Valentine stood on the inside of the heavy wood door with her hands on the sturdy frame, fingers curled into claws that splintered the wood. In contrast, the expression on her face was calm and serene as she slowly brought her forehead to rest against the door.

"Let me be…" The murmured, though no one heard. Or perhaps someone did, because her hair was moved for a moment by a sourceless breeze, as if a ghostly hand had rested for a moment upon those bright curls.

Suddenly sparked to rare anger, Valentine spun, and opened her mouth to shout the accusations that had been on her lips since Arenelys gave up his life in the southern slums of Kieron.

Feeling all the hair on the back of her neck rise, the fighter turned slowly back, one hand going to the comforting grip of a sword hilt. Once again she felt poised on the edge of Fate, felt the future reach into the present to brush chill fingers down her spine.

For all her serenity, Valentine knew a moment's rebellion. Let someone else walk the path the gods had laid down for her. She was tired.

But the next moment, she pulled the door open. And then only just managed to block the oncoming blade with her own because her hand had been on the sword hilt. She let the steel slide down her blade harmlessly, then looked up into the face of her attacker as she unhooked her second blade and spun it effortlessly in her other hand.

Fain's eyes glittered with something that was close twin to insanity. In that moment, she knew why he was coming through her door like sunlight through darkness, why he did not even bother to speak to her. After hiding knowledge from her, the gods gave her insight in full, and she knew that Fain had come to complete the task that Menke had failed.

Valentine saw her death there in Fain's eyes, felt it as he brought his massive two-handed sword around again to crash jarringly on her own defense of steel.

It was almost a peaceful knowledge. Valentine danced away from the next attack that was skill and brute force together in delicate balance, and knew she'd fall to the bite of his sword within minutes.

Fain was so much her superior that Valentine didn't even bother to feel hope. All the simple defenses she used were to push back the inevitable, to take yet another breath of air that had suddenly become too sweet to deny.

She warred within herself even as she fought with Fain, whose wordless, deadly attacks drove her to more desperate maneuvers. Death called, and Val would have answered gratefully, but that her body was suddenly all in fear of it.

Then all her struggles, both within and without, were of no matter, because Fain's sword batted hers away and arrowed straight down towards her head. She had no time left.

In that instant between the acknowledgement of death and death itself, an image flickered between the two fighters.

Fain's blade deflected harmlessly off the sudden apparition as he shouted once in surprise. Valentine didn't even blink, but thrust her own sword home in his heart.

Wordless still, the great man died, pitched forward to the floor before her with a deafening racket as the hilt of her sword clashed against the stone.

Her voice echoed around the main room of her house, rebounded back to her again and again, and she wept. Not even the phantom that had put hand to her hair was present. Valentine spoke to the afterimage of the specter that had burned her sight for one brief moment.

"I was loved by a god." She murmured brokenly, "You never meant to change me, but I changed. And not you've set this destiny before me, but I no longer want it." With a sigh, Valentine laid her cheek on drawn-up knees and closed her eyes to the sight of Fain's cooling corpse. For a moment she wondered where DeSade and Leandra were, then felt relief that they had not seen her break down.

Isarra shook her head, her flat eyes refusing to register the blinding light of the sun. Without blinking, she corrected him. "next"

With a sigh, Sorrow reluctantly agreed. "Two days, then. It'll take me all night just to get back to Kieron anyhow." He gave his silent wife a wistful smile. "When you order the coach, they always go much faster."

The slender rogue rolled her shoulders back to loosen some of the tension there. "talk" she offered, and Sorrow laughed softly, moving close to put a warm hand on hers where it rested half-curled around the hilt of a dagger.

"That's all right. I think you've terrified enough drivers today. I don't really mind the extra time. It'll give me a chance to get some sleep."

Isarra's eyes sparked into life for a brief moment, and Sorrow looked into them without fear, saw lonely centuries of sand and evil, and a frail, recent hope. He gave his most gentle smile.

"time" She spoke, and shooed him into the coach, gave him a kiss as quick and startling as lightning, then spun herself into the shadows and vanished.

Sorrow let his head rest back against the carriage's seat and chuckled at his ancient-young wife's odd ways. The coach finally started out of Siva's high gates, and the elven cleric closed his eyes against the dusk and prepared himself for a long ride.

As such, he did not see the small figure that hurtled from the winch room to land upon the carriage roof like a near-weightless patch of night. The shadow staggered forward into the canvas bags of mail tied down to the coach and curled up into a small unnoticeable ball.

"Actually, yes. And if you'd shut up for a minute, we could get the information I need." Grabbing hold of one of the elven mage's sharply pointed ears, she glided out into the middle of the road, ignoring his protests, and said, "I am still the ArchRogue. Even if only in name."

Cyberhawk managed to shrug. "Yeah, s-" he started, then howled as Jynx twisted on his ear. He knocked her hand away and rubbed it, glaring at her. He only noticed the other woman when she finally spoke.

"aivlys knows" was all the woman murmured before she stepped into the realm of half-shadows and was gone from mortal sight.

Jynx sighed deeply and turned to stalk back into the city. "Come on, mage." She motioned Cyberhawk to follow her. "Time to go home and think."

Wisely, the mage kept his mouth shut as they traveled the cooling streets of Siva in the dusk. He couldn't help but mutter under his breath at her treatment of her prisoners. Still, he tucked his hands in the arms of his robes and stalked after her.

The elven woman blended surprisingly well into the gray shadows cast by high walls and fading light. He was hard pressed to make out her progress, trusting only the occasional flick of her cloak or click of her boots to guide him.

Having been a captive guest at Jynx's house before, he wondered if he was willing to undergo the same mistreatment a second time. Some demon of his subconscious made him shrug. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. At least following the ArchRogue around was more exciting than yet another argument over spell lore with Hecubus.

He was getting tired, though. The only sleep he'd gotten in the last two days had been the result of falling unconscious. The base of his neck sparked occasionally as if to remind him that many times he'd been forcibly removed to oblivion.

"Hey." He called up ahead, squeezing between two merchants arguing volubly in the exact middle of the narrow lane. Jynx paused, surrounded by a group of teenagers. Though they ranged in race from dwarf to giant, they all managed to look identical; their clothes and hair virtually clones of each other.

"Don't you think you should wait up for me?" He panted as he finally come through the knot of loud teenagers who'd barely noticed him so intent were they on posing and boasting to each other.

Jynx was a gray statue with burning eyes that didn't move at all while the mage caught his breath, painfully aware of how unfit he was. "I'm your victim of the day, after all."

"Hey chick! Ditch the weakling and come check me out! I can show you some REAL magic, baby!" The raucous call was accompanied by a thrust of the elven teen's hips that any exotic dancer would have envied.

Cyberhawk opened his mouth to retort, but Jynx was already moving. A moment later the unwise youth was curled on the ground in a fetal position, his breath whistling high and painful through his teeth. His companions were already melting away from Jynx's glare.

With a disgusted look, she spun and stalked off, with Cyberhawk hot on her heels. Wisely he chose not to interrupt her again.

They walked side by side beneath the pristine white arch that lead up to Jynx's front door. The mage felt their approach trigger several spells; at least one a set of wards over the grounds. He looked around with interest - he'd never gotten the chance to actually see the manor. It was a quiet, elegant place; all white stone and green shadow, set back in the extensive park that surrounded Sidnee's home. The goddess' low mansion could barely be seen through the trees. It was far enough to give the illusion of freedom, but Cyberhawk knew it was only that - an illusion.

"Nice place." He commented as the rogue changed direction to walk through the lush, cool gardens around the house toward the back.

A preoccupied grunt was the only reply he received. His thoughts turned heavily toward sleep. Cyberhawk was so tired, he'd have locked himself in a room as guarantee of his captivity., if the room had a comfortable bed. He was starving, too, having been without food the day. At least Jynx had thought of him long enough to buy him an ale at the bar, but even that small amount of alcohol was not sitting well on his empty stomach.

As if in answer to his prayers, there was a banquet laid out on the circular table on the patio, the food hot enough to send tantalizing tendrils of steam into the air.

"I didn't see any servants." He noted as he was abruptly forced to sit in a chair by means of a slender but undeniably strong hand on his shoulder.

Jynx continued onward and sat, gestured toward the mage's setting. "Sidnee had the spell set up to be triggered when I walked through the arch. Eat."

"No wine?" He queried as she pushed her plate away and rested her elbows on the table, nibbling thoughtfully at the fresh fruit between sips of water.

"No. I keep most of my money tied up in land deeds and new ventures, so I rarely waste pocket money on such things." Her amusement was mild at Cyberhawk's shocked expression. "Did you expect all rogues to be drunken morons?"

Basbear shook his head violently as he stood outside the closed doors of the rogue hall in a vain attempt to shake Nyx's piercing voice from his memory. Already he could feel a headache coming on.

The filthy streets of Kieron unfolded before him, and he paced the small town like a caged, dangerous animal, blind to everything but his own disappointment. It loomed large in his mind, and the half-elf could do nothing to avoid it.

His feet lead him, all unwary, to the town bar. After a moment's concession to caution, Basbear pushed open the door and went in. He would either get drunk, a purse, or a fight in the dubiously friendly environs of Kieron's only drinking establishment.

In search of temporary oblivion, Basbear stalked through the din, nimbly stepping over a unconscious man and relieving another of his purse as the rogue passed him. With the few coppers from the drunk's wallet, he bought himself an ale, downing the thin, watery stuff with a grimace as he turned to face the crowded room to find better prospects.

Slowly he moved into the shadows just off the bar, where a handful of semi-private booths had been erected for those able to pay for them.

"We have a bar at home." He accused as he slid into the empty seat across from his mother. A half-empty firebreather sat fizzing contentedly to itself between her slender hands.

"So why are you drinking here, then?" She asked in amusement, then noted the second purse in his hands. "Ah. Keeping your skills up." The wallet was fatter than his first. Basbear drained it dry of silver and gold and tossed the empty leather on the floor.

