie you to a bed."

The fighter shrugged and gave him another smile full of understanding. They walked up toward the more populated areas of the house, away from the tiny, wooden-walled practice room that Valentine used to test her combat skills and magics in the sight of her god.

There was a final, bare room before them. Both he and the faerie nodded in respect to the tiny flame that danced unfettered and without fuel on the stones of the altar. They spoke their own prayers in their thoughts, and walked through the room and beyond without stopping.

Basbear himself didn't put all his faith in the family immortal, but he still stepped quietly around the altars. And he didn't carry weapons into those secret rooms.

Even as he began to itch for his daggers, they reached the first stairwell climbing back up to the level of the Siva streets. Another small room at the top of the stairs held their weapons; two swords, an array of daggers, and some other arms not so readily recognized.

With a sense of relief, Basbear started tucking blades and the like back into his clothes, working in silence alongside the diminutive woman. Soon he felt as close as he could get to happiness, fully armed and with Valentine. For her part, she had hidden a surprising amount of weaponry in her own garments; Basbear was faintly impressed.

As if she had sensed his unease, Valentine waved him on as she walked out of the room, and asked, "What's wrong, Basbear?"

When he finally answered, it was with no warning. "I left Jynx. I left the rogues. Nyx and Sidnee want me dead. Not only that, but Menke wasn't alone. You could be in danger too."

He longed to attack, to take his dagger and challenge them all; Sidnee, Nyx, Jynx, everyone who dared to oppose him. But for the first time in his life, Basbear couldn't. His enemies were too powerful.

Mired in his disturbing thoughts, Basbear shook his head. "I don't know." He finally admitted in a small voice, "The Family isn't strong enough anymore."

"Have faith. We haven't lost yet." The faerie chuckled as if to herself, then looked at him piercingly, her dark eyes evaluating him even as they came up through an old guest room and passed into the house. "Where's Daryth's ring?"

Basbear shifted a hand, bared a flash of silver. "Right here." He stopped her before she could speak, "I know. I have to do something about Nyx soon. And the rogues." Even though he had despised the position, the half-elf felt a moment's guilt for leaving the rogues without a leader.

"What do you plan to do about your ArchRogue status?" As if reading his mind, Valentine asked the question that was plaguing him. She stepped ahead of him and extinguished the candles in the main room as dawn flooded the Siva sky.

"I have to go back. Sidnee used me to control the rogues. They need to know. I need to lead them." He threw himself into a chair and brooded.

"Are you sure?" Valentine raised an eyebrow, waiting for his curt nod. She nodded in turn, "I agree. Do you remember Conson?"

Basbear paused, eyed his mother warily. What was she up to? "Yes. He's one of the older rogues. He dropped out of sight a few years ago. He was good. Not one of the best, but good."

"Coming from you." A new voice commented with wry humor, "That's a great compliment." The shadows shivered as Conson stepped into the room.

Basbear nodded at him curtly, never once shifting from his sprawl over the chair's arm. There was a slow pause as Valentine eyed the two men in her living room, a slight smile curving her lips.

"Your knew he was there, didn't you?" She asked Basbear, who shrugged noncommittally, sizing up the other rogue, his thoughts tumbling one over the other. The memory of Lodana's blood on his fingers made his hands involuntarily clench, and he looked at Conson with the first faint glimmering of a plan. Through the elf, he might find a way.

The mist curled up around her languidly, its chill touch seemed somehow grotesque as it brushed thin, smoky fingers against her bared arms. Sidnee shivered and braced herself, standing unmoving in the center of the unnatural haze.

To her anxious mind it seemed that the other immortal took a few moments longer than necessary to manifest his body, perhaps taking some obscure pleasure in her distaste. For her part, the gnome folded her arms across her chest and waited, obstinate in her patience, trying to ignore the questing strands of smoke. If Xith took a millennia to coalesce from mist, Sidnee would wait without complaint. She could withstand any task he set out for her, no matter how petty.

When he finally did appear, his words were curt, issuing from within the impenetrable fog that shrouded all but his fierce crimson eyes. "Your plans are falling apart."

"Don't you mean our plans?" Cut free from the bonds of her worry, Sidnee moved, walking without haste to the edge of the roof. She rested her elbows on the black wrought-iron railing and stared out across the landscape of urban Siva. Basking in the sickly azure of false dawn, the city was quiet and dark; only doorways and windows released the occasional flash of light.

While she pretended to lounge at her ease on the roof of the empty immortal bar, the gnome's mind raced frantically, trying to find any benefits she had missed when she had reviewed her losses not more than hours ago.

Waking from a terrifying, deathlike state of unconsciousness in the middle of the night, she had tasted tears on her lips and remembered Wirinth's death, Raist's betrayal.

From then until the first touches of morning light she had studied her losses. Wirinth gone, Tsfaru out of control, Basbear and the rogues beyond her reach, and the mages still running free and powerful.

"What do you plan to do about this?" Xith snapped waspishly, interrupting the stomach-churning terror of her thoughts. The swirling armor of his mist trailed stray wisps of frost in annoyance. Her mind repeated that very question over and over again, and found no answer. She turned slowly, reluctant to speak.

Xith made a rude sound, "One bookworm spellchucker cannot be kidnapped to control the rest of the mages. Jynx would have done better to kill him when she was in the library."

Sidnee should have realized that the old immortal would be spying on her generals. Inwardly the woman cursed, though the emotionless expression on her face never changed. She threaded her fingers together and studied the small yellow mountains of her knuckles thoughtfully.

"In that case, I have run out of mortal pieces." A faint image shimmered over her clasped hands, the memory of a decimated chessboard, "I'll merely have to do the thing myself."

Xith hissed softly and drew back from her. In his sudden agitation, the mists around him thinned and Sidnee caught a profane glimpse of a gray and pitiless check, untouched by mortality.

There was challenge in his tone, and fear. The gnome shot him a piercing look, but could not understand what he dreaded, unkillable as he was.

Warily she untangled her hands and cupped them, concentrating on the space trapped between her fingers. The Kieron docks wavered and solidified, resting safely in her grasp.

Sidnee could feel every breeze that kissed the old wood of the docks, knew every thought that passed through the minds of the worms that dwelt in the silty loam at low tide.

The roof spun out from under her, and Sidnee cried out in alarm, falling to her knees. The gritty stone bit into her hands as he body screamed, turning upon itself in agonizing and unnatural ways.

Then the pain was gone as quickly as it hand come, and she was left on hands and knees, staring at the gray expanse of the roof. Far to her left, she could sense Xith's suppressed terror.

Sidnee slowly worked her way to her feet, swaying until she snatched at the railing and steadied. She coughed once, and wiped at her mouth with her fingers.

