Andi:
Owain looked up from the book he was reading as a young fairie flitted into the library.

"These came for you, sir," the small boy said, laying a silver tray with some papers on it next to his book.

"Thank you."

The boy nodded and scampered away.

He placed his bookmark on the page he had stopped at and closed the book. (Not that I don't love Elven History, but Marzail couldn't have written a drier history. If I had to read one more ‘And the high council sayeth’ I'm going to go mad.) He paused. (Yeah, short trip.)

Rifling through the letters, he stood and walked over to the windows, opening the shutters to the day. Bright sunlight shone in, making his flaming red hair glow in the early morning light.

(A letter from the council, one from mother, from the temple of Metha. And the temple of Herne, and one from....) He dropped all the others, breaking the seal off this one and sitting down in a nearby chair.

It read:

Owain,

The wind is singing and the WarMother calls me. I journey to a place in the south, a Citadel they say; the bond draws me there. Do you not feel it? Does it not call you, too? I travel with a group full of friends; do not fear for my safety, for it is I who fear for yours. Stay safe, bear my greetings to my sister,

Etain

(Oh Goddess! She's venturing to the Citadel! That's the place that has been the cause of all the council's fuss – the place where that negative force has appeared. Foolhardy woman, she has no sense. I've got to go help her.)

He jumped up, knocking over his chair in his rush for the door. Throwing them open he ran out into the sunlight and to the Temple of the WarMother, where he was lodging. Passing councillors and priests, he did not slow down, but nimbly wove his way through the crowded throng in the temple courtyard. Running up the stairs he cleared the top stair by four strides than hit something hard and fell backward, dazed.

A woman dressed in robes of silver emerged from the shadows. She looked down at him and laughed.

"Jailie, let me pass."

"Why? So that you can go running off in to the Outlands where you'll be killed? Owain, you're the only Divine Scholar the WarMother has. I can't let you go." She almost spat the words, her contempt showing.

"LET ME PASS. I've had enough of your games, Jailie. If the Morgan wanted you to be a Divine Scholar she would have made you one. But she didn't. Live with it."

She looked shocked, so Owain took that opportunity to surge forward, pushing her out of the way. He sped off to his quarters.

Arriving in his suite of rooms he began packing his saddlebags. (An extra change of clothes... no, make that two extra changes. Beltknife, huntingknife, broadsword, shortsword, bow and quiver....) He threw things in to the bags, almost dropping a box of coins as he dumped them in to a leather bag. Finally finished, he wrote a hasty note to his mother and ran down to the stables.

Dax & Axe:
Kang related the message to Dak, editing it appropriately so it became the friendly invitation it was surely meant to be by his Xenon to friend Dak.

Dak nearly staggered from all the voices intruding into his head – first the dragon's speech, then the metallic-tanged one. He drank the feeling like water to a dying man in the desert. Staring off into forest to savour the touch for a moment, then waiting for the pain of loss to recede before he could begin digesting what they had actually said, he stood rooted to the spot, instead of leaving as he had intended – unhearing of anything outside of his own head for a while.

"If you will parrrdon my bluntnessss, Lorrrd Mage – I will owe a Prrrice or live Bound to another morrrtal when my cold, ssstripped bonesss litter the Worldsssend Mountainsss. Sssir.

"If yourr wordsss are true, then we are odd alliesss on thisss road SSZ'enon. My inquiry isss born of a good sssense of ssself-preservation. You arrre not the only ssscholar of the old waysss here," she said, calming enough to let a note of amusement and perceptible appreciation enter her voice. "I, too, choose my enemiesss at leassst as carefully as I choose my friendsss."

Xenon was both annoyed and amused and interested at the dragon's speech. He was tired and so he intended to keep the reply fairly short and to the point, but to cover all of the points he felt needed to be made.

"I am glad that your sense of self preservation serves you well, dragon Erelan. I have seldom drawn my weapons in haste, nor am I given to much in the way of foolishness. I've some respect for your size and intelligence and scholarly bent, but I've no fear of you whatsoever. Yes, I knew you didn't mean challenge, but your haughty tone and choice of words invoked it, and earned you the recitation. Neither am I pleased with your skulking about in my affairs, and I warn you, in the future to mind your own. Not to be impolite, nor to degrade your skills as a warrior, but I do doubt just a touch that you have ever fought a mage of my power, and if you have you were likely both brave and lucky to have survived. I have fought dragons both much larger and older than you dear Erelan, and though I escaped not unscathed, I emerged clearly the winner. One survives; one I killed in challenge; one was a worthless worm in the darkness harming innocent stupid villagers, and he I simply destroyed outright. Yet I see from your posture that you are ready to prove yourself worthy and not offering challenge. I, therefore in return, recognize you, warrior, and leave off these posturings we both seem to need."

Here Xenon couldn't help but give a smile and a bit of a head shake at both of their actions here on the road. And by her emotions and posture it was fairly obvious to one who could read it that she had had trouble with mages in the past. (Why was it that when Knights and armoured fighter types fought dragons they were considered heroes but mages... ah well.) Xenon spared a small smile again at her vehemence at being indebted to a mage and her opinion of him, and spoke again. When he did, it was in better than passable Dragon, though it always ached even his practiced voice to do so for long.