He waved aside her banter as the waitress brought over another firebreather. He downed half of it, then set it aside, laying his large hands gently over his mother's.

Valentine shrugged, drew a fingertip through the beads of water on the outside of her glass and looked up at her son for a long, shrewd moment before speaking. "I don't know, dear. You're right. Something big IS happening, but I don't know what it is. I do know we both have our parts yet to play." At that, her eyes grew uncharacteristically hard, and Basbear rocked back a little in his seat.

Valentine growled at her son, her fingers curling into fists on the table. "Oh he's in this up to his pointy spectral ears, the bastard. He's got me so wound up I don't know what's going on anymore." Suddenly weary, Valentine sat back and covered her tiny face with her hands.

"I'm only getting vague hints and feelings now." She muttered into her hands. "If I didn't know better, I'd say my late husband and god was avoiding me."

Valentine laughed softly and sent a query winging out into the void that surrounded her thoughts as Basbear growled away a drunk with an eye for the faerie.

"Yes, dear." Suddenly the headache that had prowled around the back of her head all day took hold of her mind with both hands and shook hard. "Where are you staying tonight? I think I need to get out of here."

"My boat. Come on, I'll take you." Basbear finished his drink in one practiced swallow and rose to take his mother's arm.

"Bullshit. Every time I turn my back, you're off somewhere, chasing a prophecy and trying to get yourself killed. Well not this time." Grimly he led her toward the exit of the dive, all thoughts of crime forgotten. The crowd seemed to part magically before them and close together once they'd passed. "Is that blood on your cloak?" He accused. "I knew it! You've been fighting without me!"

Basbear grumbled under his breath as he held the door open. "Don't you have any sense of self-preservation, mother? Azi's balls… I'm going to stay with you tomorrow. Whichever destiny decides to lead you around by the nose will have to deal with me."

The dark mage cast an amused glance at his consort, drew her hand through his arm and swept into the black marble foyer of the Hellfire club.

Comfortable noise wrapped around them and invited them deeper into the place. A waiter seemed to materialize out of nowhere to touch two fingers to Raist's arm.

"A table is prepared for you, dark mage. This way, please." At Raist's elegant inclination of his head, the young man lead them with deference through the late dinner crowd to a secluded table by one of the huge windows that caught the light of the three moons.

Trea tugged her new dress down a bit more over her bare thighs and sat down, wondering at the atmosphere that almost hinted at romance.

"Everything is taken care of for the time being." Raist picked up the conversation as if no time had passed. "Tonight at least I have time for other pleasures."

"You're the Master." Trea shrugged, glanced down at her menu. She didn't understand a word of it. "You're ordering, right?"

Without thinking, Trea reached out across the table in her best, shortest black dress and put her hand over his, almost feeling the heat of the pain through his flesh.

For a moment the dark mage looked startled, then he gently took her hand off his and returned it to her, skeletal fingers delicate on her skin.

He didn't say a word of thanks, but he also didn't rub at the scars again, and his near-silent breathing seemed easier.

"Umm…" She wondered if she was about to destroy the rare moment of peace between them. "Because your sigil is glowing."

Frowning, Raist lifted it out of his robes. It was indeed glowing pale gold, but so faintly that only Trea's sharp eyes had seen it in the dimness of the restaurant.

"What? Are you kidding?" Cyberhawk gaped as he watched his kidnapper stand up at the other end of the table and check the contents of her money pouch thoughtfully. "It's an hour after sunset already! I need sleep."

Against his own will, Cyberhawk was impressed by the woman. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get out of his chair again before sunrise, and she was already moving toward the house.

He drowsed - slouched in his robes - as she rummaged through the glass display cases in the livingroom, still in his sight. Let her worry about Raist's directives. He had no obligation as her prisoner to do anything but fold his hands over his ribs, drop his chin to his chest, and snooze.

Jynx looked up once while she was searching for what she needed, then realized with some disgust that the mage wasn't about to make an escape from the cool confines of the patio any time soon. He wasn't about to do anything, except perhaps get a pain in his back from snoring while sprawled so uncomfortably in his chair.

With a little sigh, she found the small medallion on the gold chain that Basbear had surrendered up to her in exchange for not fingering him as Lodana's real murderer.

The intricate triple clasp that she opened was specially designed to foil even the most dexterous of thieves. Basbear had spent a full day showing her how to understand the complicated series of twists and delicate locks that closed the chain.

In contrast, the medallion looked hardly worth the trouble to protect it from pickpockets. It was no more than an ancient gold coin, slipped - so legend claimed - from the purse of a god.

With it securely around her neck, Jynx smiled thinly at the irony of the complicated clasp created solely for the sake of a pilfered coin. It was the only badge of office that the rogues had ever honored.

Satisfied, she strode out of the house to wake Cyberhawk by the simple expedient of tipping his chair up until he fell out.

He made a face at her from the tangle of robes and limbs he'd fallen into, and Jynx inwardly sighed. She'd had the greatest of the rogues at her command and then thrown him away, and for what? A very junior, very inept scholar mageling. A man who couldn't even free himself from bondage with a spell that Jynx knew every adolescent wizard learned, almost as soon as they took on the robes of the novice.

For a moment, she missed Basbear. There'd always been electricity between them; the sort of uncertain energy that kept Jynx on her toes. Reluctantly she turned her attention to the man.

Cyberhawk groaned as he put slender hands on his knees and pushed himself upright. Those hands hadn't known more trauma than a few papercuts, whereas hers were crossed again and again with the white lines of old scars that reminded her of her own apprenticeship and those times she'd not been fast enough to escape without damage.

Deep in her own regret, the ArchRogue closed up her house while her wizard captive swayed and looked longingly at the cool grass.

"No sleep until we get to the coach." She admonished, and let him all unresisting through the relatively quiet avenues of Siva, her hand tucked around his upper arm.

Her support was repeatedly the only thing that saved him from sprawling headlong into the street after tripping over something unidentifiable. Or more likely; his own feet.

Her face unseen in the dim light, Jynx rolled her eyes, "Do you know why rogues make better assassins than mages? You could simply annihilate someone with a word, after all."

"Uhh…" She waited almost patiently as the gears in Cyberhawk's tired brain clicked over with agonizing slowness. "You're cheaper."

"That." Jynx conceded as they drew into the central square of Siva, stepping into the small circle of light that surrounded the waiting carriage. "And the simple fact that a rogue will not waste time on things like sleep before the kill is made. After that… Then we sleep." She nodded to the driver as he tipped his hat.

"Azi's damn staff." The mage muttered as he climbed into the coach and slumped back in one seat. "You'd get too tired or too focused to defend yourself from anyone but the person you kill. What happens to the ones who aren't fast enough or smart enough to make the kill quickly and quietly?"

"They die." Jynx curled up in the opposite seat and pulled once on the twisted cord that hung by her shoulder. At the sound of the bell, the carriage lurched forward into motion. "It's an effective method of ensuring we stay the best."

"Sounds suicidal to me." Cyberhawk sighed and snuggled deeper into his chair, his mind obviously more on sleep than the conversation. "Where're we going anyhow?"

"To see Nyx. She's been paying Aivlys to spy lately, so she'll know where he is. And if she's the one…" The elven woman shrugged in the darkness, the carriage light casting a faint glow through the glass to touch her cheek. "Then my work is done."

Jynx smiled wryly in spite of herself, then turned to stare out the window into the familiar night, her thoughts and the stars both fleetingly at peace.

She counted the miles off one by one in the small, quiet carriage, with Cyberhawk sleeping soundly across from her. Pensively she considered the sound, then decided it didn't bother her as much as she thought it would. She put her feet up on his side and relaxed.

"Okay. Thank you." The novice bowed at Sorrow's words and left him alone in the silence of the room. After a long moment, he lifted the single page up to the cool blue light of Caspia's largest moon.

Apprehension ran delicate fingers up his spine. He'd been in Siva looking for Aivlys at the very moment that the rogue had left the message for him at the Cleric hall. The knowledge chimed oddly in the back of his mind.

Thoughtfully, the cleric laid the parchment down on his desk and rubbed his forehead again. At the very least, he had the night to sleep; the docks wouldn't be open until sunrise.

Sorrow stretched out on his long, sturdy bed and put his hands behind his head, his yellow-green eyes piercing the darkness above. He wondered why Aivlys had trusted the note but not the package to the honorable clerics, instead leaving his parting gift in the hands of the dubiously reliable wharf vendors.

"I'm getting something!" Hecubus cried, his brow beaded with sweat. "Damn." The image between his hands faded into black and then vanished completely.

"You're certainly not going to be a mage of import like me if you keep failing on a simple scry. Give over." Absently Blackmage plunged a hand into the water of Hecubus' scrying bowl and waved his fingers through the air, scattering drops over the table, the two magi, and the floor.

Almost immediately a picture formed of Cyndre, slumped unconscious in a dark and featureless room. "See? One day you'll be able to set aside the bowl of the novice and scry as easily as breathing."

"See what?" Hecubus muttered. Blackmage looked back sharply at the image that he'd turned his back on to declaim his magical power. The spectral Cyndre was gone. Only a fading black smudge on the air betrayed that a scry had ever hovered there.

"Obviously Raist is not at home to visitors today." With a shrug, Blackmage was already turning away to the door. It seemed an opportune time to avail himself of Cyndre's best, oldest vintages, while the young mage was not present to complain.

"Of course not. We'll as Raist to release him tomorrow. Today we must concentrate on Nyx and Nadcorp." Feeling the warmth of impending heroism fill his belly once more, Blackmage struck a pose. "Evil races toward the helpless magi on fleet foot, and we must be at the vanguard of all that is ranged against it!"

"Getting a little ahead of yourself aren't you?" An amused voice stopped him before he touched the handle of the door. Slowly Blackmage turned around to cast a suspicious glance at the novice mage, but Hecubus only squeaked and stared at a spot just above his shoulder.

The kiss of steel made itself felt along his throat, and Blackmage's desire for grandiose actions took a sudden back seat to prudence.