She looked up at the other immortal in confusion, her hand shaking. Streaks of yellow flesh showed through the thick substance. "What the hell is this?" she demanded.

Suddenly Sidnee felt the need to wash her hands. She called sweet rain to pour out over her fingers, scrubbing obsessively as the ancient elf spoke dully.

"Ore isn't stupid. He lets us get away with almost anything. But if we use our godly powers upon the world, he threatens us with the one thing we fear."

"Death�" The word was hollow in Sidnee's mouth, it sounded like the first handful of earth thrown upon a coffin in its grave.

"You must find new mortals to use, or this plan will fail." With that, Xith became wholly mist and faded on the early morning breeze. Sidnee leaned weakly against the comforting solidity of the rail and wondered where she would find the needed mortals, wile still avoiding detection.

Immortal she may have been, but Sidnee was perceptive enough to realize that a mob of irate mortals could certainly damage her. A god without worshippers was truly powerless.

Once she had stood in that place of divinity as a mortal, and watched a man be married while he still wore her favor. Sidnee sighed and bowed her head in acceptance of the inevitable.

Trea dawdled on her way back to the Tower, wanting to postpone her arrival as long as humanly possible. Raist was going to be livid when he found out that Hemjold had lost the cat.

She loitered by the library in the thin light of predawn, remembering the look on the Master's face as he and Roland had faced off. Kicking at the wall absently, Trea regretted the impulse that had lead her to ask for the older rogue's help.

Now Raist wouldn't trust her. And this added failure would certainly turn his wrath upon her. The Master had never been patient, and his tendency to kill the bearer of bad news made Trea nervous.

Facing away from the silver of pale light that limned the eastern horizon, the lithe elf dropped down to perch on her heels, her back against the chill stones of the wall.

It seemed hours passed as she stared out into the silent emptiness of the street, thinking of nothing in particular. The gray dimness became shadows, the shadows grew shorter little by little.

She gauged that it would take two hours to make it back to the Tower, long enough for Raist to finish whatever spell he didn't want her to interrupt. With a huge sigh, she pulled herself to her feet. Best to get the whole thing over with quickly.

As Trea stretched the tightness out of her shoulders, a tiny furred head butted against her calf, and she looked down.

Raist awoke from a pleasant half-doze to the peculiar feeling that he was being watched. Eyes still closed, the elf let his senses trail out through the stone and wood of the Tower, delicately sifting through the familiar tastes that made up his home.

It wasn't Rob, he could tell. Thankfully, Pepper's curse had not touched his home magics. Without it he would have been as vulnerable in his own Tower as he was outside of it.

But if it wasn't Rob watching him, who was it? Trea wasn't back yet; he was sure she had stayed the night in Siva for her own reasons, reasons he cared nothing about.

Even partially entranced by his spell, Raist felt the ghost of a presence, a touch so light on his mind that he barely noticed it, but once noticing, could not avoid the rush of adrenaline that accompanied the recognition of that unique presence.

Finally Raist opened his eyes, fixing the gnome that stood by his hand with a vicious glare. The bloody scars that were seared into his shoulder flared up and he fought a brief but fierce struggle within himself to keep from showing how much pain they caused.

Instead of leaving, Sidnee merely arranged the skirts of her dress and sank into the other chair. Her manner was subdued, though her eyes flashed once at the mage's sharp tone.

"Hold your temper, elf." The short immortal replied, her eyes downcast, "I want an alliance. We both can help each other."

The pain was an almost constant irritation as he considered the offer. He certainly needed her aid, but Raist was not about to admit that. Finally he grudgingly answered, "We have worked together well in the past. What is it you need done? And what will I receive in return?"

Sidnee leaned back in her chair, relaxing to all outward appearances. "First." She spoke slowly, her nimble fingers weaving an idea out of the dim air. "The matter of payment."

A succession of images flickered between her motionless hands as she continued, "You wish to become immortal."

Raist moved forward, his own body drawn closer to that unspoken promise of its own accord. He found himself on the edge of his chair as a miniature of himself raised its thin arms and plunged a dagger no bigger than a flash of light into a breast of smoke. The scars touched their acid to his shoulder and he recoiled from the scene with hissed breath.

Sidnee looked up at him, her eyes calculating, "I cannot give you immortality." She said, "But I can help you be rid of that curse, and I can lead you to that which you most desire." The memory of a cat's black and whiskered face shimmered and was gone in the space that Sidnee held in her hands.

The dark mage was cautious, though he exulted in the depths of his heart. "What is it that I must do to gain such assistance from you?"

"A small thing. Tsfaru must not be stopped from his destruction of the Kieron docks. I have promised him a fine meal - a thousand beating hearts, if he has the strength to take them from the citizens of Kieron. The mages will attempt to turn him away." Her glance was steel, "See to it that they do not succeed, and you will be free of this curse, and have the means to godhood in your hands."

Raist steepled his fingers, regarding the female over the spire of his hands. "You ask me to betray my fellow magi. I would have half payment now." He paused a long moment, "You have betrayed me in the past, gnome. I have little reason to trust you now."

Sidnee rose, stepped toward him, her hand going out to lift the rune of his name and its chain from his neck. He felt his face grown unaccountably warm, the ache of the scars bit deeper. Raist was helpless, incapable of movement as he watched the little gnome smile a faint and secret smile, her fingers tight around the one thing he had kept of hers; the one precious icon that defined his past.

"Very well." She smiled sweetly, though he could see the slow-burning anger in her eyes, "Here is your payment, mage. A lesson. To unravel the curse, you must know who cast it."

He pulled away abruptly, his own hand going up to clutch the rune as if to push her away, to lock her out of the places she once ruled. "Pepper cast it. I know that already." Sidnee's response was a short, ugly laugh.

"You know, but you don't understand. She was your wife, but you didn't know her at all." And the gnome vanished, leaving him alone in the silent room.

"Perhaps," Raist mused wearily as he sank back into his chair, the scars draining his defiance away, "Perhaps because I was always married to you."

Raist reclined exhausted in his chair for some time, considering the words the immortal had flung at him. His mind wandered, free of the pressure of his will. He thought of Pepper; the witch that he had coveted in his youth, the bride he had taken into his Tower.

For a moment, he could almost remember the long nights spent seated in front of a fire, discussing some pointless issue of magic with his quiet wife at his side, and Rob arguing for the sake of the argument.

Now it was all different, Pepper was dead by his own hand, Trea shared his bed, half-fearful of his wrath. Rob remained the same, but twisted, mutated by Raist's own experimentation. It all used to be so simple, in the past. The ancient elf sighed slowly, closing his eyes in weariness. The past was fixed, and comforting in that certainty. The future was full of unrealized crises, of chance. He remembered an old saying of the witch's; "To live is to fear death", and finally understood what she meant.