"As for choosing friends and enemies, Erelan," he boomed in Dragon, "I think we shall get along just fine... as long as you shall tolerate my penchant for my Arts, and I am willing to put up with your spying. And for now, I shall agree with you that we should talk later. Dak was recently injured, as I am sure you saw, and, again, I will give you some answers later. And know this, Erelan, that though I am nearly as surprised as you as to why I decided to help Dak, it has nothing to do with what he is to anyone else. He is my..." Xenon struggled with emotion and something far deeper, but the words came out even so, "...friend..." the word came out like it was being ripped from the depths of his soul with hot knives, then he continued, determined to allow no more weakness than this – "...and sometimes employee. I will defend him for now and thus there is no need for you or any of the others to do so. And be assured, it has nothing to do with him being a silly elf."

[Kang, though, knowing Dak was now a friend, translated the Dragon to him word for word.]

Dak was startled out of his reverie by the sound of boulders on shale in a canyon. He looked up so see the sounds were being made by Xenon, and then that voice caressed his mind again, and he only heard that – not understanding – until moments after the speech was finished and Xenon had begun speaking in common again.

"Finally," Xenon continued in common mortal speech, "I mean you nor any of the others any harm if I am not offered it." The tiredness was coming upon him again and he stood for but a moment [he thought] to finish. "Though I think this idiotic disorganized rabble, other than the Troll and yourself with power, and the elven archer/assassin, ranger, paladin, and the ranger’s playmate who are survivors, have little chance to meet with Savar and live.... I have reason to hate him worse than any of you. And hate him I do. I am not a fool to waste important resources needlessly, but neither am I unwilling to do harm to my Uncle if the situation allows. I am by far your best hope for getting some of you into the Citadel unnoticed, and for helping some of the weaker ones avoid the traps of the Kaladh... hells dangers, I set near half of them for him myself. I can unset most of them." Xenon realized just how much he was saying with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Still he continued, looking the dragon in the eye, with firmness and resolve.

"I've no sorrow, really, for what I have done, and I make no apologies to anyone. I've no reason to love the elves of Karilanth – from the lifelong hurt one heaped upon my simple loving father to the arrogance the bastards show at my half elven nature. I care not really for them either way. But I did love my father, if no other, and Medivh Savar sacrificed him on an alter to gain power, while I was gone on an errand for him, only a few short months ago. If I never love another, I loved him. I have paid Medivh Savar every debt I ever owed him to his good, and I am sure he begins to find me too powerful to care to deal with any longer. He is right to. I am more powerful than even he knows, and I am certainly a better knife the back of his plans than any other. I know more, and I am more intelligent than even he. And you, dear dragon scholar, can surely see the value of that."

Xenon paused, almost gasping, but holding all other emotion in... except the single tear that ran down his left cheek. He spoke to Erelan once more before she could interject. "I am returning to the camp now and getting some rest." He called over his shoulder to Dak. "Come on Dak. I'll take you into camp and introduce you to those ridiculous buffoons. I am sure Raven will let you know what occurs with your lady and her child, and you can find any number of supporters to help you find her." So saying, Xenon walked back down the path slowly and regally past the dragon, and into his own dark internal shadows once again.

(Luck and Love, he called me friend in front of someone else?) Dak was silently amazed. (Wait, he said he was a half-elf? I never knew that. Oh, teacups, he told her that I was injured! Thank you ever so much Xenon for calling me a liar to another, and a female at that.) Dak, still aching, followed in Xenon's path, arm around the Black's neck, to get him to follow. He bowed politely to the dragon as they passed.

"Dear Lady, I do hope to further my acquaintance with you in the future, and thank you for the boon of offering your protection, but I am quite able to take care of myself and would in no wise, allow a lady to enter danger that was meant for me." He smiled and brushed his bangs from his eyes. "Perhaps we can converse more when we reach the civilization of the camp, but for now, I must catch up to Xenon." (And hope that everyone stays out of my head for a while, till I can get things back under control.)

Angie:
"I only wished to say, that I am ever at your convenience, should you... desire... anything from me." The other elf continued. "I have some small magics, and they, as well as I would be happy to serve you."

He smiled again, took a swig from the bottle she had given him, then cut a glance at the knight. Shadowblade caught a gleam of suspicion in his eyes. (Hmmm, I wonder why... do I sense possessiveness there as well?)

:Hah, child! I win this round. He is interested! You are just ignoring his signals....:

:I am not!... I mean... He is not!: 'Blade fumbled with her reply to Ynys' I-told-you-so reply.

Ynys sniffed and turned back to her guarding, with the warning. :Dear, I believe the roots are about to turn to mush if you don't drag them out of the fire soon.:

'Blade yelped and snatched a fire-hardened twig to drag the sweet potatoes out. Poking the encrusted potatoes with the twig to check if they had indeed turned to mush, she breathed a sigh of relief that they were just nicely on the soft side of things and released a fragrant scent when cut open.

Looking up, she grinned at Zeke's open-mouthed stare. "I apologize. I appreciate your offer, Zeke." (Was that joy that leaped in his eyes? Or something else?) She stood up, crossed the fire and pecked him on his cheek. "Thanks for helping with the fire," she said. Straightening, she announced to the group, "Fellow companions, I believe that dinner is ready. Vegetarians have roots to savour, while the rest can partake in this stew. Remember to thank Jonas, and Xenon... wherever he is... for the ingredients!"