"Will wonders never cease." Was the ancient rogue's wry reply. Blackmage was one of the oldest mortals on Caspia, but Nadcorp had been old even when the mage was a child. He waited on Nadcorp's whim.

"Not to worry, mage. I'm not wanting you cold in the ground just yet. Make yourself comfortable. This is a friendly discussion." The blade moved away, and Blackmage sat abruptly in his favorite chair, refusing the urge to put fingers to his neck. Nadcorp circled around to give Blackmage a genial smile, but his dagger remained naked and threatening.

Suddenly there was a loud thump behind him, and the rogue turned his head to see the source of the noise. Hecubus had fainted.

"They don't make `em like they used to." He noted mournfully, then hoisted himself onto the table to sit cross-legged facing Blackmage, still as nimble and ageless as he'd been when the mage had first met him.

Blackmage glanced at Hecubus' scrying bowl. Nearly touching Nadcorp's knee it was, but the water hadn't moved at all, though he'd swung up onto the table and sat down without seeming to notice the bowl.

"So… Friendly discussion." He pried his fingers one by one from where they'd dug instinctively into the chair's arms. "Umm… So what can I do for you?"

"It's about this thing you've got going." The steel of Nadcorp's dagger flickered as it passed through his hands in an exercise so fast that the blade appeared to move by magic. Mesmerized, Blackmage stared at it. "You seem to think I'd brand you myself, then hire a fighter and another rogue to kill you. Kind of seems silly…"

"If I wanted you dead, I'd slit your skinny throat myself. I certainly wouldn't waste time getting someone else to do it, would I?"

"So obviously you must be looking for someone else, neh? Nyx and I are… Innocent of this particular crime. I'd say you'd have better luck getting your revenge on the real enemy."

"Well then I'm glad we settled this like thoughtful men." Nadcorp leapt off the desk gracefully and clapped the mage on the shoulder as he shrank back in his chair. "You know how annoyed Nyx gets over these little misunderstandings. You're just lucky you didn't have to deal with her!" With a hearty chuckle, Nadcorp sheathed his dagger and faded into the shadows as Blackmage shuddered.

Blackmage sat for a very long time without moving in his chair, Hecubus sprawled awkwardly over the floor at his feet.

With a deep sigh, he eventually rose and knelt by the novice mage, slapping his cheeks none too lightly to wake him. "Come on, Hec. Time to wake up."

"You had a vision, man." The elder wizard was a suave and practiced liar, "You said that Nyx and Nadcorp were innocent. It was quite moving."

"You thought it was high time we rescued Cyndre from durance vile." Blackmage interrupted mildly, rising and offering the other man a hand up. Hecubus gratefully accepted.

"Yes, yes. It was awe-inspiring. Wish you'd been awake to hear yourself." Blackmage tugged his robes straight with impatience. "And now we must follow your directives. I'll find a place near the Tower that we can teleport to safely. The most important task falls to you, since you were the visionary."

Cyndre wasted no time with anger or shock. He'd not risen to his high position so quickly by catering to his own emotions. Moments after he'd woken in one of Raist's starkly elegant and extremely secure cellar rooms, he'd already started to prowl the perimeter, testing the walls with hands and magic, searching for a way out.

Nor did he give into despair when his prison proved tight against his first examinations. He sat calmly on the ground, soft black robes a pool around him, and began to consider the structure of the cage that held him.

It was a clever design, created specifically to thwart even the most powerful and crafty mage. He graciously allowed himself a moment to appreciate the grace of the shield's construction.

Then he systematically began to tear at the walls both physical and magical with a deadly series of spells, forcing his power into every crack, every weakness of the cage. His pale, composed face became obscured by the tornado of his strength as he sat in the exact center of enough energy to kill him many times over.

Calmly he controlled the wild magic with a sure hand. When the ironbound door flew open, he drew the deadly magic back into himself without a murmur and regarded a sight that made him shudder inside.

"Don't just sit there, you moron!" The specter screeched at him and gestured with a hand that had obviously been acquired by an inept corpse-stealer. Swollen with disease, it did not match any other limb of the patchwork horror.

"Well it sure as shit ain't a tea party!" Cyndre's dubious savior stamped out into the chill, subterranean hallway. The smell of old earth lingered in the air, and the mage looked about him with interest, storing the knowledge of the cell and its location away in case he needed it at a later time.

"We don't have time for guessing games, you coward." The eyes - the color of leaves in shade - rolled madly as the mutant shambled down the hallway, taking Cyndre with him. Bright, brilliant hair stood out on its head and shook as it muttered profanity under its breath, starting up the stairs at the end of the hall.

"Figured it out, did you. I guess they're still singing my praises at the mage tree even after all these years." He led Cyndre through the large, shimmering portal at the top of the stairs, and into a high-ceilinged gallery on the other side.

"Not exactly." The elf murmured as he paused to admire a particularly fine portrait of the mortal Sidnee on one wall. "They generally say you were a loud, obnoxious womanizer who couldn't manage any language but profanity fluently and they're glad you're gone."

"Bah! They never knew what they had!" The mutant griped bitterly as they went down another set of stairs and out the front door, past the silent gatehouse.

"He killed his wife?" Curious where he had not been before, Cyndre followed the mutant into the wastelands that surrounded Raist's Tower, where to be lost was to die.

"Don't interrupt me when I'm talking! I'm the leader! Shut up! Shut up!" Nearly hopping with rage, the mutant picked up his pace until he fairly flew across the sand. With a shrug of unassailable patience, Cyndre murmured under his breath and floated after the litltle man, politely flying at half a step behind.

"I want revenge… Revenge for Pepper's murder." Rob muttered - seeming to forget Cyndre's presence, or too far-gone in insanity to care. "I nearly had her in my bed. She died without ever tasting Heaven… Begging for…" His voice faded away as he darted between the black trees, then rose again, "Revenge! Yes… I knew his plans… I know who's bed he's been trying to get into again…"

Cyndre trailed along, his presence obviously forgotten, until Rob stopped abruptly in the dark midst of the grove. "We must warn the mages! They couldn't scry their own asses without me. We must warn hem… Tsfaru is coming!"

"The docks! The docks, you stupid child! We need to go to the hall!" Alarmed by Rob's sudden lucidity and the threat of the water daemon so close to Kieron, Cyndre tested the winds of magic.

"I still can't teleport here. We need to get back to Siva." He looked around thoughtfully, but only black trees met his eyes.

"In exchange for saving you. Yes… Your little rogue wife with the temper. I want her. I will tame her… I'll get a harem… And a statue dedicated to me! In the main square… And women…"

Rob's gloating was slowly cut off as Cyndre launched himself at the mutant and wrapped his slender fingers around that filthy neck.

Hecubus shivered and kept close behind Blackmage as the elder mage strode carelessly through Raist's eerie forest.

"Umm… Even if he's gone, wouldn't he leave monsters and stuff to guard his place?" The novice worried, casting his eyes everywhere, waiting for that first, terrible creature to leap from the ominous scenery and charge them.

"He said it was more economical to wait until victims got to the Tower and then kill them rather than spend extra time and effort transporting the corpses."

"Don't worry, I've g-" The sound of something large dying interrupted his words. "What the hell is that?" Blackmage moved instinctively toward the dreadful noise. After a terrifying moment alone, Hecubus followed.

"I wish I was." The young mage tucked his hands in the arms of his robes and glanced at the huddled form with a sigh. "He says Tsfaru is preparing to attack Kieron as we speak. Raist is obviously involved."

"No. I beat him up because he reminded me of you." He retorted mildly, "We should teleport to the mage hall now, and find out if he's telling the truth."

"We'll blast the daemon into oblivion! I'll be hailed as a hero!" Blackmage proclaimed, the light of glory sparking fires in his eyes, "Women will flock to me in droves."

Hearing his name, the novice paused in fearfully scanning the forest, "We're getting out of here?" His expression was one of great relief.

"Go ahead." The goddess waited until he'd settled back into his chair behind the huge, expensive desk of the ArchMage and was puffing contentedly away.

"I need you to go on vacation for a little while. Just a couple days. I'll send you anywhere you want to go." Sidnee tried out her sweetest, most hopeful look.

"Hmm… I admit it's been a long time since I set foot outside Kieron." He mused, "I take it your plans are not exactly legal. What do I get in exchange for my absence?"

"I know of your interest in a certain married woman." Her words were bold, and Mordock coughed and went red in the face from embarrasment. "I can make her… Not married."

"Oh really." Suddenly calm, the handsome gentleman sucked thoughtfully on his pipe, "Your scheme must be really important to ou if you're offering me that. But…" He sighed with dramatic regret, "My price just went up. How much is this worth to you, my dear? Your own hand in marriage?"

"A century or two ago, yes." Seemingly at his ease, Mordock folded his hands over his chest and regarded her as if from a great emotional distance, "You chose Raist. He always was more powerful than I. Even then." Some memory made the ArchMage chuckle.

"Really? You'd marry me just to ensure that I'm not around here for a few days?" The man smiled still as appealing in his amusement as he'd been over a hundred years ago, when he'd suded Sidnee for the honor of being her husband.

Inwardly the goddess gloated. Her schemes would succeed, and Caspia would be hers, all for the price of a husband who could e so easily and so fatally proven mortal.

Mordock rose with elegant grace and walked around the massive desk to lift one of her yellow hands and place a kiss in her palm. "It was lovely to see you again, my dear. You look as radiant as you always did."

"You dare!" Sidnee thundered, and her voice held the echoes of death. Banished earlier, the golden glow of her immortal power returned at once, and the man was bathed in the light.

"You can't actually hurt me, you know." He commented politely, "One of those little restrictions they never get around to telling you new gods. Raist was pretty annoyed when he found out." Mordock smiled at the memory, and at the dark look on Sidnee's face as she seethed impotently.

Enraged beyond words, the goddess could do nothing but vanish from the ArchMage's office, to take out her ire in the immortal sphere.