Idly, he wondered what had become of her body. Once he had finished the spell, he had called for Rob to take care of the room. Surely the mutant had buried Pepper. Perhaps, Raist fantasized, he had laid her in a plain coffin, and even now she was mouldering beneath the soil that rimmed the Tower.

Morbidly he was possessed of an urge to visit the place where her body now lay. Perhaps there he would remember what it was that he had lost, so now he could only hobble along in spirit as in body.

Though the Tower was open to him in every way, it still took some time to find the place where she had been left. He fixed the pull of it in his mind.

With a bone-cracking effort he stood, pulled himself up by the strength of his wooden staff and walked slowly from the room.

He traveled down hallways and stairs, down into the depths of the Tower, into places he had never bothered to go. This was Rob's territory, peopled by the spawn of daemons and other minor evils. They fled at his approach.

He was old, and getting older with every plot. He had never felt so ancient as he did at that moment, making his slow way down the Tower's main spiraling staircase. Too many schemes had failed lately; too many ideals sacrificed on his altar of avarice. Raist hunched his thin shoulders, retreating deeper into the reassuring weight of his black robes.

Shadows kept pace with him as he wandered and pondered, moving like an old man - all hesitation and weariness. It was true, he mused, lapsing deeper into the mire of his depression; he was an old man, one of the oldest mortals still alive. The old days, he was beginning to fear, were gone forever.

Now the youngest magi paid him no respect, and the other classes grew full of staunch and sturdy men who regarded his beloved magi with as little awe as they themselves granted him.

Pepper, for all her shortcomings, had respected him. Even in death, her spirit did not rail at fate, but lay quiescent, nearly a part of the Tower itself. Their mutual folly; that marriage had only driven them further apart.

As the thin elf walked, the shadows grew, touching the hollows of his face lovingly, gathering in the corners of the ceilings and the carvings of doors before darting away again. His silent, fleetfoot retinue became a carpet of darkness, cloaking the chill stone floor as he came upon a plain, bronze door set deep into the wall at the end of an equally unexciting corridor.

Raist tilted his head thoughtfully; made note of the immaculate floor, the muted gleam of metal that no dust touched. Someone had been down here recently, and often.

This was no dingy graveyard, no hastily dug hole in soft loam. He watched his own hand go out, felt the simple spirals of carvings press into the flesh of his palm.

Apprehension came to him, all new in its strangeness. He had forgotten what true uncertainty had been like. For the first time he could remember, Raist worried about the danger of the spirit of evil that lurked in the darkness and terrified children. The world was not a beautiful place, he knew; there were monsters and horrors diabolical enough to attack him in his own heavily defended home.

Finally Raist straightened to his full ominous height. No bogeyman could give the dark Master pause. He had engendered worse demons than those who would lurk behind doors.

He pushed open the heavy door with an abrupt and vicious shove, and his scarred shoulder made no complaint. Behind him an army of shadows sank closer to the ground, trailing the inky darkness of his robes as he strode into the room.

It may once have been a chamber for storage; there were no shelves, no furniture, no hangings decorating the walls. Now it was even more bare, for no other object cluttered the huge, silent space, save for the one casket in the exact center of the floor.

Almost against his will, Raist drew closer, his soft leather boots whispering over the pristine stone floor.

Pepper lay upon a waterfall of palest blue silk, richer than any gown she had worn in life. The pink and smoky quartz of the crypt washed unreal shadowy color across the plain gray wool of her mage robes. Her eyes were closed, and under her folded hands sparkled a rose of unsullied ruby; the petals so thin that Raist could see each beneath the other.

The petals of the jewel rose gathered around the center of the bloom, growing deep as the red of heart's blood, laying exactly at the point were Raist's dagger had rent her elven flesh.

The ancient mage shuddered violently, but could not turn away. His mind raced as he stared, sensing the purity of the magic Rob had used as a last homage to the woman. It was nature magic, grown from the earth itself, sweet and white-hot, a power the dark mage could no more touch than Azi could strike down his brother. That way was barred to him forever.

He stood - black stain upon a river of light, cursed word in the midst of Heaven - and lusted for that elusive strength.

It was out of his reach, and none of his wiles would pull down Paradise for him. The geas that had drawn him down the long stairs and to the barren room broke and he stumbled forward suddenly, laying his defiled hands upon the glassy case of his wife's casket.

Raist crossed his thin arms and rested his chin on his twinned wrists, leaning weary and strengthless against the crystal box, staring into the lifeless face of the witch.

"What have I lost?" He queried softly, half to himself, half to the encased corpse that would never corrupt. Her serene expression gave him no answers.

It was peaceful in the room, the fiery peace that he was eternally denied. Raist closed his eyes and let loose his troubles, slept deep supported by the crystal coffer of his dead wife.

Dark feigned sleep in Trea's careful arms and listened to the impossible hope that poured off the lithe rogue in waves. They traveled through the ominous oak forest that protected the dark mage's Tower, strode down rain-slick streets past quiet houses safe in the castle's shadow, traversed the lightless, lifeless wastelands that kissed the Tower's feet.

Like breathing in, she knew how much the elf couldn't believe her own incredible luck, how Dark's own weight caged preciously in her hands was a gift of the gods that would not only stop Raist's rage, but make her - Trea - more valuable to him.

The woman was moved to pity, but that cat that was half of her was more concerned about the puissant mage they moved closer to with every step. What weapons did she have to fight with? How could she defeat that terrible figure of power? For if she did not, he would surely trap her once again, and rip her apart in his quest for immortality.

"Okay then." With a tight handshake, Basbear stepped back into the shade of the doorway, his stocky physique framed by the columns that braced the main door of the family's Sivan home. He favored the other man with a nod that was respectful in its subdued nature, "Give me half a day to take care of some unfinished business, then contact Nyx."

"Count on it." A stray veil of morning sunlight wafted over the roof of the highest house opposite to where they stood on the empty street, touching the first and highest points of the house. Conson glanced up, made a face of disgust. "Morning already. Only clerics and monks are up this early."

The former ArchRogue leaned back further into the shadows of the doorway, resting a muscled shoulder against the cool stone wall. "Yeah, but when our freedom is threatened, we all got to make sacrifices." He managed a dry-humored smile and spoke low, "And a time shall come to pass when the greatest of our number is laid low. Then idiots will make prophecy, and thieves shall save the world."

Impressed into momentary stillness, Conson gave him an appreciative look. "Nice." He commented, "What's that from?"

Basbear's laugh was short and without mirth. "From the book of Basbear. Get moving. I don't want this to fail."