With that, she took a plate and a set of utensils from her sack, pouring some of the stew onto the plate. She sat down beside Zeke, facing him and placed the plate between them. "Here, would you share this with me? I couldn't help but notice the lack of eating utensils with you. I only have one set with me as I travel alone, so we will have to share. I hope you don't mind?"

-*-

As she watched 'Blade fumble her way through her understanding of the elven-boy's need for her, Ynys drew into herself. (Silly girl. I don't believe she can cope with relationships yet. From her accounts, I believe that Slayer was probably the closest to her – and he only took the place of her foster father. Poor child, how deluded an elf can be in their own judgements.)

The unicorn turned to face the way from whence they came. A flare of energy blossomed in that area. (Gods... what now? A mage-flare? What's going on here?) She Called to 'Blade. :Honey, I have to leave for a moment. Good hunting.:

With that, she sped towards the mage-flare, hoping it wasn't what she thought it was.

Sorchafyr:
Sand's fingers came in contact with the wool on the giant black sheep. It was just as soft as she had expected it to be, and seeing the contrast between the darkness of the wool and the lightness of her skin, she felt the beginning of notes swirl in her head. (A song of dark and light, different kinds of softness.) She was so absorbed she did not even see the giant sheep turn to regard her. However the sound of words scattered the beginnings of the melody she was organizing, and she looked up to meet the eyes of the fascinating creature.

:I greet thee, Maker-of-Music,: Sable formally bespoke the human, looking into her eyes as she munched the last few mouthfuls of her meal. :What wouldst thou of me?:

(Huh,) thought Sand with a mental snort. (Now I'm so wrapped up in the music I'm imagining sheep talking to me. Well, this looks like one very intelligent sheep, and I know that very large troll rode on her earlier, so maybe she would respond the way my horse did.) Sand began whispering to Sable, as she had to her riding animal when she was a small child.

"Please excuse me, but your wool looked so soft and, well... different. I wanted to see how it felt. You are so large, but I know you would not hurt me. I was just working on a song about how your wool looks against my skin." Sand slid her fingers into Sable's coat to demonstrate. "See? This is what I was starting. I hope you don't mind being in a song, I promise it will be a nice one. I've never seen a lady like you before." She hummed a few lines, all that she had coalesced of the notes swirling about her always.

Although the giant sheep did not at all resemble Rust, her childhood horse/friend/confidant, the similarity of size and heat sent her mind skimming back to the childhood spent with her father. Sand had never even known there were other people in the world besides herself and her father until a pair of travellers came knocking when she was eight, requesting emergency aid for another of their group. Sand had been afraid, but curious, as she was about almost everything. She listened to them talking amongst themselves for the three days they stayed with them, and eagerly absorbed all the information she could before they left. She couldn't wait to ask her father questions, but after they left she grew even more fearful, even afraid to ask her ever-present questions. Her father seemed changed somehow; he was closed off, and sometimes didn't even listen to her. Once she awoke in the night and heard him crying. That had made her the most frightened of all. Gradually he returned to his normal, loving, talkative self, but Sand was still afraid that if she mentioned the travellers or anything they talked about she would make him change again, and so she kept silent.

Then, just as she was getting old enough to think she had the right to demand answers, she woke one morning to find him gone. Just... gone. No written word or sign of where he went or why. Sand knew he loved her and would never deliberately worry her, so she had waited for him all that day. Then all that week. She stayed at their little cabin for three months, until she needed food that they did not grow themselves. She had no idea where her father had gotten it or how. For all her curiosity, there were some things it had never occurred to her to wonder about, and this was one of them. She took all the things she thought she might need, or things she could not leave behind, and set off into the world.

Sand didn't like to think about the lessons she had to learn about how things worked in the "outside world". She knew how to survive in the woods since her father had often taken her on trips where they spent several days away from the cabin. "Wood craft trips" was what he had called them. She knew how to keep herself safe from animals and what was good to eat. Fortunately, when she finally came to the nearby city, she heard music and was drawn to it before she became overwhelmed by the newness of everything. A street musician was playing and Sand took out her pipe and joined the song. Her naïveté had charmed the woman musician, and she had taken Sand in and taught her. Some lessons had been harder and grimmer, than others. Although Sand had been on her own for four years now, she never really thought of herself as being part of other people. She regarded everyone and everything with the curiosity of someone studying a force of nature.

All this flashed through her head in a short kaleidoscope of memory. She turned to Sable with a sigh. "If you will excuse me, my lovely lady, I must retreat to finish this song. I thank you for the inspiration." As she walked away, Sand could almost swear she heard the sheep reply to her.

Typo:
Erelan sat still for a long moment as the mage swept past, as quiet in her outward appearance as her thoughts were chaotic. The voice of her own people had stilled her first, though it was the older common speech of her kind, like the trade-tongues that many bipedal races used to communicate across languages and dialect barriers, and not the song-tongue she remembered from home. Still, it was the speech of dragons, half heard and half felt as deep tones thrummed across the ridges in the back of her skull and resonated through her keelbone. Her respect for the mage moved up another tiny notch, for it was a difficult language for most to master, and if his presentation was not perfect, it was far better than she had heard from any other non-dragon.