"About damn time." Hecubus muttered as the three magi and their unconscious cargo appeared in the elegant, dimly lit main hall of the mage tree.

"Hey. You could have walked, pup. I didn't need to teleport you." Panting, Blackmage stumbled toward the side counter even as he snarled at the novice.

Cyndre was skeptical. "I fail to see how those two statements relate. And I'd like to point out that you weren't the one carrying Rob." His words were punctuated by a thump as the young mage let the mutant's body tumble to the floor.

Blackmage didn't answer. His two hands were curled possessively around the smooth belly of the decanter that was kept on hand to fortify failing spellcasters. He lifted the mouth of the jar to his lips and proceeded to drink deep.

"Now I consult with the ArchMage to see if he has any information. And you…" The prodigy clapped a hand on Hecubus' shoulder, and he cringed. "Will go down to the docks to see what may be seen."

"Oh my." Cyndre finished in a murmur, and glided away on silent feet without a single word of aid. The sound of the door closing behind the mage was ominously final.

Hecubus sighed and cast a glance at Blackmage, whose attention extended only as far as the decanter's rounded bottom. No help would be coming from that quarter.

Feeling vastly sorry for himself, he trudged out of the room by one of the many other doors that lead into the maze of the mage tree above. He wondered if Cyberhawk was doing any better.

"Arrogant. Self-centered. Pompous. Loud-mouthed." Each epithet was underscored by the thunk of a slim, deadly dagger into the back of the empty chair where the former ArchRogue had sat mere hours ago.

Amused, Nadcorp kicked his feet up on the table, bootheels on the stack of maps and notes his wife used to keep track of the rogues, and watched her pace angrily.

"Last one was starting to favor your right." He commented lightly, gesturing at the thin blade that was just slightly off-target. In response, Nyx snarled and flipped the dagger she was holding from her right hand to her left, and sent it straight at Nadcorp.

"Better." He conceded, and pulled the steel free, rising in a graceful movement and tossing the weapon to his wife. "You've been in here for days, hon. You need some sun." The fact that the night was deep in darkness was something he chose to ignore.

Nyx caught and sheathed the dagger, the stalked to the assaulted chair to retrieve its fellows. "I can't go out until I deal with that fool. I need someone to follow him. His fantasies are going to get him killed, and he's the ArchRogue, if in name only."

"Right?" She exploded, "He comes in here saying Sidnee's going to kill him over a cat and then he tells me I have to pull every rogue out of Caspia and wage war on the gods!" Seething, Nyx returned to her pacing of the perimeter of the vast undergound rogue hall, all thoughts of relaxation forgotten.

Nadcorp watched her appreciatively for a while, then hoisted himself up on the table to sit cross-legged, elbows on knees and chin on interlaced fingers.

"From Basbear's lips? I doubt it. You know as well as I that he was cozy with Jynx, and she's Sidnee's, bought and paid for."

"Yeah." Chewing on her bottom lip, Nyx paused in mid-stride to think, "But I've got every half-decent rogue out at least half a day from here."

His wife took a step toward him in surprise, "You'd follow him? But you haven't done that for years. You said you hated it."

"I said it bored me. And Basbear's probably more exciting than something like the ArchMage, who manages to trip over his own robes nine times out of ten." He slipped from his perch on the table to grab Nyx's wrists in an unbreakable hold, grinning at the dangerous look that sparked in the depths of her eyes. "I'll go make sure he doesn't get himself killed. You do paperwork. Then we'll have a vacation tomorrow. Go out and pick some poor kids dry."

Nyx grumbled and sat abruptly in the chair her husband had vacated, giving the pitted surface of the other, much abused seat an angry glance before devoting her attention to the maps on the table.

With hundreds of thieves, assassins, and other lawless characters operation throughout Caspia and in the twin cities of Kieron and Siva, it took her hours to keep track of where her best rogues were, and even longer to sort out the information she received from them.

She rubbed the beginning of a knot in her shoulder and seriously contemplated creating a new position of secretary just so that she, as operating ArchRogue, could get a day or two of peace.

Her temper was unpredictable lately. She was bored with tracking rumor and whisper across the continent without ever moving outside the walls of the rogue hall. She wondered how Basbear had managed to take care of all the myriad, detestable details of controlling the empire of criminals that worked all over Caspia.

Then she realized in disgust that he'd never bothered. He didn't care what the rogues did, just as long as they didn't do it to him.

Thwarted! By the one man who'd never been able to deny her. She'd offered her own hand in marriage, and he'd still said no. Sidnee stalked the misty paths of the land of the gods.

Jynx caught his wrist before it hit her nose and sighed yet again, burying the desire to snap the delicate bones with one effortless move.

The young, inept mage had somehow curled his long body up onto the carriage's seat during the long ride, and would nto be woken no matter how much Jynx tried.

In exasperation, she finally dragged him to the floor of the coach and put a hand on his ches,t thinking hard while he drifted back to sleep. His heart beat slow and sure beneath her touch.

"Ow." Rubbing at his tender chest, Cyberhawk glared at Jynx. "You could have just punched my shoulder or something." The small magical detonation she'd set off against his ribs still sparked sharp pains in his hands and feet as he carefully got out of the carriage, wide awake and near to twitching with adrenaline caused by the attack.

The mage picked up his pace, trailing close behind her as they walked west along Main Street in Kieron. "Where did you learn to cast a magic missile anyhow?"

His chest hurt unbearably though. And opening his eyes to see Jynx's annoyed face had been an experience somewhat pleasant, but mostly terrifying, and one he didn't care to repeat any time soon.

Scowling and rubbing his burned skin, he followed Jynx with only part of his attention on his surroundings, engrossed in his own misery. He knew they'd gone deeper into the slums that grew up against the western wall of the city like mold, but he hadn't fully realized the woman's deinstaion until Jynx stopped in front of a huge old warehouse with wide windows full of broken glass that glared sightlessly down at him.

"There?" He yelped, "But I can't! It's the RogueHall. I'll be…" A finger across his throat outlined his future if he entered the building.

"I don't have to take this." The mage muttered and followed the dusty path around the warehouse, stepping on the walkway made by a thousand pairs of feet. "I could freeze you right now and walk away."

The bukl of the Hall towered over him, majestic in its dereliction. It was as old as the mage tree, but where the tree sparked with life and magic at every turn, the warehouse was long dead and stood like the carcass of some long forgotten, mythical monster, and not even the rightful dead dared haunt its bones.

Jynx stalked behind him noiselessly, her tone unimpressed. "You could. But I'd just hunt you down again and kill you."

Cyberhawk couldn't think of a single reply. He tucked his hands in his robes and continued along the path, surrounded by silence.

The track led through the empty remains of another, older slum, weaving between hovels, sometimes nearing the warehouse, sometimes wandering away from it.

"Stop." Jynx directed, and Cyberhawk stopped, poised between boredom and terror. The brutal welcome for trespassers upon the property of the RogueHall was legendary, and he was half-certain the woman was about to exercise some of those legends on his flesh. On the other hand, all he'd encountered so far was dirt and disrepair - any chance from monotony, even an attack by Jynx, would be welcome.

While he'd pondered, his kidnapper had already moved ahead and was opening the faded wood door that still hung closed by some miracle though the shack all about it was halfway to a pile of rubble and wood.

The interior was neither a hidden hall of grandeur, nor a room as abused as the exterior. Nothing more frightening than an empty, dusty chamber met his eyes. Jynx was already disappearing past the first turning of the stairs that circled down into deeper darkness.

Hurrying to catch up, he soon found himself stumbling over the stairs, his hands getting filthy by holding fast to the wooden central spire, unable to see anything in the artificial night that pressed in on him.

He descended further, wondering how crazy he must be to follow the silent rogue into the darkness and not double back on his own steps and run for his life.

"Nice entrance." Nyx commented as he spat out dust and looked up to see her standing over him, arms crossed over her chest. From where he could see, the fingers of one hand tapped absently on the hilt of a dagger almost completely concealed in her cloak.

"Thanks." Cyberhawk regained his feet and brushed at the dirt on his robes in vain, for the velvet stayed muddy grey where he'd fallen, and deep, soft black everywhere else. He peered again at the dangerous woman, tilting his head forward even as she looked up at him, "Damn, you're short."

"I wasn't going to kill him now. I would have waited until you were out of the way." Two daggers appeared in her hands even as she spoke, and Cyberhawk took a step back, not trusting that promise. She struck out toward Jynx, and the woman somehow deflected the attack with steel that appeared in her hands with a speed that was almost magical. "So what brings you here. Sidnee want to talk to me?"

"Things have changed. I'm here on my own." Jynx's spine was stiff as she blocked another bladed thrust and danced out of reach of the next. Then she was spinning into the attack, moving past Nyx's hand to tap her dagger against the woman's arm.

And then they were sheathing their weapons and standing there as if nothing had happened. Cyberhawk's mind boggled.

"They must have changed a whole hell of a lot for you to dare to bring a mage in here. Either you explain why in the next couple minutes, or I slit his throat. Either way, my day gets interesting."

"Valentine? But… Oh hell." Jynx swayed slightly where she stood, and Cyberhawk meant to take a step back toward the stairwell. If the woman should suddenly become weak enough to let Nyx attack him, he wanted to be as near to escape as possible. He truly meant to take a step back, but that was not the direction his body moved.

There was a long pause as they both seemed to consider the implications of a god war. Then Nyx moved, and all Cyberhawk knew was the cold touch of a blade near his ear.

As a reply, Jynx undid the clasp of her cloak and pulled out a tarnished gold coin that dangled from a chain around her neck.

"That's between him and me. But it means I can do whatever I damn well please, up to and including bringing a mage in here."

The human woman grumbled, but moved away from him, taking her dagger with her. Cyberhawk breathed a prayer of thanks to whichever god was listening, while Jynx continued. "If the gods go to war, you'll need to pull every rogue out of Caspia. Our army would defeat anything the other classes could throw at us."

"Funny." Nyx sighed, and regarded the table with its scattered piles of parchment, "That's what Basbear said, too."