"Gotcha." Conson shot off a lazy salute and slipped away into the street, a gray figure in a pool of grayness. For a moment the half-elf watched him go then turned and entered the house, closing the door silently behind him.

"Breakfast?" Valentine seemed to take everything in stride, her manner was completely relaxed as she pulled herself out of the huge chair wherein she had been musing - the only mark of Menke's daggers was a slightly pained look on her face as she stood.

"No time." Her son walked over on catsfeet to put a hand on her shoulder. "Do I have to tell you not to open the door to strangers?"

The faerie's smile was warm, slightly mocking. "Do I have to remind you that I'm your mother?" When the dark look in his eyes did not lessen, she relented. "Don't worry. What happens, happens."

"Hey. Trust me." Valentine grinned at the ArchRogue and made her way towards the back of the house. "I'm going to get some sleep. It'll be a busy day around here."

Half-poised to call her back, Basbear shook his head and let his mother go, watching the defiant set of her shoulders. If she had any intuition of the future, she wasn't about to share it with him.

Fain polished his swords, checked over his yak for any weapons he might have forgotten. Everything seemed to be there. His hand went to one of the saddlebags, pulled out a grimy, much-abused piece of parchment. Valentine's address was meticulously written there.

Sidnee had been very forthcoming with it, as well as an accurate account of what had been done to Menke's body, before and after he died. Fain's predecessor had not been treated well by the little faerie. It was time for him to remedy that oversight.

He hefted himself up onto the beast's back, still clutching the paper, and grinned. It was going to be a fun day.

Nadcorp breathed heavily, dropping down from the rock with a sure step. His soft-booted feet touched the ground lightly as an angel's kiss, followed by one knee as he caught his balance. The body of the vulture toppled with less grace, tumbling over the bare stones of the wasteland to land with an audible thump on the sand by his weapon hand.

"Hey. Pay attention, woman. I'm showing off for you." He straightened up and stretched, his wiry frame a container for an enormous amount of energy. Neither the dead vulture nor the tiny human perched on a shaded outcropping of rock exhibited any amazement. Nyx, for her part, merely closed her eyes and made a rude sound as she rested in the shadows.

"All in good time. I'm working on it." He uncorked a canteen of blessed water and poured it over his arms, watching the few deep scratches fade away, to be lost beneath the light network of scars that marred his skin. "If Azi himself came down and asked you to wait a few minutes while he remade Caspia in your image, you'd still say he took too long."

Nadcorp paused in thought. "No point." He replied with a shrug, then pulled out his blue steel blade to begin sawing away at the tough outer skin of the vulture. "You going to help me down here or what?"

"No worries, doll. Cyndre met up with an immovable force, and I hear Blackmage is sleeping off one hell of a hangover."

Nadcorp snickered. "I told his wife that he was chasing rogues with a fireball in one hand and a grudge in the other� ah." He paused and shucked the tasteless skin from the corpse, the point of his dagger neatly separating muscle and viscera to reveal the still shuddering heart within its cage of bone. The dagger spun in his hand, and he rapped each of the ribs smartly with the hilt, then drew out the gore-slick organ.

He spelled it into stasis to prevent decay, and poured the last of the water over it before depositing the glistening thing in a small bag. The rest of the vulture he wrapped with twine and tied to his belt - saving it for dinner.

The small woman eyed her strange spouse with a certain degree of benevolence. She had no desire to know what arcane spell he was pursuing, as long as he kept out of her own affairs and got the damn magi off her back.

When he scrambled lightly up to her high vantage and dropped a kiss in the palm of her hand - his face still streaked with blood and sweat - Nyx couldn't help but laugh.

Sorrow had the strangest feeling he had to talk to someone that day. Something had happened, a strange phenomenon in a strange world, and he knew it would be important soon enough. A whisper of the future threaded its sere fingers through his mind.

Home. She hadn't realized how tense she was until she stepped over the border between the Tower's grove and the quiet street of Siva upon which it sat. The cat was a quiet weight in her arms as she paused a moment, just within the black protection of the twisted oaks, and blew out a deep breath.

Trea shook her head, dispelling the last of her fears. She was in no danger now; Raist would congratulate her on a perfectly executed job. Especially when she explained Hemjold's failure.

The black cat raised its head and gave her a pink-tongued yawn, and once again Trea wondered just what he wanted the animal for. She almost shrugged; her lover's motives were beyond her. As long as he still wanted her as his mistress Trea was content. She would not run to Roland again.

The bulk of the Tower loomed up before her, a black hand thrust up out of the barren stretches of the wasteland. Her thoughts turned to more mundane matters. With a grumble, Trea closed her eyes and stepped out onto the blasted sands, counting off in her head� One hundred paces west� One hundred paces north�

"You look like a fool!" The voice screeched, faltering between a deep baritone and a crone's cackle. Trea opened her eyes, found herself nose to nose with Rob, and recoiled. Her arms tightened in response, and the cat squeaked.

"Damn it!" She snarled at him, making up for her earlier, sudden, fear. "Do you want me to tell Raist you've been bothering me again? I can ask him to make you into a cockroach next." Her threat fell flat in the dead air of the foyer. A specter flitted around them, but she ignored it, glaring at the mutant's insane grin and mismatched eyes.

"Not that he'd have to make many changes." She added, and kicked him sharply in the shin. "Get out of my way. Where's Raist?"

Rob scuttled back half a pace and smirked, one corner of his mouth rising, the other falling. "How much is the information worth to you?" He sallied, "A kiss? Ten minutes of paradise with me in the throne room?"

"Forget it. I'll find him myself." Head high, she stormed past the mutant. He pinched her rear as she stomped by.

Trea shouted angrily and dropped what she was carrying to draw both daggers and attack. In response, the mutant squeaked and drew up a sickly blue aura of protection around himself. She gritted her teeth and pressed harder with the twin points of her blades, feeling the shield begin to falter.

"Oh hell." Suddenly she stopped, the knives clattering to the floor as realization brought her up short. The cat was gone.

Uncanny, how she knew where the dark mage was. Uncanny how she could feel the sleep as it moved sweetly through his veins, bringing peace as he slumbered. Dark shook her head violently, whiskers twitching, and crept out of the shadows of the doorway that had sheltered her throughout the bickering of the short rogue and the mutant.

They were gone now, passing into the hallway beyond, their voices still raised in argument. She poked her nose further into the empty room, and nothing arose to challenge her right to be there.

Feeling a bit more bold, she slunk along the wall, heading for the secret stairway she knew was in the next room to the south. The specter gave her a sharp look, but let her pass, grumbling to itself about past indignities.