(Even Muriel. She could reproduce the Singing, but that was a language constructed for dragons and elves to share. She could never speak to the others outside of her mind....) The thought rose unbidden in Erelan's mind, and she cut it off consciously a moment after she realized the way her memories were tending. There was no use in that train of thought at all. The dead were gone and there was nothing more to be done about it.

She looked after Xenon for a long moment more, wondering, as she mulled over his words about his father. Slaughtered to raise power, Xenon had said, and the thought curdled the blood in her veins, for she knew, all too well, the kind of man who would torture and kill innocents to follow the blood path. She flexed her talons once in the rough dirt of the road, but remained still. This Savar – this dark devil of the Kaladh – seemed a soul entirely too familiar for her liking. Still, this path called to her with a force she had not felt in years. She was certain that this road was the right one to follow, and for once, she had no doubt that the cause was a necessary and noble one. (Courage, Erelan,) she thought to herself quietly. (Courage and patience and stillness of heart – we will succeed. We have to.) She studied the mage's retreating form with caution and resolve. (But we cannot succeed if we are divided.)

In a mental voice quiet as a whisper and dark as a twilight sea, she spoke to the mage. :Nothing you have said here will bring harm to you,: she said with marble-hard conviction and the formality her heart demanded, none of the good-natured warmth that had colored her words to Dakorillon. :By the flames of mother Sola, I swear it.: And then she was gone like a restless wind in darkness. There would be answers later – for now, she bit down on her curiosity and turned to the elven boy. (No boy, but an elf grown, Erelan – and probably older than you,) she corrected herself sternly, crouching down as he spoke.

"Dear Lady, I do hope to further my acquaintance with you in the future, and I thank you for the boon of offering your protection, but I am quite able to take care of myself and would in no wise, allow a lady to enter danger that was meant for me."

She smiled with her eyes a bit at that, and bowed her head ever so slightly in acquiescence.

Dak smiled and brushed his bangs from his eyes. "Perhaps we can converse more when we reach the civilization of the camp. For now, I must catch up to Xenon."

She nodded once more, and on impulse, spoke in her native tongue. "Go, song-brother. Sola smile upon you. There are many more who travel this road – dark, and light, and twilight-grey. Be cautious, for I would not see you come to harm." Her words were strange, the language of a people half a world away and known by few in this dark, cold country. She doubted that even he would understand more than a few phrases, but the sounds of her people's melodic speech made her feel just a touch less lonely, even as the tones pricked at her heart and made her eyes sting with remembrance. Part dialect – like bastardized Karilanthian high-speech – part birdlike chirping, and part melody, pure and sonorous. She cocked her head to one side for a moment, eyes full of a calm wistfulness and a sadness tempered with courage – an expression far too old for her young face and form. "For a moment, aye, a moment, I saw my home again in you. It has been far too long – but memories are wings fleeter than mine – I thank you." Then, she turned away from the figures in the road and stared away down the path, waiting for the elf to rejoin his friend and sojourn to the camp close by. Her wings were stilled at her sides and only the tip of her tail flipping slowly back and forth, back and forth, betrayed her as a living creature, rather than some large statue of blue-green agate set in the roadway.

For a long time, it seemed, she stared off down the path, letting her mind wander no farther than sensual enjoyment of the warm sun on her back, the rich scents of the forest and the slightly powdery coolness of the dust beneath her talons. After minutes, or perhaps hours alone with the silence of her thoughts, she turned toward the camp and ambled slowly back to her fellow travelers.

Someone had started the fire, and the smell of cooking food tickled her nose, bringing a hint of amusement into her thoughts. Why so many sentients chose to burn their food to a crisp before eating it was beyond her. Personally, she thought a freshly killed hind or a water-cool sea fish beat any half-burned meat-and-roots meal by a mile, but to each his own. She wandered close to where the elf that called himself Solarin sat in close watch over his sleeping companion, and settled to the cool ground in a graceful movement.

:If it bothers none, I shall rest here,: she spoke quietly into the golden-haired elf's mind, looking over at the pair. Their closeness had not escaped her, even in distraction, for though half-elves and part-bloods seemed as prevalent here as grains of sand, she had never before seen an elf and human... (lovepair?) she thought quietly. The Lady-of-the-Blade, sleeping quietly in her companion's care, caught her attention for a moment, for she seemed very elven and the dragon wondered for a moment if she could have been mistaken. Her scent still marked her as human, however – that did not lie. Half-sure of what bound the two, Erelan fervently wished away her first impression. (The love of shieldmates, Sola, let it be....) Erelan thought, resting her head on her forepaws and looking sadly at the elvenborn. She whispered half to her own mind, half to Solarin, (For humans must be born to make us sorrow... so brief are they. So brief.)

She was tired, and the tension of the day had pulled her heart taut and strained as a bowstring. She thought of Muriel, her fellow traveler for so many wonderful years of adventure; Muriel of the rain-grey eyes and black tresses, who broke many young men's hearts because she would not give up her wandering life. Muriel, who was thought by some to be a ghost – riding a dragon of shadows over night-dark lands. (Muriel, aye, Muriel – who bards called the Lady of the Winds, who died at the hands of a madman because I could not save her,) Erelan thought bitterly, tucking her head beneath one wing half in sorrow, half in weariness, pushing the memories back with the exhausted patience of a very old dragon.