"That reminds me." Jynx's hands went to the intricate clasp at the back of her neck. She tossed a handful of gold to the small human. "It's yours now. Where's Basbear?"

"Somewhere around the docks, he said." Nyx's hand closed around the coin and the chain and she nodded thoughtfully, "Don't think I've forgotten what you said, boy." She directed at Cyberhawk, then moved away from them both, "Now get out of here before I kill you."

"Understand, hell! I understood that you were going to let that maniac woman slice me up into mage canapes! And you were busy trading jewellry! You two must be sisters or something!"

Jynx sighed and stopped in the middle of the slums, bringing her tagalong mage up short behind her. "Look," She said reasonably, "I'm carrying enough steel and various other toys to make your life a lot more miserable than it already is, and the only person who would hear you scream is the maniac woman you just met."

To her amazement, the young mage did not look away when he knew she'd seen through his bluff, but continued speaking without the slightest pause, "Or I could hit you over the head as hard as possible and run like all hell."

They stood there in the carcass of Kieron's northern slums, staring at each other. Then Jynx's lip curled up against her will. She snorted once, then started to laugh.

"Nyx challenged me because she was the acting ArchRogue, and she thought I was a traitor." Softly she spoke, half for her own benefit as her mind continued to race. "But I am the official ArchRogue. Or was." She corrected herself, "Nyx is now. I passed the title to her."

"And Basbear." They came out onto the main street of Kieron and headed eastward past dark houses and darker, more sinister shadows. "I should have seen it from the beginning, but I was so intent on becoming ArchRogue" She sighed, and ignored the sound of Cyberhawk cursing about the masonry he'd tripped over. "Wife and son of Arenelys. Of course they'd want his power. And Sidnee didn't even consider them a force in her little game."

"I am not going in there." Sunk deep in her own thoughts, Jynx finally looked up at the mage as he stood, arms crossed over his chest, and refused to follow her into the bar. The sound of many loud people crammed into a handful of small rooms spilled out with the yellow light into the street.

"Why not?" She asked, annoyed. Her hand had already reached out to push aside the door when the mage's words stopped her.

She opened her mouth to say that he'd be safe with her, and frowned. "Fine. Wait here." She finally said, and in one smooth motion swung open the door and stalked into the ba,r her patience with delicate magi coming close to an end.

To his considerable surprise, Cyberhawk did wait. He set himself up comfortably against a wall in view of the door and looked up at the dark sky. It must have been early morning, although he hadn't the faintest idea what time it was.

The mage hall was no more than a handful of minutes' walk from where he stood at his ease, and yet he felt no urge to go there. If he thought hard about the whole matter, he might come up with a reason for staying, but he decided the night was too short for useless brainwork and laced his hands behind his head, looking up at the distant stars.

It was nice to finally relax… Jynx seemed to dash from one place or person to another, with hardly a thought for her own or anyone elses' health. No wonder rogues died young.

Occupied in lazy thoughts about nothing in particular, he whiled the time away until the bar door slammed open violently, and the woman stamped out, silent as always.

"No one knows where those two are. Not one person." She hissed in frustration, "They could have vanished from Caspia for all anyone knows."

"Because, you stupid child, all the magi know I was the one who branded them at Cyndre's wedding. If I walked in that mage hall right now, I'd be dead." Truthfully she added, "Probably."

The calculating look in Jynx's eye made him straighten up and assume a noble pose, which was quickly broken when she poked him in the chest and said, "So scry."

"Ow. So much for the adoration of thousands." He grumbled, "A simple thank you would have sufficed. Or maybe even please. I guess they don't teach that in the RogueHall." Muttering to himself, the mage spat in his cupped hand and raised the glowing, clear image higher so that Jynx could see. "Looks like a boat."

"Basbear's." She said, and he could feel the excitement coming off her like mist "The Scoundrel's in dock. That means they're here. We can make it to the docks before sunrise." Already she was striding off toward where the sun would rise.

"There." Jynx pointed to a low-hulled boat that sat snug up against hits mooring, one of many ships secured in the harbor. Cyberhawk raised an eyebrow at the dark portholes.

"I don't. But you will." She steered him toward the murky water of the bay. With a little sigh, the young mage knelt and reached down a long arm to touch the sea, the fabric of his robes pushed up to his shoulder.

"I can't scry Basbear." He called back softly, then felt the boards of the docks shift under Jynx's weight as she perched o her heels beside him.

"I know. Some of us have talismans to protect from prying magi." At Cyberhawk's aquerying gaze she nodded solemnly and tapped the plain silver ring on the first finger of her right hand. "Sidnee doesn't like her generals tracked. Try Valentine."

"Ahh… Right." The water around his fingers obligingly shimmered into an image of the fighter sleeping peacefully on a long, low couch that was pushed up against the gentle wooden slope of a hull. "Is that the boat?"

"Yes." At Jynx's affirmation, he flexed his hand, and the vision died. His expression was one of disgust as he wiped the filmy water off on his robes, then rose.

"Hide and seek? Was that a joke? I didn't think rogues even knew what a sense of humor was." Cyberhawk chuckled at the dark look she shot him.

"Just shut up and try to find a boat or some crates to sit behind. We could be waiting for her a long time, so make yourself as comfortable as you can." Jynx pulled the shadows around her like a cloak and settled herself against a pile of lumber planking too old and weather-torn to be used for anythign more than an obstacle upon the docks. To Cyberhawk's eye, she didn't vanish, but - more disturbingly - became a pool of deeper shadow in the darkness that his vision slid away from.

Left alone in sight of Basbear's ship, he looked around thoughtfully for somewhere to sit down, but his skin crawled at the thought of resting his robed behind on the old and likely infested boards of the docks.

Smothering a sudden, wicked grin, he ducked his head and rattled off a long, incomprehensible chant under his breath.

Jynx's short, sharp indrawn breath was all he needed to mark that the spell had worked. Standing wrapped in a spell of invisibility that no one but a demi-god could pierce, Cyberhawk debated what mischief to perform.

After all the hardship the woman had put him through, he figured it was just about time to start paying her back. But how?

"How's this for hiding?" He taunted, then tiptoed a little closer, moving so that his voice appeared to spring sourceless from several places around her. "Bet none of your rogue friends can use the shadows as well as this! Feeling jealous yet?"

Jynx remained frozen, her eyes flicking from one side of the docks to the other, her mouth set into a taut, grim line. She didn't reply, but crouched tensely in the shadows, the cloak of her talent fraying as the strain of not being able to know exactly where he was prayed on her mind and caused her body to resist the shadow's embrace. Cyberhawk could easily see her, as long as his gaze was focused on the dusky circle of her face.

Stifling an exultant laugh, he crept up behind her, and touched fingertips to her sides. "Tickle! Oof." The last spoken abruptly as Jynx's elbow connected solidly with his stomach. On one knee at her side, he caught his breath.

"But how did you know where I was?" He asked, hunching his shoulders sullenly and closing his hands into a double fist in his lap, his spell tight around him.

Jynx didn't even bother to try t see him, but kept her gaze on Basbear's ship. You make enough noise to wake the comfortably dead. I didn't need to see you. I couldn't help but hear you."

Thwarted of entertainment, the mage contemplated dark thoughts and stayed at Jynx's side, effectively chained but some distance from unhappy.

Nadcorp opened up the spell-sealed bag on his belt and pulled out a chill, perfect heart. It was beautiful in its perfection; a work of art in ruby and amethyst, blood and muscle. He spoke a word, and it faltered into life, pumping frantically to veins that were no longer attached.

Thoughtfully he stopped the valves with his fingertips and tore open the pointed base of the heart with his teeth, to drip deep of the hot, spiced nectar that lay within. Heart's blood, death's blood, the taste was like no other.

He dangled his feet over the side of the dark and empty boat; to the careless eye nothing more than a motionless piece of unidentified equipment left on deck.

Taking another long draught from the still-trembling heart, he cast his sharp gaze out beyond the maze of rigging and masts, out toward the Caspian sea. Troubled, he stood there a long time, watching the waves as they raced in his direction like millions of hungry mouths and grasping hands, longing to pul him in and devour him whole.

The first heat of the basilisk's lifeblood surged through his veins, and he could see deeper into the water that lay upon the land as a shadow that could not be pushed away. Nadcorp took one look at the undercurrents that moved sullenly there - at the hint of a titan leg pushing it's way smoothly and slowly through the waves - and sat back in shock.

An unnatural dawn grew upon the docks, and the ancient rogue took one last drink from his impromptu goblet. Even before Sidnee fully materialized from the globe of her power, he was already gone, disappeared back into the safety of Kieron's dark and winding streets.

Sidnee tilted her head back at an awkward angle to view the massive form of Tsfaru disapprovingly. With a thought, she rose up until their eyes were at a level, though her outstretched hand was not as large as the pupil in one of his great sea-colored eyes. With all her plans falling apart like mist before the sun's first light, she only hoped that the monster couldn't guess just how much of her power was vested in his hands.

"Oh damn." Hecubus muttered, his robes flying every which way as he dashed back towards the mage tree. "Oh damn. Oh damn. Oh damn." The words became a chant that was foreced rom his lungs with each pounding stride.

He flung himself beyond the doors of the hall, and nearly stumbled over his feet as he darted down the stairs to where he knew the higher magi would be, taking their ease in Cyndre's luxurious apartments.

Falling through the open door, he gasped the news into their startled faces. To a man, the magi gathered there grew pale at his words.

Sorrow squinted into the first loving rays of gold sunlight that came across the water. He was early to the docks, so he was wont to be savoring the silence and the serenity of the dawning over Caspia for a long while before the thought of Aivlys' letter brought a frown to his face.

Secure and hidden in the embrace of shadow, Dark watched the cleric as he watched the slowly rising sun. Puzzled, she wondered what demon of her subconscious had demaned she follow him through the predawn light, past the pair - rogue and mage - who stayed within the shadows.