Dark shivered as she moved deeper into the Tower, feeling the weight of souls upon her black-furred shoulders, paying little attention to the furnishings of the room she traversed. She still didn't know how she was going to confront the mage Raist, had no idea how to stop him from taking the dead god's power from her defenseless body.

She nosed her way behind the heavy tapestry and felt carefully with her whiskers for the first step. Even to her enhanced sight, the stairway was impenetrable darkness. Delicately she descended into the hidden well that lead deeper into the abused earth.

Nails clicking softly across the polished floor, Dark approached the slumped form of the mage with every nerve afire from wariness. He did not move.

Raist slept sound, and would not wake from his exhaustion. She knew that, just as she knew his wife slept eternally, laid out with tender care upon the bier.

Her muscles tensed briefly, she sprang, attaining the great height of the raised crypt without effort. The pink and gray veiled crystal remained cool beneath her paws as she edged toward Raist's helpless form.

Her nose wrinkled at the stink of black magic that clung to his robes, but she moved ever forward until her whiskers touched his black-clothed shoulder. There was pain there, and a curse made by one who loved him.

Dark sat back on her haunches and regarded Raist with surprise. What was she to do now? Alone with the mage who wanted the power she had stumbled into, alone with the man who carried death in the pockets of his black robe and perched on his shoulder like a demonic angel. She sighed.

There wasn't much she could do, now that she gave it some thought. Certainly, she could shift back into her human form and try to find some blunt weapon to attack with him, but the room was empty of all save the three of them.

She pressed her nose to the crystal case and peered at Pepper's pale, serene face. The dead witch was no help at all.

Depressed, Dark laid her head on her paws and stared at the gold skin that covered the fingers of Raist's hand where it lay, curled slightly in sleep, upon the coffin. She had no idea what to do.

"Raist?" A voice winged out of the unrelieved gray. He looked up from where he lay, searching for the speaker whose name he couldn't quite remember, but the familiar voice did not call again.

Bit by bit, his situation came to him. He was laid out on his back, staring up into the grayness that flickered with strange stars. Turning his head, he could see that he was raised above the smoky seas by a pedestal of crystal.

For a moment, Raist considered sitting up, but he felt no urge to ruse, and folded his thin hands over his chest, unwilling to move.

"Raist." A different voice spoke his name, and his eyes, which had been slowly closing, snapped open. He stared up at his face, saw eternity reflected in his own eyes, again and again. Like two mirrors put to each other, he could see forever into his own expressionless face.

"NO!" He shouted, raised his hands to block the red-haloed points as it lanced towards his chest, and as he shouted, the foe above him flickered - became Pepper. She smiled at him gently as the blade parted his robe and touched his skin.

He screamed, and his hands fell, the dagger piercing Sidnee's chest. His chest. Trea's dagger. Trea lay upon the bier, and his blade ended her life. Pepper's life. His life.

Dazed, torn by anguish, he flickered between victim and murderer, feeling the dagger fall again and again, thrusting I through a thousand faltering hearts.

Then a hand touched his. Warm pale fingers curled around his wrist and carefully took the dagger from his grip. A girl stood above him with the dagger in her hand, and threw it away, held out her hand to him.

Raist woke up suddenly, completely. His hands curled into claws as he panted harshly, shoulders heaving with each breath. The scars on his shoulder burned with unholy fire.

For long minutes he leaned against Pepper's casket and drew in deep, shuddering lungfuls of air, clawing his way towards life. Master of darkness, Raist had never had a bad dream. Now he trembled, the skin tight over his chest as his heart thundered.

He slowly regained his composure, his eyes going to Pepper's face. No hint lay in the curve of her mouth, or in the shadow of her closed eyes. Whatever had touched his sleep was not of her doing. As if on a whim, he looked up.

There, in the ceiling, cleverly hidden by the uneven heights, a single skylight opened onto the night. In the darkness, a handful of silver stars sparkled.

"Oh yeah? Well if you had slept with me, this wouldn't have happened!" Rob's voice rose, cracked, and settled back down again as the two argued. Raist sighed and put his fingertips to his temples, fighting off a headache.

He could hear them coming up the steps to the study where he had been resting, fitfully dozing and afraid to sleep again. The two of them acidly squabbling was loud enough to chase his personal demons away, and Raist sat up a little straighter in his chair, waiting.

A moment later, the two burst through the wide doors. The Master watched as their argument slowly faded away. Trea looked worried. Obviously something had gone wrong.

He beckoned her forward, and she came. Rob remained where he was, lurking just inside the doors. Raist paid him no attention, his eyes on the lithe elven rogue as she approached.

His hand shot out and held her chin, pulled her close with a little tug. After the initial moment of startled struggle, Trea was obedient. He raised one perfect black eyebrow.

"Some." She replied, and he could tell it was truth. The image of her dagger piercing his breast swam across his vision and he pushed her away roughly. Elbows on the arms of his chair, he regathered himself and steepled his hands, tapping his fingertips together.

Trea took a deep breath, but did not evade his demand. "Hemjold lost the cat. I found her. She�" And there was a pause while the woman turned to glare at Rob. "She got away again when I made it to the Tower. She's around here somewhere."

"I see." And he did. Obviously the mutant had started a fight, and Trea - hot-blooded as she was - could not help but rise to his challenge. "Rob." He whispered, "You're dismissed. Find the cat." The mutant started to retort, but a glance from Raist's icy golden eyes shut him up. He left, grumbling quietly to himself.

With a sigh, Raist stood, his shoulder pulling at him, though he refused to lift a hand to cover where the scars flared. To Trea's anxious face he explained, "My plans have changed. Come." He held out a hand to her.

Nearly fearless, even now, the rogue approached and laid her small hand in his. He could feel the beat of her heart, echoed in her wrist where his fingers pressed. Once again, Raist wondered why she stayed. He enfolded her within the black and robed darkness of his arms.

"Just shut up." Jynx sighed and prodded Cyberhawk in the small of his back with her dagger's well-worn pommel.

"I can't help it! I'm a mage, not a damn nomad." The man complained bitterly as he stumbled over yet another thick root that lay across the bare hint of the path. "Ow!"

"Better alive and tripping over every little pebble than dead by my hand." The rogue commented mildly, and prodded him again. She had no trouble traversing the broken ground, but then again, she wasn't bound hands behind her. Not for the first time did she wish she'd thought to bring a gag.

"Better dead and rotting than lost in this hell of a grove with an insane woman at my back." Cyberhawk's reply was more than bitter, "I can't even see a damn thing. This dusk is oppressive."

"Don't start a light." Jynx warned, her senses stretched to pick up the merest sound that was not created by the mage. For herself, she moved noiselessly through the blight-spotted litter that covered the ground.