Eventually, she drifted into a restless sleep, one slightly sore ear cocked to listen for trouble. She would dream a dragon's dreams – the clarity and mystic beauty of which had stolen the freedom of so many of her people. Erelan had no love for dreams – there were times she wished for an end to them; they too often turned to nightmares. A dragon's mind was equipped for several millenia of life and could block the worst of pain from conscious thought, but in dreams... in dreams, all manner of ghosts could come to life.

(...my wings, bleeding, torn – oh, please... not my wings....)

Erelan twitched slightly in her sleep, curling her tail more tightly around her body. Inside her mind a younger version of herself shrieked in panic, fighting the heavy iron chain about her throat and legs, feeling the horror of wind that went through her wings with flames of pain. She flailed against the floor, bleeding, inarticulate horror catching in her throat at the realization she could see the floor through the holes in her wings.

(I didn't know it was so bad. I couldn't tell when the shot caught me – the pain, but....)

Another chain fell across her hips with a clank, pulled tight through the bolt-hooks in that stone floor – (the floor I can see the floor through my wings great tears in my wings I can see the stones through the holes). She hissed, screeched with fury and mindless fear, thrusting her head out to snap at the shadowy forms around her. There was blood in her mouth already – her own, and the blood of the four demons she had killed. Another chain over her neck pulled her head sharply to the ground, and she cut her chin on the flagstones, rage and pain turning her cries uglier as the blurry forms yammered and gibbered in the red-washed golden glow of her eyes. She could not move, hardly had room to breathe, and the world was tilting oddly, turning grey, then black, then firelit black as her vision faded in and out. She hardly had the strength to resist as rough hands and talons forced the sharp metal bar between her teeth and pulled straps tight about her head and nose, muzzling her.

(...they'll kill me now it's over they'll kill me now that they have me I can't bite can't fight they'll kill me now oh, my wings....)

Then green magelight filled her eyes and the creatures drew back. She shifted her head to the side as much as she could, her chin scraping painfully over the stones and a thin trickle of blood pooling from her cut mouth.

That one. That – one. If she forgot her own name, she would remember that terrible, beautiful face. His mouth never seemed to move as he spoke to her, but his eyes were like endless seas of black, a cruel midnight ocean where she would lose herself and forget she ever wanted to be free.

(Time for school, little one.)

All her muscles convulsed once, and she woke, nearly leaping to her feet at the residue of panic. (...my wings something's wrong with my wings something's wrong with....) – she whipped her head around in fear, but her wings were whole, translucent blue and unscarred. Suddenly weak-legged, she carefully folded the enormous sails back and sank to the ground, looking around and hoping that no one had seen her sudden fright. The rawness of her throat and pounding heart let her know another nightmare had come and gone. She could never remember exactly what they were about, only nameless fear and rage. Sometimes she thought she was going mad.

A dragon's mind was a study in the thin fabric between order and chaos. There were those who said the duality of ancient wisdom and primal instinct in a dragon's soul was too much for any sane creature, and that dragons by their very nature were dangerous, unpredictable beasts to be avoided.

Of course, these were the same people who swore that the world was flat.

Dragons rarely fell prey to insanity. Perhaps it was the knowledge of how thin the boundaries of rational thinking were that kept them in check. Perhaps it was simply the patience born of knowing that time was on their side. Even the tiny Birch Mountain dragons, the mayflies of their kind, had nearly a thousand years of life to enjoy. Erelan's race had several millennia from the time of their hatching until they needed to worry about old age. With a scant nineteen decades of life in the world beyond the Shell, Erelan was little more than a child, but in that relatively short time, she had already lived more than a good many of her kind. She had seen and experienced more than most of them would have wished.

(Like Luine Tor,) she thought, and shuddered. That one had been a Black Adept, and had bound her to his use some years ago when she was a child, too innocent of the world. Her memories of him were hazy but for a few strikingly clear details. She had found that if she tried to remember most of the times she had spent trapped in his fortress, her inner sight became blurry and her stomach turned queasy with fear.

All that was well and good. It was a time she wished she could forget altogether.

But she did remember a few things – that the mage had coerced her to fight – (how did he coerce me – I was a gentle creature before he took me – I can't remember....) – and trained her well in the art of war; how he chained her at the foot of his court throne as a symbol of his power; how he forced her to wake the information within the dragonstones for his use and amusement; and what he did to Muriel.... She also remembered how the Black Adept had died, her jaws locked about his throat – (he took her he killed Muriel to raise the power to enter my mind I was more beast than sentient I was alone and afraid demons all around me I was lost and he was part of my mind speaking in demon in my mind it drove him mad he could not bring order to the chaos it drove him mad and I tore his throat out more like an animal than... than.... a dragon). She shook the memories away with a quiet hiss, biting down on the grief that rose up in her heart at the thoughts. The evil one was gone. Whatever he did those many years ago was gone and she was free of him forever. (Peace, Erelan,) she thought wearily, as the words of the mage Xenon echoed in her mind to mock her.

"Not to be impolite, nor to degrade your skills as a warrior, but I do doubt just a touch that you have ever fought a mage of my power, and if you have you were likely both brave and lucky to have survived."