Whatever urge had forced her there was now gone, and she lingered, with nothing better to do than peer up with feline eyes at the broad back and wonder at the ways of life that had brought her that morning in the shape she chose to wear.

From out of the water grew a beast of leged, and man made from the waves themselves. His body sleeted water, splashing back into the bay as he continued to rise, crudely fashing arms, legs, torso, and head fro the sea. A blank expression adorned his ocean visage, and without word or gesture, he raised a massive first and struck down the first, farthest picketed boats.

Shocked beyond fear, Dark could only watch as the titan strode forward again, bringing down another fist upon the docks.

"Azi…" She heard Sorrow breathe, "If he destroys the docks, Caspia will be cut off from the rest of the world." And he spun on his hell, then stopped again.

"For Caspia!" Blackmage thundered, and skidded to a halt before Sorrow. The rest of the magi; Cyndre, Mordock, Hecubus, and the mutant Rob, followed more slowly.

"Women later." Mordock coaxed the old mage toward the silently destructive daemon. "First we have to defeat Tsfaru."

"Go and run screaming into the square." The mutant advised with an uneven cackle, humor rising in his leafshade-green eyes. "We work better with an audience." At Sorrow's indignant look, the misbegotten creature stomped off, complaining loudly of the useless nature of clerics.

"What are you-" The cleric in question never got to finish, for it was then that the greatest of the magi alive on Caspia chose to attack the water daemon.

The three magi rose up in concert, their robes touched into undulating fabric waves by the wind as they floated effortlessly just above Tsfaru's head. Slowly, they backed away until the water demon stood in the exact center of their triangle.

"Should we be standing this close to the water?" Hecubus worried, unable to turn his terrified gaze away from the massive daemon that towered stories high. The murk of the Kieron harbor lapped at its knees, and to the north the tethered boats creaked and occasionally bumped against their moorings wth every movement the creature made.

"Look at it this way." With a sickening crack, Rob righted his head on his neck. "Our lives are in the hands of a child, a drunked, and a man who's only interest is a really good cigar, and playing his french horn.

At Hecubus' whimper, Sorrow mildly rebuked, "Don't scare him. I'll make sure that we have time to get away if they fail." This last was directed at the young, disturbed mage.

The mutant only spat a gob of mucus into the sea and returned his attention to the three improbable saviors of Caspia, "Look." He said, "They're starting."

Cyndre's first blast formed before him at chest height - a small, incandescent sphere of power - and arrowed toward the daemon.

"Yes." His gold eyes were more brilliant than the first promising rays of the life-giving sun. What power could a mere sky-hung orb proclaim, when Raist was there at her side, with her hand tucked in his arm? It was as if she walked alongside a darker, more coldly thrilling sun come down to earth.

They continued northwards along the main street of Siva, and none of the handful of night-denizens chose to hail them. Raist's aura of icy power fired long-forgotten survival instincts, and they drew away into the hungry shadows that still filled the spaces between buildings with a darkness as deep as secrets.

Trea was both amused and alarmed at the realization that she was drawn to that mantle of danger and death just as strongly as others were warned away. She moved closer to her Master, her long-legged stride barely powerful enough to keep up with him. At her movement, he slowed his pace slightly, and his fingers burned on the back of her hand.

Home. The Tower rose up against the lightening sky, though was not touched by the light itself. A black spire that defied the day, the sight of it caused her heart to race a little faster. She could tell by the almost painful heat of his hands where the mage's thoughs lead, and as always, she felt a delicious shiver of terrified anticipation.

"Betrayed!" He spat in quickfire rage, and then Trea was left clutching empty air. The high mage had teleported away.

The chill of her anticipation faded and became a lead weight in her stomach. Trea did not envy whoever had chosen to thwart the Master. From the thunderous look on his face before he vanished, she could guess that she would not see the cause of his anger before she passed into the next life.

At first, he was nothing more than a piece of the unending darkness. Then, bit by bit, his sense of self returned. He tried to flex that could not exist in the eternity of death that the floated in.

And as he awoke, he remembered. Black robes, a tower shrouded in midnight mist, tomes of high magic lined along deep shelves, warm under the touch of his gold-skinned skeletal hands.

Even bodiless as he was, he remembered the magic that his body contained. Icy, controlled magic that was his alone to control.

"He's fighting me!" The darkness pressed down hard upon him, but he would not be denied. He was ice - cold, unforgiving, indefeatable. He was -

Upon the black expanse of his inner sight, the great mage saw the two pale forms, knew that they had spoken and they were even now seeking to keep him from the magic that was his.

"Leandra." The Master named them, "DeSade. I wish no harm on you or yours." Though they struggled to contain his power, the air that was not air grew colder.

"We know. This isn't about us." Leandra's face wavered and lost solidity under the strain. "Destiny is stepping in."

"The gods?" As the spoke, he greedily welcomed his power back into himself, and it came - but slowly, dammed by the combined power of the dead.

The first blast caught Tsfaru in the side as he turned into it, blocking most of the attack with a massive, watery arm.

As the daemon's hand came at Cyndre, he drifted just out of reach once more, his expression inhumanly serene as he prepared another magical attack. Already Blackmage's blast had caught the creature a hard blow along his thigh, dangerously close to the churning waves of the Kieron harbor.

Mordock's attack arrowed straight for the side of Tsfaru's head, but was deflected by the daemon's hand. The ArchMage's brow deeped as he backed away and let Cyndre's second blast reach the water monster.

The mage's eyes roled toward the dark and silent bulk of the `Scoundrel, and he wondered if she'd imagined it. But no, the door to the hold banged open as if on cue, and the unmistakeable figure of Basbear rose out of it like an angel from the depths.

He did not speak as he walked to the wood gunwale and rested his hands on the dark wood, sharp eyes sweeping the docks before coming inevitable to the voiceless water daemon and the trio of magi who laid siege upon it.

Cyberhawk felt Jynx stop breathing as the half-elf's gaze passed over them. Then she eased out a slow breath in time to the approach of Valentine, who came to stand at her son's side.

Together the faerie and the half elf looked out across the timbers of the dock to where the water was churned by titan legs.

Jnx very carefully and very slowly moved her hand from Cyberhawk's mouth, though the danger to them was in no way lessened. The taut look in her eyes as he turned just as slowly was the only message he needed. If Basbear saw them now, he and Valentine could sail away in a moment, and finding them again could well be impossible.

Jynx's soul would be Raist's, and Cyberhawk would be without any sort of protection against the dark mage. Or Sidnee. Or Basbear, Nyx, Valentine… Any of the mortals and immortals he'd managed to annoy in the last few weeks.

He sent up a prayer to the gods, then to Azi, father of wizardry. After a moment's thought, he also prayed ot the heroes that had given up their lives to protect Caspia in the great war between Azi and Ridorthu, deciding it wouldn't hurt. He had a nagging suspicion that he'd forgotten one.

"Muriel… Gythulu… J'heru… Valkyr…" He breathed as he ticked off names on his fingerips, trying to figure out which godlike hero he'd likedly offended by omission.

A roar of water cut his worries short, and he turned his attention to the water daemon who was still being harried by the three magi. Out of the cornerof his eye, he could see Jynx, who hadn't even turned, but still watched her quarry without so much as a twitch.

Suicidal rogues, Cyberhawk thought to himself as an arm as big as one of the mage tree's main branches fell into the murky water. A wave rose unnaturally and pushed out to sea, fighting its shore-bound siblings.

Tsfaru turned with the blow, letting its severed arm fall even as it kept turning, good arm reaching out with massive fingers to bat Cyndre out of the sky. Cyberhawk's breath left his body, and on the docks he could hear Hecubus' choked gasp clearly.

The mage fell, his robes like black wings streaming behind him. Cyberhawk heard Blackmage start to curse, and the ancient man's voice held fear. Mordock said nothing, but grimly sent another blast straight at the daemon's face.

Though Blackmage scrambled to pull in his own magic for an attack, it was obvious that he wouldn't strike the daemon in time for Mordock to free himself from the paralysis that befell every mage who drew in so much of the world's magic.

Cyndre's unconscious body stopped a man's height from the hungry sea, surrounded by a glow that was not so much sickly as diseased. The unknown power yawned and buckled around him, the greasy air moving sluggishly over his limp form.

Rob shouted, a long, drawn-out groan, as Cyndre shot back up into the sun-kissed sky, gaining speed as he rose. The young mage'' eyes suddenly snapped open, and he spoke a single word.

The daemon paused and turned his head slightly to see who had struck him from the quarter where his foe had lain defeated. It wasn't much of a pause, but enough. Blackmage's blast raced toward Tsfaru as Rob crumpled.

"Betrayed." Raist snarled, his nonexistant fingers curling into claws, clutching at his power. To be thwarted in his plans was bad enough, but by someone such as Rob! It was not to be borne. He culd never keep his promise to Sidnee unless he could break free and destroy those who kept Tsfaru at bay. And Rob, as well. But first… He had to escape.

"Then do something! Val said to hold him until the daemon was dead!" Leandra's voice was harder than DeSade's, riding over his fear. The Master could feel the vision of the docks slipping through his mental hands as the specters wrenched his consciousness from him. He fought every step down into the darkness with a name as his sword and shield. Valentine.

They stood around the small and still form of the mutant, his malignant shock of red hair trailing in the puddles left by the demon. The waves rose eastward, out of the Kieron harbor. Into the forgiving sun.

"He'll be hailed as a hero." Blackmage spoke in a low voice as he wrung out the hem of his robes. Mordock nodded, patted down his pockets in search of his pipe.

"I'll petition Sidnee for a statue in honor of his sacrifice." He agreed as he set the stem between his teeth and touched a bare fingertip to the bowl. There was a spark, and a puff of smoke. "A small one, though. Getting new students is hard enough these days without scaring them off."

"He's not dead." Cyndre's robes steamed for a moment, then settled dry about him in perfect folds of midnight, "Sorrow's healing him."