"Just shut up!" She repeated, and fought with herself not to give the mage a well-deserved kick in the rear.

After another half-hour's wandering, they came out of the grove, and stood on the edge of the wastelands. The Tower rose up ominous and unreachable in the center. Even Cyberhawk was at a loss for words.

He gulped visibly, his soft-booted feet shuffling in the dirt. Jynx rolled her eyes. She had no idea why she had dragged the annoying man along with her, save to prove to Raist that she held no secrets from him. Still, she should have just knocked him unconscious again, and been done with it.

"I can't say I'm not surprised." The Master of the Tower mused as he gestured for them to sit. At his side there appeared a long silver tray, filled with goblets and a steaming decanter. "Tea?"

Jynx shook her head, poised on her toes, her hands on the back of the chair where Cyberhawk sprawled with every indication of comfort, his bound hands in his lap.

"You got anything stronger?" The young mage inquired, his tone just short of insolence, "I have this incredible headache. Comes from being hit too many times behind the ear."

She gritted her teeth as Raist ordered the mutant at his side to conjure up a mug of ale, then accepted the drink and put it in Cyberhawk's grasp with his on gold-skinned hands. Finally he looked up at her, amusement lurking in the depths of his disquieting eyes. "You could have just told me you held him hostage, Jynx. No need to bring him along."

Silent for a moment, she eyed the man who was the enemy of her leader. "You're different from what I remember."

For the barest second, Jynx thought she saw fear in Raist's eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure. "Tell me what you need." He moved a hand, indicating that the subject was changed, and no army would have the power to change it back.

Raist regarded the two who were before him; the rogue whose nerves were so taut that she could not sit down for fear of attack, and her mage captive who was as relaxed as any mortal could be without actually falling asleep.

They were, he realized, a perfect set. If he had possessed the energy or the inclination, he would have trained them and used them himself. But he was too busy - a shame to waste such unexploited talent, but the demands on his time were too great. He wondered if Sidnee knew what a rarity she had on her hands.

"I need help. Sidnee's plans are falling apart. I don't even know who's alive and who isn't." The sincerity of the rogue's words struck Raist. He toyed with his chalice of tea, thin fingers flexing around the scalding hot metal. He nodded for her to continue, making plans of his own as she spoke.

Apparently Sidnee was losing control, more so than she hinted to him. Her own general did not know that Raist himself had killed the gnome's other commander. Neither did Jynx know that Sidnee had already come and pledged her aid in exchange for performing the very task that the slight rogue had failed.

"I was commanded to paralyze the magic, and all I have to show for it is�" She trailed off and waved a hand over Cyberhawk's bent head, "He might stop them from blasting me outright, but I still haven't fulfilled my orders."

Raist tapped his fingers against the mug's side, his labyrinthine mind enclosing all the possibilities, seeing a path open before him wherein Sidnee had no power over him, and their alliance was null. "And Basbear? What of the ArchRogue?"

At the sudden, involuntary fists she made, the Master of the Tower nodded once again. "I see why you felt compelled to come to me."

"I have no other choice." Jynx met his calm with an equally even tone, though her shoulders tensed once. She was not at ease. Judging from the dark shadows beneath her eyes, she'd not slept well for many nights.

"What do you want me to do about it?" He whispered, filling up the cup that Cyberhawk held out. The young mage was being silent, for a wonder. Raist did not trust that silence, but kept his peace. He would deal with them one at a time.

The Master took his time, appearing to give the idea consideration. "What do you offer me in return."

In answer, Jynx let her dagger slide free of its sheath, flipped it deftly with one hand, and presented the hilt to him. He could see the impossibly sharp edges pressing deep into her fingers where she held it. Any more pressure and the dagger would draw blood.

"This is all I have to bargain with." Her voice was breathless - he understood. She wasn't merely pledging her services as a rogue in exchange for his protection, but her soul as well.

"A worthy coin." Raist commented, reaching out a skeletal hand to tap the hilt lightly, just enough to cause bright blood to well up along her fingers where the edges of the dagger parted her skin. "For that, I will give you not only my protection, but my advice as well." He gestured for her to sheath the dagger once again. Her hand moved, faster than the eye, and the blade was gone.

"As of now, you are safe from Sidnee's wrath." Raist intoned, but could not repress the small and bitter smile that touched his mouth. Jynx took it on faith that his protection was magical. The young mage, however, opened his mouth to denounce Raist, knowing full well that no spell had been cast. He gave the boy a sharp look, and Cyberhawk subsided without a word.

"Here is my advice." At his tone, Jynx's shoulders tensed once again. "Advice only. Not commands." He amended, then went on. "Two things, child. Leave the mage with me. I will deal with him."

"No!" She interrupted sharply, and even Cyberhawk looked up in surprise. Jynx colored a deep, dusky rose, then brought her fist down on the high back of the chair, close enough to the mage's ear to make him jump. Her temper was close to fraying, and he could tell that she was walking on the edge of a red rage. He waited.

"No." She repeated in a more subdued tone, as if remember who she spoke to, "He is my responsibility. I may yet find a use for him."

Perceptively, Raist let her outburst go without comment. "My other advice is a suggestion that will benefit both you and I." He paused, and his fingers closed around the bowl of the chalice until the metal dented under his fingertips. "Someone opposes me here. There is a one beyond this Tower's walls that seeks to bring my plans to ruin. Find that one, and remove him." Obediently the rogue nodded, more than used to accepting orders that seemed impossible to fulfill.

"The cat." He waited until her full attention was on him. "He knows about the one called Dark, knows where to find her. Follow the trail of her name to him." Raist south his own face in the dark mirror of the tea that seemed to shudder away from his fingertips on the rim of the mug.

Sensing her dismissal, Jynx rose and bowed, hand on her hilt in respect, before yanking Cyberhawk up by the collar of his robe and dragging him protesting out the door.

Alone with his thoughts at last, Raist couldn't help but sigh. To be reduced to games of mental chess against his opponents, forced to use mortals - and young ones at that. His plans had certainly taken a turn for the worse.

A familiar hand delicately rang the Tower's defense system, the chime of magic against magic sounding only in Raist's mind. He thought of his warm bed for a moment, then pushed the need away. There were plans to be made, and assuredly his new guest would be an integral part of them.

"Please, please�" Blackmage whispered, his eyes tightly shut against the light, "Please don't breathe so loud."

"Sorry." Hecubus handed him a damp cloth and the elder mage applied it to the back of his neck with a low, agonized groan. Patiently Hecubus waited until Blackmage could manage a somewhat upright position.

"For the love of little pixies." The older man complained in a voice that neither sang with conviction nor rumbled with power, but was significant in that it attempted to stay as much a monotone as possible. "Someone better be dead, Hecubus. I'm not at home to visitors right now."