Yes, she had been lucky to get the chance at Luine Tor, and the other times... she could not remember what had coerced her to kill; only feelings of blind rage that turned every memory red. There were blank holes of darkness where memories should have been, or that sickening kaleidoscope of half-remembered horrors that came to spite her, then danced away before she could – quite – face them. The anger, though, was as vivid in her heart as if it only spoke of yesterday, not a time fifteen years gone. Wearily, she thought, (There are too many things you do not know, and too many things you've forgotten, to go charging with fury. Wrath in the heart is the best weapon you can give an enemy.) She had vowed to herself long ago that she would never again let fury make her the blind, raging beast she once was. It could not. It could not. She held to that thought like a lifeline, even now. Pressing her chest back to the cool ground, she closed her eyes, praying end to dreams and memories.

Rainbow:
"Gone! What do you mean, 'gone'!" Jay Christson was not in a good mood; he had been away for two weeks, and when he came back the Princess was missing!

"Sir! Do not distress yourself! She has gone to visit other countries. She does have the lady Dee'rina Harnon with her," the servant stuttered.

:Oh, that inspires a lot of confidence.: The sardonic mindvoice of Jatoka Mio'rel made the servant jump.

(Why does this always happen to me?) the servant thought cringing mentally.

"I would like to see their Majesties as soon as possible," the young nobleman said, removing his traveling cloak. "I want to go after that young minx."

"Yes, Sir." The servant bowed and quickly ran out the room, trying not to make it look as if he was hurrying.

Jay sighed and flopped down on the soft feather bed. (Typical. Why can't that fiancée of mine just stay where she's been told to stay?)

:Probably because in Animi we're not a patriarchal society and men and women have equal rights?: Jatoka cut in.

:And I don't need a pegasi telling me about the social society of Animi either!: Jay snapped, running his fingers through his short blond hair. He levered himself off the bed and stretched slowly and luxuriously. He wished Rainbow was in this particular bed but there would be time enough for that when he caught up with the girl!

Walking over to the solid oak wardrobe he chose a golden tunic that set off his hair perfectly and a pair of his favourite green breeches.

:Clothes horse!: the black pegasus admonished affectionately, and Jay got a feeling of laughter. Jay sent back a grin along the mental link and stripped his wet clothes. (That storm is horrible!)

:You didn't have to fly in it!: Joka mind-grinned, sending a mental image of himself being groomed and eating a nice hot bowl of mash.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and the servant peered his head round the door at Jay's, "Enter".

"Their Majesties will see you in five minutes," the servant said timidly, before rushing out at Jay's dismissal.

Jay yawned. "Damn! I was hoping they'd see me tomorrow. I'm too tired."

:Your own fault. You know how much the Queen likes you, and you know how much you worry over her poor dear, darling....:

:Shut up horse!: Jay replied mentally, pulling on his new dry clothes and running a brush through his hair.

:I am not a HORSE!: Joka replied angrily.

:Whatever.: Jay sighed, giving in for once.

-*-

In the throne room Jay made the formal bow, before dropping all pretenses of formality. "Where is Rainbow?" he asked angrily. "I asked her to stay here!"

"Calm down Jay!" The King spoke regally. "She went to visit other countries with full – well almost – council backing."

"I don't like it," Jay replied, crossing his arms angrily. "I'm going to go and find her."

"If you must," the Queen smiled, "then you may."

"Thank you, your Highnesses." Jay spoke formally then, but then ran his hand through his hair. "I shall leave early tomorrow."

He swiftly made a full court bow and exited the room.

-*-

:Jatoka?: Jay asked yawning, :I'm going to leave at about seven hours after midnight tomorrow. Can you be awake by six?:

:Sure. I'll wake you up,: his friend answered.

:Thanks.:

Izzy:
Atalaya smiled in thanks to Fallenangel and rose from her seat. "It was most gracious of you to tell me of your god. If, in the future, I can return the favor with any information I may impart, please do not hesitate to ask."

With that, she made a formal bow in the direction of Fallenangel and the knight, and walked over to where Solarin was sitting beside Raven. She hadn't missed the bond between them – though she had little magic, she still had some, and her bond with Solaras helped. Now she looked down at the blond elf, folded her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow.

"Kiriyel, Solarin? Granted that you were always a tad outside the norm..." her mouth quirked in both pained and amused memory, "...and granted that from what I've seen of her, I could like her... for a human... but are you deliberately trying to end up the subject of some minstrel's tragic song?"

Karen:
The walls were grey of course – grey with wide opaque windows that never opened soaring upwards to the ceiling. Dust gathered in corners and across the tops of the back cupboards. Powder laced the apprentices’ hair when the professor, in the heat of self-righteous rage, would throw his chalk at a whispering offender with an aim as keen as the blade of a knife.

"LISTEN! What did I just say? Stand up and repeat!"

The accused would blubber; the professor would redden, and one could only hope that daggers would not follow the chalk, for the professor was an arms master too.

And all would pretend not to notice this little scene – they would stare at the motes of dust, shafts of light – the thwack! thwack! of the Spinners practising in the courtyard – while the unfortunate would rise unsteadily to his or her feet, stare glassily at the board and recite the Fourth Law of gravitational movement – the Seventh Section of the governmental constitution – the best point to sever the jugular – until at last the professor would grow weary and snap his rancid jaws together, booming corrections and admonitions, while ordering that the defendant retrieve his projectile before he began target practise with daggers.

Five rows of six desks. Aisles in between. Weathered timber surfaces, grooves against the grain, initials carved hastily on the inside lid in a bid for remembrance… this was furniture generously donated by the town council – former workstations for clerks, ink smudges worn away beneath layers of grime.