The two higher magi crowded closer as the light-limned cleric cracked open an eyelid and murmured, "Power drain stopped his heart. Forcing it to start again." His eyes closed again, and the healing magic that clung to his body burned brighter.

Valentine laughed warmly as she approached, and stepped up to the little group of men. "Lovely work. Mordock, Blackmage, Cyndre. You've all saved Caspia." Her smile was amused.

"It was nothing, lady. We were only too hapy to have something to do. Hello Bas." The ArchMage's greeting was cooler, but no less polite. Basbear grunted and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze narrowed at Blackmage, who returned the glare with one every bit as hot.

"I think it's time for us to go." Mordock spoke hastily to break the dangerous silence, already pulling the dwarf away as he started to mutter darkly. "A celebration back at the mage tree seems in order. Cyndre? Can you get Rob?" Calmly but quickly he gathered his magi together.

"Good." Have a lovely day, lady. Basbear." The ArchMage bowed gracefully even as he steered Blackmage forcibly away from the conflict, north and west toward the home of the magi with Cyndre and Hecubus at his heels, Rob drifting serenely after.

The staff still warm under his hands, Sorrow rubbed a thumb thoughtfully over the grain, and regarded the faerie. "Valentine. I get the feeling you know something about Aivlys." He finally ventured.

She nodded gently. "Your feeling was right. He left this for you." She gave him one of Isarra's daggers - a bare sliver of steel meant for throwing - and a much abused note. From where the cleric stood he could already recognize his friend's labored writing.

From the wording of the message, he could clearly tell that the young rogue had left with a mob of angry shopkeepers at his heels. Sorrow hoped he'd made it past Tsfaru. With a wry shake of his head, the elf bowed his thanks. "But how did you know to find me here?"

In response, Valentine pointed at a low-hulled boat amongst the many still wet from Tsfaru's watery death. "I watched from the Scoundrel. You'd have to come here eventually."

Sorrow nodded, but wasn't sure he believed the answer, as logical as it was. His hands moved over his staff idly as he stood facing Valentine and Basbear. He wasn't nervous, but he could feel that there was something more… Something he was waiting for.

The word sparked in the darkness, grew into a fire of ice that shattered the smothering night wherever they touched.

Raist burst into frosty flame, a fallen angel with wings of black ice, rising up from the lightless hell, up towards the sun.

"It's done." Leandra sighed, and though there was no day in that place but only eternal night, she closed her eyes.

Jynx started out of her hiding place at first sight of the dark mage, the cloak of her talent falling away forgotten. She could see Cyberhawk's spell of invisibility unravel as he became as much a target as she.

When Raist lifted his head to pin her with ice-gold eyes, she forgot everyone else; Cyberhawk, Sorrow, even Basbear with naked blade already out. Her world narrowed down to Valentine's patient, sad smile, and the rage that sublimed from ice to fire in Raist's eyes.

It seemed as if something touched time, slowed each second as the dagger raced toward Valentine in a perfect, silver line. No one could move. They all stood, mute and motionless as puppets, as the blade plunged into her throat.

Valentine smiled, coughed weakly, and sank back against the wall and down to the ground, her hand curling gently around the hilt before falling to her breast where already the blood had begun to seep through her shirt.

"No!" Basbear cried harshly, waking from his frozen state with daggers already in his hands. He lunged for Jynx, his face carved into lines of hatred. The assassin's eyes widened and she took an involuntary step back, her own hands fumbling for her weapons.

Sorrow put out a hand without thinking, fingers catching in Dark's ruff as Cyberhawk suddenly stepped between the two rogues. The cleric hadn't even known the cat was there.

"Stop!" The mage shouted at Basbear even as the half-elf grabbed him by the shoulders to throw him bodily from his path to Jynx. He got as far as touching Cyberhawk's robes before the frantically chanted spell froze him in his tracks. Cyberhawk backed away, still chanting between his teeth to keep the rogue from moving, to keep him from killing Jynx in retaliation for the death of his mother.

Jynx stood behind him, daggers hanging slack in her hands. She gaped at the man who had been so long her captive, who now risked his life to save hers. She couldn't decide whether he was incredibly brave or amazingly stupid.

"She had to!" The mage raged, as if the volume of his words, would stop the rogue, his own anguish blazing up as bright as his adversary's wrath. "She was ordered to, damn you! She had to fulfill her orders!"

They stared at each other, anger and anger matched as Basbear struggled within the bonds of Cyberhawk's spell, and the mage struggled to keep the spell from unravelling.

There was a sound like the sob of a child,and suddenly Sorrow was left clutching air. Dark pushed toward the two men, her body growing, fading, twisting into human guise as she took the steps that brought her to their side.

An unnatural storm boiled up on all horizins, curling across the sky with such speed that the night was dark and gray within moments. And at the center of that tempest stood the girl, stiff with grief and righteous anger, her trembling hands balled into fists at her sides.

Those that would have turned away from her found they could not. Tears slid like stars down her cheeks, and the wind screamed like a beast in pain. All five mortals standing in the circle of her gaze could not move. Dark's power had pinned them so effectively that Sorrow could no longer feel the hand of his god upon him, and Raist's eyes flashed black fire as he felt the protective touch of his personal daemons melt away.

"All you do is fight each other! And look what happens!" Dark thundered, and Valentine's lifeless body rose up gently on a column of storm-spun light. With a strangled cry, Basbear turned to reach out to his mother's corpse, but the girl would have none of it and the faerie's still form hovered just out of the half-elf's way. "If you want to fight, fight me instead!"

She whirled to face Jynx, the hard light in her eyes more than a match for the woman's obstinance. Her mind in chaos, Jynx looked into Dark's anguished face, and saw the first feeble midnight glow, recognized it as kin to the golden aura that surrounded Sidnee.

The paralysis that had held her stiff-backed before suddenly fell away. "You." The girl grated as Jynx wobbled a little to regain her balance, "Attack."

They were all watching her. Basbear, whose hands even now clenched and unclenched in thwarted rage. Raist, expressionless as always. Her vows to him rang in the vault of her head.

Jynx shook her head softly in amazement, torn between laughter and tears. Gracefully, as if she'd lived her life only to reach that one, defining moment, the elf sank to her knees and inclined her head toward the girl, sheathing her daggers before her knees even touched the ground. Never before had she surrendered to another.

All but forgotten, she watched Dark turn again, towards Basbear. "You?" She demanded, but the rogue's heartache was obvious as he strained toward the serene face of his mother, sparing the child only a curt "No." and Jynx a look full of the embers of revenge that died even as he swung his head back to the girl. "No." He repeated in a softer voice.

In the height of despair and anger, she bore little resemblance to the angel of his dream, but Raist remembered the compassion in her eyes. For a moment, he was suddenly reminded of his mother, the quiet woman who'd raised him, who'd watched over his dreams as a child.

Dark was waiting for his answer, her hands empty. There would be no dagger this time. Even his ire at Rob's bravado melted away in the sudden, sweet relief.

Even as he acquiesced in his mind, weary beyond life but oddly hopeful, she blased up in a flare of invisible black light. Having seen that power before, Raist - the greatest mage of Caspia - bowed his head to the child and murmured, "Lady."

Under her glare even Cyberhawk subsided, though he shuffled closer to Jynx as the paralysis was raised from them all.

And then Dark was no more than a tired, young girl, surrounded and hemmed in by old hates and old fears. She hugged herself and stared down at her bare feet, the immortal light that had bathed her in radiance now gone as if it had never been.

"I'll fight." A soft voice declared from behind her, and Sorrow stepped forward into the silence, sidling his staff free of its bindings on his back and laying at her feet like a knight in some forgotten tale, "But not against you."

Dark wathced him, her dark eyes burning dry. The irony of it struck Sorrow as he stood firm under her scrutiny. He'd fought long years, both against his enemies with the twisted magics of his birthright, and against death with the healing power he'd been trained to use. And yet he was still willing to do battle once again for a girl-child who wanted nothing more than the fighting to stop. And then he realized she knew.

There was a vegetative crack as his staff - worn smooth and dark by years of the touch of his hands - split lengthwise, the two halves sparking into life, putting forth fireworks of small white blossoms that faded away as the wood was consumed in green fire. Sorrow watched the one thing that had been constant in his life burn away until it was nothing more than flame-limned ash. Speech abandoned him, and he felt a wordless cry building under his breastbone.

Caught again by the endless darkness in Dark's eyes, he fell into the midnight that both comforted and challenged him. Sorrow couldn't decide whether to kneel down before her as Jynx had, or take her delicate form into his arms again and protect her from the rest of the world as he'd held his younger sister when she was a child.

"I accept." She said, and the light was all around her again, a storm of power that centered on the small girl who stood, eyes downcast, in the midst of them all.

Perfectly balanced between despair and exaltation, Sorrow could only nod his thanks and stand, his hands feeling empty and awkward.

"Bitch!" Sidnee hissed, the shadows pulsing with diseased golden light as she seethed, her fingers curling into claws. The air groaned as her power flexed and waxed in time with the building heat of her temper.

They all stood there, clustered around the girl-child, the ones who had been Sidnee's game-pieces. Even Raist couldn't think to move against the babe. The most powerful mortals of Caspia all stood a-quaking before some frightened little lass, and she, Sidnee, couldn't do a damn thing about it.

But her rage burned away the last clinging tendrils of Xith's searing-chill touch, and prudence with them. The expressions of acceptance on the faces of Jynx and Raist enraged her further. Betrayed by her own general and her past lover!

She opened herself up to Jynx's thoughts with a choked snarl, reading deep into betrayal and fear and a tired peace. The rogue was hers no more, nor would she ever be again. Already, Sidnee could feel the midnight glow of the girl's power falling into Jnx like soft, black rain.

Bile rose in her throat as she writhed in the grip of her own hatred, shaking with the force of her own emotions in the shadowy half-world between mortal Caspia and the featureless plain of the gods. Betrayed. She'd been betrayed once by Raist, twice by Jynx and thrice by the kitten who'd learned she had claws.