"Just thought you should know. I scried Cyberhawk. He was in Raist's grove. And Cyndre still isn't back."

"What!?!" Blackmage jolted upright, then collapsed again into a fetal position, rocking his aching head back into quiescence. "I want two mages watching Cy and anyone he's with. Give me names. Someone try to contact Cyndre." He groaned once more and retreated into the darkness of his bed. "And turn out that damn light."

"Basically, yes." Reclining at his ease, the younger elf rested both hands lightly on the arms of his chair and regarded Raist with patience equal to the Master's own. His head tilted, Raist marked the passage of Jynx and her captive from the boundaries of the Tower, then returned his attention to his guest.

Cyndre leaned forward in his chair, his expression intense, "The rogues move against us as we speak. You've seen how they've scattered over the mainland. Caravans cannot pass between the two cities for all the highwaymen upon the road."

Raist nodded silently, and the man continued. "They've targeted the magi specifically, stirring the ashes of the old rogue-mage animosity. They made my wedding a farce, they kidnapped Cyberhawk. Even now they seek to drive a wedge between my wife and I."

"Mmm�" Wisely, Raist did not mention that Cyndre and his wife needed no outside intervention to spark off a marital war. "And so you want me to�? Give you back your lost sheep? Deliver your enemies on a silver platter, trussed up for the taking?"

"No. Merely share with me any information you think would be useful to me. I can handle things from there." The young mage's confidence was without weakness. Inwardly amused, Raist tapped his fingertips together.

"Perhaps your right. Perhaps we've grown beyond money." Raist gestured once, and Trea's dagger-hilt came down sharply on Cyndre's neck, causing the young mage to slump unconscious in his chair. "But not, I think, yet."

Trea tucked the heavy dagger back in her belt and checked the mage's pulse. "He's fine." She reported, then gave the Master a little grin, "Never thought to protect himself against a physical attack in your presence."

"Trust is strange that way." Slowly, with care for his aching bones, Raist rose from his throne, accepting Trea's help in descending the shallow dais onto the chill black marble of the floor.

They left Cyndre unconscious in his chair on the tier, looking for all the world like he had fallen asleep suddenly. The mark of betrayal hadn't even had time to touch his features.

Leaning carefully on Trea's shoulder, Raist felt almost energetic. On a whim, he summoned a disembodied spirit; a captured soul. It came promptly, and he was gratified to see that some of his magics still functioned, however badly.

"Get Rob. Tell him I want the man in the throne room put in the guest suite. Full guard and magic wards." The spirit vanished with an inrushing of air.

"Mmm�" Still bloody and sweaty, Nadcorp rested in the long shadows cast by the rock, the sound of the waste's inhabitants rising up to his lofty perch. Beside him, Nyx was quiet, her attention on the half-carved piece of deadwood in her hands. The sculpture was - not surprisingly - sharp-edged.

He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, staring out across the desert with a look of contentment. The wooden mockery of a dagger grew from the wood beneath Nyx's patient fingers.

Suddenly the pair froze on the same heartbeat, and Nyx's carving shot through the air to land, point first and quivering, in the sand between Conson's feet.

"And a good afternoon to you too." The rogue said with aplomb, reaching down to pick up the wooden dagger and delivering it to Nyx with his own hands and a graceful bow. "Now would be a good time to remind you not to kill messengers."

"You weren't in any danger." Nyx replied tartly, her attention already returning to her sculpture. For his own part, Nadcorp put his hands behind his head and regarded the interloper with a relaxed air.

"So what brings you to our neck of the�" He paused and looked out across the wind-blown plain that was already broiling under the heat of the sun, "�desert?"

"Alliances, my friend." Conson put a booted foot on one of the lower rocks and tilted his head up toward the shaded peak of the tumble of stone. "Basbear has had a change of heart. He's given Jynx the brush-off and wants back with the rogues in a big way." There was a significant pause which no one filled. "He says war is coming."

"So? There's a war every day in Caspia. Why should we care?" Nadcorp's smile was genial, but his eyes never left Conson's face. The younger rogue put his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels.

"Not some little war. 'Bear says that the immortals are getting involved. He says he knows what's coming up, and it's big. Big enough to damage the rogues. That's why he wants this alliance."

With a gallant bow, Conson turned his words toward Nyx, the titular head of the rogues. Though Nadcorp was her senior, she was the one who controlled the class. Aware of that, Conson pitched his words to catch her attention. "He's willing to meet where and when you choose. He'll bring assurances of his words. He says you'll know what he means."

At that, Nyx looked up from her work thoughtfully, her sharp ears picking up the memory of silver in Conson's tone. "Fine." She said shortly, "Tonight at dusk. The Roguehall."

"Very well, lady. I'm your humble servant." Clicking his heels together and sweeping the pair an extravagant bow, the messenger turned and went out into the furnace-hot wastelands, his form shimmering in the heat, then vanishing.

Nadcorp laughed, "Humble he isn't." But Nyx didn't hear him, she was already kneeling on the sandy ground in the shade of the rock-pile, drawing up her plans.

Hemjold felt strange. His draconian heart beat out of time, and he couldn't seem to concentrate. The subterranean warehouse seemed far too small for his massive white form, and then too spacious, in the space between breaths.

Shaking his head, the white dragon peered at his patch-furred friend and marshaled his thoughts in what order he could manage.

"It's been too long. Raist must still be trying to think of something really terrible to do to us." He muttered.

"Bah." Kaokokung licked a paw fastidiously, his words garbled as he worried a bit of dirt from between his claws. "We're fine. Even the dark mage has gotta know that women go where they want, and no guy can make them do anything."

The calico at his feet perked sharp-pointed ears and made a little snorting sound. "Failure? What? So she wasn't here when his mistress came calling. So who cares?" Kao paused a moment in regret. "I miss her already though. Nice kitty. Nice body. Too bad she was human."

Hemjold laid his pinions back along his spine and peered, the beginnings of a raging headache bouncing around his skull. H e was almost sure there was a figure just at the corner of his sight; a night-shrouded creature with eyes of glittering gold ice. It seemed to be whispering to him. "You promised me a cat, dragon�"

He crouched lower in the dirt and broken boards that littered the floor and hid his head under one snow-white wing.

At his friend's violent reaction, Kaokokung stopped his personal attentions and looked up. "What's wrong with you, Hemmy?" The dragon could only whimper.

Cyberhawk stumbled on the uneven ground outside the warehouse and tumbled down the hill of dirt and debris that led up to the flimsy wall. He fell with no grace - head and heels and bound hands flying about with no regard for personal safety.