The hours crawled onwards. Scratching on unforgiving slates, the apprentices would glance at each other sidewise when the professor’s back was turned – catch their neighbours’ eye and mouth a furtive jumble of syllables –

"Will three weeks be enough?"

"Only a fool would take this mission."

Across the rows the messages ran, soundless but articulate, sometimes received two or three times by the one individual, then passed on again. If you were daring, you glanced back at the person behind you, and passed on the chain of communication. In ten short minutes the intelligence would have spread, everyone well informed and prepared for the next thread which would begin spinning its way outwards.

The classroom was silent, thirty heads bent industriously over thirty rectangular slates, small clouds of white curling up like smoke in the early morning haze with each written stroke. And occasionally an eye would turn and fix its gaze upon a floating particle – thoughts diverted for a brief second – another life, another existence, another reality.

-*-

"Three weeks." These words, repeated like a mantra. "Three weeks." Cairo restless picked at her food – rice and lentil beans, boiled and mashed together with a handful of pig fat thrown in for flavour. Ethan ignored her. He was far too occupied with the business of extracting a rather lengthy blonde strand of hair from his own plate of mush.

"Hmm," he remarked, "Sorel is on orderlies again. I hope they keep her away from the soup this evening." The breeze caught the hair from his fingers and sent it skidding underneath the tables. Ethan picked up his fork and continued to eat, munching away slowly but then grimacing, reaching up to his mouth with nimble fingers and extracting another hair, identical to the first.

"Three weeks." How much could be accomplished in three weeks? Despite the fact that they had been trained in the militia almost from the point of their birth, they were still young and green, unaccustomed to the world beyond the walls of the Collegiate – battles fought on the country’s borders, ambushes in the Kaladh forest... Cairo sometimes felt like screaming her ignorance – her vagrant desire to always know more.

"Did you know that a single strand of hair is all that is needed for an Adept to enchant someone?" Ethan twisted the blonde sliver around his index finger, pulling it taut against his skin. "Imagine that... a single strand of hair. That’s all you need to find out about someone – how old they are, what they look like, what their favourite food is… all you need to enchant someone."

"So go ahead and enchant Sorel," said Cairo absently, using her fork to toy with a bean while Ethan polished off the last of his rice and lentils. "Turn her into a dish of roast pork and potatoes – then we can have her for lunch."

"Aren’t you going to eat that?" Ethan gestured towards her plate. Cairo shrugged, then pushed it away from her, watching as he began to devour the muck. She really couldn’t afford to go without a meal but she was too restless to eat and the food was making her slightly nauseous. The sight of Ethan consuming it so heartily was in itself nutritious to Cairo, though – as if she were ingesting it into her own stomach but using his mouth as the medium. For a lot of things – especially knowledge – it often felt like that – as if he were surrogate eyes, ears and mouth for her.

"Quick! Over the wall – the wardens are coming!"

He’s taking his time out there, locking up the kitchen and sweeping the back steps. She wonders how he can be so complacent – how can whistle so brightly – so brazenly – when there, around the corner, the tread of the night warden echoes through the stillness of the night.

"You there! Apprentice, what are you still doing here?"

He nods eagerly. She sighs. He could have grabbed something a little more substantial from the larder – they had not picked the lock for nothing. But then it would have been hard to get past the warden otherwise. He pours the salt into a small vial pilfered from a local market stand and tops it with a cork. And they are away – scrambling up on top of the wall, then onto the roof of the kitchen, then upwards to the third floor – to the sanctuary of their room.

Ethan did have to admit that he was very hungry – especially after last night’s trek over the rooftops and this morning’s exercises and the sums on the board of the dusty classroom that made his head hurt. He didn’t understand how Cairo could just willfully discard food like that but he wasn’t about to complain. Her mind was clearly absent today. She leaned upon the table on one elbow and stared out towards the windows, the courtyard, the Hunters practising somersaults near the western wall. There were deep grooves beneath her eyes. Why had she waited up for him last night? The idiotic wench should have given up and gone to sleep instead. But no, she had been vigilant, counting the hours, counting the change of watches, waiting for him to return. To abuse him, of course.

The night of the pairing. The night where boy meets girl and the outcome is a matter of chance. Thirty adolescent males pound down the length of the corridor, each seeking to distance himself as much as possible from the rest of his peers – his constant companions for the past ten or eleven years. Roget streaks past, yelling at the top of his lungs how he will make the bitch suck till she drops. Ethan abruptly changes direction, slips into an empty room and closes the door on the mayhem. The wardens will be lenient tonight; they will give each pairing one night of privacy – and one night only – before continuing their rounds. So it must be tonight.

So he lies and waits. And she sits, staring out at the stars, saying nothing.

"Three weeks." Cairo returned to her musing. Would everyone be up to the challenge? Would they all be able to work as a team, following Milla’s orders? Or would they divide – girls against boys – the way other platoons disintegrated, through internal bickering when platoon leaders could not agree. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop, thinking of the trouble-makers – the cooperative ones – the weaker individuals in their regiment.

"Stop that," said Ethan between mouthfuls. She pulled her hands away and placed them in her lap, making a face at him. He made one back and they glared each other like errant siblings, bound by a common hatred yet common respect. He pushed what remained of the food towards her. "Eat. We have sparring practice this afternoon. If you’re not up to it, I’ll impale you on my spear."