As if the thought had called her, the girl raised her eyes above Sorrow's bowed head and Sidnee found herself matching gazes with another god.

She walked the beaten dirt tracks that sectored Caspia, walked in the steps that thousands of mortals had made before her, and felt their deaths - each and every one - like lightning in her heart.

Her generals rode over the land, fanning out from her in ever-arcing flares of power, and where they touched the ground, nothing grew again. Kieron sank beneath the sea, and Tsfaru feasted upon the slain.

The flames of Siva's death touched the very sky, and the pall lingered over the passes for months, drawing life from travelers as the fire had drawn it from Siva's citizens.

The last, most powerful mortals chose the Westlands as their battlefield, and waged war - one upon the other - until no one stood living. Sidnee tread through that field of death and put names to still faces, the names of her childhood friends.

All around her was nothing but barren death. And on the horizon a young woman stood, with all the sorrow of the world in her arms as she hugged herself and looked out across Caspia.

Sidnee freed herself from the dreaming with a choked gasp, and knew she'd only woken because the girl had let her. As she staggered back from that touch, the field of the gods lit up in a full spectrum of color, and Ore stood full before her. On the horizon she could see the other gods in various states of disarray as if Ore had just called them, each clinging to one color as she did to her own yellow-gold in the sea of light.

"Dark." Ore's voice was smooth and whiskey-genial, as if belying the ultimate and all-encompassing might that coruscated just out of the borders of perceptions when one looked at him. "An arch-immortal died, and granted you that power you use. Will you take his charge and his place?"

"I accept." She said, and the light of Arenelys' life filled her full to overflowing, until she shone near as blindingly as Ore did.

Bitterness overcame Sidnee as the thought of being overpowered by the waif. Her gaze turned to the mortals, who'd betrayed not only her, but their own petty natures. The barren wastes of Dark's dream mocked her.

"So be it." She growled, "Let these weaklings squabble amongst themselves." With the words, she stepped out of the mortal world and fully into the land of the gods. She would not return again.

Ore shrugged helplessly, gave the assembled immortals a sheepish smile, and the newly immortal Dark a friendly wave, and vanished in the next breath.

"Here." Dark stepped toward him, her bare feet scattering the ashes. She opened her fingers and deposited a much-abused blossom into his hands with all solemnity.

"Uhh…" Dumbfounded, Sorrow pondered at the delicate bloom that lay limp and bruised and dead in his palm. Then he yelped and nearly dropped it as the flaccid stem wriggled against his skin, grew and shifted through a dozen realities he couldn't see but only feel, until a solid black staff lay heavy across his hands.

In wonder, he closed his fingers over it, felt pure power course through the wood as he traced a fingertip along the grain. This was nothing like the blinding white power he'd been trained to use in healing, nor the crimson death magics he'd levered against others in battle. This was soft midnight, clean an inevitable. All the strength of fear conquered and courage found, of standing at the gates of death and clawing life from the walls themselves.

And mixed with that determination in equal measure was the peace of the weary, the ability to stop fighting because there was no strength left.

Inimical and invaluable, contrary and complement, the two powers wrapped themselves around each other, and around him. On the edge of ecstasy, he opened his eyes to see a form as solid as his own, and a gentle, wry smile on a face he knew would never smile again.

Valentine's specter checked the fit of her ghostly swords in habit, and looked over at her son who stood frozen, head bowed over the limp corpse of his mother in his arms, and would not look up.

"She's been carrying it every since Arenelys died. Funny the things you do in times like these." Valentine stepped forward and touched the staff, and Sorrow could feel it through his body - a whisper of laughter to keep the weary peace from turning to despair, and the gentle sorrow of his namesake to temper the defiance that ran twin to acceptance.

With a start, the cleric realized that no time had passed since the staff had sprung full-grown in his hands. Dark still looked at him, a small smile kin to Valentine's in her eyes.

Around him, the other mortals stood in wait for another miracle. Though the paralysis had been lifted, they still didn't move. But Sorrow was satisfied. He strapped his new staff across his back and stood proud before his goddess, with Valentine's ghost a cool presence at his side.

There were no more miracles. Dark sighed and sat abruptly down on the wood of the docks that had seen countless people and beasts tread its length. Her chin propped on her fists, she regarded them all sadly, still prepared to run should one raise a hand to her. At her back, Sorrow crossed his arms, daring them to approach that mockery of a throne.

Raist came first the golden iron in his gaze unchanged by Dark's vulnerability or her power. "Lady." He said again, but she had no healing for him.

Looking up into the ancient face that had so terrified her, Dark drew words out of the chaos of her thoughts, "She knew."

Sorrow started at the fierce emotion that surfaced once in the great mage's eyes and was quickly hidden again. Light streaked again through the slowly fading clouds and kissed the gold of a ring on Raist's hand before he nodded and vanished - teleported away.

For Basbear she couldn't even find words. He stood, smaller than he had been, diminished by the weight of his mother's body across his arms. Sorrow opened his mouth to ease the man's pain, to tell him that his mother eve then looked upon him, but Valentine's warning hand on his arm made him turn to see the negative shake of her head.

The only ones left were Dark and her priest, and the two mortals who watched each other out of the corners of their eyes, and had since they had pledged not to battle further in the Arch-Immortal's presence. They continued to cast sidelong, evaluating glances, oblivious to anything else until Sorrow's polite cough startled them.

Cyberhawk jumped in embarrasement. Jynx never moved, but he was gratified to see a dark flush slowly cloak her cheeks. "What?" She demanded of the young woman who sat across the boards.

Dark shrugged expressively, a spark of humor in her eyes though her face was still open and serious. "I need to speak to the leader of the rogues. If she continues to push them to conquer Caspia, it will fail badly. Will you find her and bring her to me?"

"Has no more claim on you. Nor does your previous commander." Dark interrupted her in a voice of steel. "You two are mine alone to direct."

Jynx nodded, philosophically accepting another life of service, and reached for Cyberhawk's arm to drag the hapless mage with her before she realized she no longer had to keep his captive. Her hand curled into a fist in the air between them as she cursed her own stupidity. She'd gotten used to having him at her side.

Jynx rolled her eyes, suddenly relieved for no reason she could understand, and reached around to grab his robes by the neck. "Come on, mage. We've got work to do."

"Yeah, yeah. Bully me around. It's not like I'm not used to it by now." Cyberhawk griped, "Next time you assassinate someone, you want to make sure you won't get killed right after? Dumb rogue…"

Arguing together, the two left, mage robes and rogue cloak nearly touching as they strode away, heedless of everyone else once more.

Dark's voice was already distant, her wide eyes on the gray sea that rolled in toward Kieron, "You'll know when I need you. For now, I'd like to be alone."

Surrendering up his protective urges, Sorrow bowed a last time, and began the long walk back to the hospital, and his rooms. Isarra had promised to meet him the next day, and he would have much to tell her.

"So what…" She peered owlishly at the swirling gray cloud, fear and anger both drowned deep. "What're you going to do now that the little bitch is an Arch like you and everything's all back to normal again?"

Xith shrugged in the anonymous safety of his haze, the movement oddly incongruous in one so far removed from mortality, "I will wait for another time, another plan."

"Huh. Seems like you lost out on this one entirely." The little gnome stared at her gnarled yellow knuckles against the amber glass, lifted the dehabilitating drink up for another swig.

"Seems like." Xith agreed mildly, his glowing crimson eyes on hers, "But then again, I like to think I won several battles in this war. Have another." He urged, flagging the immortal's bartender down for another round. Sidnee was only too happy to oblige.

"Hold still." Sorrow commanded, and the mutant that had so long resigned himself to his present form swallowed once and nodded sharply, gripping Sorrow's staff tighter. The pain was intense, like white fire in his veins, but bearable because he'd insisted on it.

The other magi were crowded around to watch the hero of Caspia and slave of Raist be restored. Even Blackmage had picked up the decanter from off the mantle and sauntered over to witness the miracle that Sorrow had pledged to perform.

"Raist, you bastard." Rob muttered from between clenched teeth as slowly, painflly, his fingers grew finer and more delicate, properly joined to his hand for the first time in decades. The familiar pale, freckled skin that he'd been born with crawled up his wrists.

Finally he fell back, "No more." He gasped as he dropped the staff in Sorrow's hands and pulled the half-empty decanter from Blackmage's lax grip, draining it in a few long draughts.

"No more." Rob's voice was steadier, "Come back tomorrow and we'll do this again." His own hands, matched and slender, curled around the glass of the decanter as the other magi clapped him on the back and loudly welcomed him once again into the brotherhood. Blackmage took the opportunity to snatch the decanter back and started to wander off in search of more wine.

All but forgotten in the noise, Sorrow held his staff close and followed Valentine's ghost as she guided him out of the confusing twist of hallways beneath the magetree and into the early morning air.

The first cold rays of the sun hit the roo of the family's bar. They caught first on the crystal of Valentine's casket, and shone up into the eyes of the small group that had gathered to wish her and Arenelys a last farewell.

Basbear sat silently by his mother's body as the rest turned to see the new day, a half-empty Bloody Lotus in one huge hand. He felt a touch on his hsoulder, and didn't even reach for a dagger, but looked up into Beyond's solemn face.

It was a double funeral, now that Arenelys' last influence had died with Valentine, his wife and high priestess. The Arch-Immortal nodded at their own son once, then looked at the casket as if not seeing it.

Behind him, Basbear could hear Raist and Trea talking in low voices. They'd been close together since he'd welcomed them into the house, and he'd seen that the sigil that Raist had always worn - the gift from Sidnee - had vanished from around his neck.

"Talk to her." Beyond indicated the fifth member of the funeral assembly, and the half-elf who had once been ArchRogue turned to look at the newest Arch-Immortal.

Dark was already asleep. She must have curled up in the farthest corner of the roof sometime earlier that night after they'd all raised a glass to Valentine and Arenelys. "Later." Basbear promised, his stern expression softening a little to see the girl's face peaceful in sleep. She held his father's power, by his mother's grace. She would need his help soon enough.