Finally he came to rest at the bottom, his entire body aching and dust blinding his eyes and choking his throat. He coughed once, twice, and muttered "Shit.", then rolled over with a low groan to see that Jynx had followed him at a more sedate pace.

She stood above him, her hands on her daggers. Half-blind with dust and sun, he could only see her form against the mocking blue sky. He was pretty certain she was laughing at him.

"Come on, mage." The hand with which she helped him to his feet was not unkind. "You do more damage to yourself than I could ever think of." A dagger slid free of its sheath with a low, steely hiss, and Cyberhawk froze in sudden, shaming terror.

He could feel his mouth opening to babble, to stop her from killing him when the blade rose and fell, and the ropes that had bit into his wrists fell away. Before he could even think what to do next, the rogue had grabbed his wrists in a hold that could not be broken, and shook her head ruefully.

"You run, you're dead before you take the third step. Understand?" He nodded mutely, incapable of even the most simple comeback. "Fine. Lets go on. I don't think they heard you fall." She let go, and rubbed her bloody hands on the sleeve of his mage robes.

Finding Aivlys was easier said than done. Sorrow sat down hard on a relatively clean stone that had fallen from the city wall ages before, slipped off his boots and rubbed his aching feet. For the hundredth time he wondered just how many places there could be for a normal-sized elf to hide in a town the size of Kieron. Far too many, it seemed.

To top things off, he hadn't seen hide nor hair of his wife, and Aivlys had promised she'd take the day to meet up with him.

Feeling thoroughly sorry for himself, he kicked his bare feet against the dusty ground and rubbed the back of his neck. It was turning out to be a really awful day. He had the strangest suspicion that he was supposed to be doing something important, but couldn't for the life of him figure out what.

"I probably look that way, yes." He agreed, and twisted around to meet Isarra's flat green gaze. "I was afraid you weren't going to show up like you promised."

The rogue raised one shoulder in a shrug, then leaned back against the city well, one boot resting flat against the stones. She draped an impossibly slender loop of some black substance over her upraised knee and patted the many hidden pockets of her cloak, searching for some item she needed.

Sorrow smiled up at his wife as she triumphantly displayed two small iron clips that had been in the bottom of a pocket and held them out before her with an imperious gesture. "hold" she said, and he obediently opened his hand, his fingers curling around the clips.

Familiar with Isarra's habits, he ran through the words of a smell in his head while she pulled several straight black strands of hair from her head and took the first clip back from him.

Deftly she braided in the new strands with the old, strengthening her makeshift garrote. With a soft grunt of satisfaction, she plucked the second clip from his hand and clamped the tail end of the thin rope, handing the simple weapon back to him.

Sorrow ran his wife's braided hair through his fingers, but could find no fault with her work. He chanted softly, and the rope glowed an incandescent black, becoming more resilient and impossible to break. Isarra stood completely still as he rose, the garrote in his hands, and walked towards her on bare feet. He buried his fingers in her hair, carefully looping the thin rope around the chain she wore, bringing it forward around her neck so that it looked purely ornamental. The clips slid free at a touch.

Her black hair tangled in his hands, and he grumbled as he disengaged the clinging strands, but his wife kissed him and grinned her strange grin.

"useful husband" was her only comment before she swooped down and picked up his boots, offering them to him with a pointed look at his naked toes. "seeking who?"

"Thanks." He drew them onto his finally cool feet one by one and stamped a few times to settle his weight in them. "I'm looking for Aivlys. That damn minstrel is hiding from me, I swear." Sorrow touched the end of his staff where it was strapped to his back, making sure it was still snug in its constraints.

"No. I thought he was in Kieron. What's he doing in Siva?" There was an awkward pause, and he peered at Isarra's suspiciously. He shrugged.

"He's not part of this crazy rogue thing that's got everyone up in arms, is he? I'd hate to have to replace his legs or grow his fingers back again." Sorrow's words were anxious, despite his joking tone. He held open the door to the shop as Isarra paused before it. With a nod to him, she stepped through.

He waited, counting softly aloud, "�three�two�" At `one', an ornately gilt carriage pulled out of the back of the shop and clattered onto the street, its driver staring at him fearfully. Sorrow could see the whites of his eyes as the man whimpered and jerked his head toward the half-open door. The horses stamped their hooves, unafraid of whatever demon possessed the driver.

"no" Isarra spoke from her position of comfort inside the carriage, continuing their conversation without the slightest difficulty. Sorrow sat back on the expensive cushions and shifted around until his staff didn't dig into his spine.

"Well that' s good to hear. I hope he's finally met up with some non-criminal employment." And I wish�" He gave his unrepentant wife a stern look, "I wish you'd just let me pay for the carriage instead of hijacking one."

The ride passed comfortably enough, the two of them content to spend the time in silence. Sorrow watched the grasslands pass outside his window while his wife checked that all her weapons were properly sheathed and tucked away beneath her clothes. It took her a very long time.

When the carriage careened to a halt before the gates of Siva an hour later, Sorrow opened the door and helped his wife down to the street. Before he could open his mouth to thank the driver, the man had turned his horses around and was already racing back towards the safety of Kieron.

"What did you threaten him with?" The cleric wondered, hitching his staff higher on his back. Isarra had already set off in the direction she knew Aivlys to be. He followed, trusting in her knowledge.

"this and that" She replied vaguely, moving without hesitation through the afternoon sun on Siva's streets, "if not here, we try elsewhere"

"Fine with me." Sorrow squinted against the light as Isarra paused in front of an old, elaborate gate. The iron posts loomed majestic, and he could barely make out a house set far back from the street. "Who lives here?"

His wife shrugged and rang the bell, the bronze clapper making a deep, resonant clang as it hit the bell's sides.

"Sorrow? But why him?" Even with his hands free again, Cyberhawk had the distressing tendency to trip over anything and everything in his path. He did so as he spoke, and swore under his breath while trying to keep up with Jynx

For her part, the rogue glanced back at her captive and sighed inwardly. For a moment she considered giving him into Raist's keeping, but then dismissed the thought sharply. "Simple." She explained with what was extreme patience for her, "Both Hemmy and Sorrow are elven clerics. They even graduated in the same class. If Hemjold knows where Dark was, he'll have told Sorrow."

Jynx stopped, turned slowly on her heel to regard the mage. "What did you say?" She queried in a soft, dangerous voice as Cyberhawk finally came up beside her.

He made a rude sound and struck a pose that was as insolent as his tone. "You heard me. That's a crock of shit. What's the real reason?"

They stared at each other for along moment, and to her own surprise, Jynx looked away. "He just walked by. We're out of leads. We might as well try it." She muttered.

There was another long, breathless moment. Jynx raised her head and pierced the mage with a dark look. "Just shut up and follow me."