"Thanks very much, partner," she said sarcastically, but she took a couple of mouthfuls anyway, trying not to gag as the mash went down. "I’ll remember that next time I have some lunch left over – I’ll give it to Roget instead."

They both glanced across the room where a brawny sandy-haired youth talked very loudly to his neighbours, regardless of whether they were listening to him. It was a pity that waif-like Ophelia had run in that direction on pairing night; later Ethan realised that it had been her screams he had heard. He shuddered. There were never any visible bruises signalling mistreatment on Ophelia’s sallow flesh, and yet she kept her body well-covered at all times, even taking the trouble to shower outside of regulation hours so that she would not be exposed to looks from others.

"Kirin would not have stood for it," said Cairo in a low voice. Ethan’s attention snapped back to his partner, watching as she polished off the leftovers and drained her cup of water.

"What?"

"Kirin would not have stood for it." Her nonchalance was beginning to annoy him. And he was furious that she dared to speak that name aloud. His hand shot out and gripped her wrist.

"Kirin isn’t real – and never has been," he said, squeezing tight.

She gave him a look – the curve of her small pink mouth in a sardonic twist. Using her entire arm as leverage, she flipped him over off his bench so that he landed flat on his back on the hard unforgiving timber.

"Oof!" he gasped as all the air was knocked out of him. Fluidly she rose, freed her grasp from his and strode out of the room as the one o’clock bells began to chime and the rest of the Trackers prepared for the afternoon’s sparring session.

It is midnight and he has fallen asleep, curled around himself. The wind has picked up and howls around the room searching out every corner, every crack. She is indifferent to it though it rustles the ends of her hair, blowing it across her face sometimes. The candle has gone out long ago and there are no matches to relight it; now there is only the moon.

Her expression changes to one of contempt – her lips a thin jagged line, a small flash gleaming in her dark eyes – the only sign of life that he has seen in her for the past two hours. Mentally he curses himself for asking such a stupid question – of course she had known where he was; one did not spend ten years in a Collegiate and emerge knowing nothing. He begins to redden under her gaze and hopes she can’t see.

"Cairo. Pleased to meet you, Ethan."

Raven Darkblade:
:If it bothers none, I shall rest here.: Erelan spoke quietly into the golden-haired elf's mind, looking over at the pair. She whispered half to her own mind, half to Solarin, (For humans must be born to make us sorrow... so brief are they. So brief.)

:It bothers none,: Solarin answered the dragon quietly, without looking up. :Rest where you will.:

He sighed softly, for there was painful truth in Erelan's words. Though he had not asked her directly, he judged Raven to be not much over thirty years of age. At thirty years old, he had matured no more than a human two-year-old. In another thirty years, when he had only changed slightly, Raven would be an aging woman.

(Ah, gods....) He held back another sigh, letting the breath out silently. (It seems,) he thought wryly, (that I am damned if she does, and damned if she does not.) If Raven accepted the bond, her rapid aging and imminent death would cripple him, if not kill him. If she rejected the bond, his death might not be as swift, but it would surely come. (Perhaps that is the reason I hesitate to tell her what has passed between us. But... I am not sure how long I can bear to be silent. Ai, gods, this is a fine mess I've gotten myself into. I seem to have a remarkable talent for such things.…)

He broke off his thoughts when he saw Atalaya approaching. She looked down at the blond elf, folding her arms over her chest, and raised an eyebrow. "Kiriyel, Solarin? Granted that you were always a tad outside the norm... and granted that from what I've seen of her, I could like her... for a human... but are you deliberately trying to end up the subject of some minstrel's tragic song?"

He smiled slightly, looking up at the paladin through half-closed eyes of cool, shadowy green. "Atalaya, you know me better than that. It was merely my own thoughtlessness, as usual. Please, sit, and do keep your voice down." He twined an unruly lock of Raven's hair around his finger. "She sleeps little enough as it is."

Atalaya's blunt disapproval bolstered him, and he was able to armour himself in cool, faintly amused nonchalance. Better that the paladin with whom he had once trained not know all that he had experienced in the century or so since they had parted ways.

(Don't press, my friend,) he said silently. (You don't want to know.)

Rainbow:
The next morning, just as the sun rose, Jay and Jatoka were flying off in the direction of the Worldsend Mountains.

:Hey, Joka?: Jay grinned, feeling the wind in his hair, blowing out his golden tunic behind him.

:Yes?: the sardonic mind-voice asked from below him.

:How long 'til we get there?: Jay smiled again, imagining Rainbow's delight in seeing him again.

:Oh ho!: Jatoka's 'voice' laughed, :you just want to see her again do you?:

Jay blushed; even the cold air up where Joka was flying couldn't cool his burning cheeks.

The pair flew on until about mid-morning, and watched as the lush green of the forest green darker and more mysterious.

:My wings are tired, Jay. Can we please stop for a bit?: The black pegasus was sweating under the hot sun, the storm having blown itself out ages back.

Suddenly all of Jay's mage-senses concentrated on a huge mage-signal, and it had Rainbow's and Dee's energy signals in!

(Fool of a woman!) Jay fumed inwardly. (What I'm going to do to her when I see her again...)

Then, Jatoka started to slow. :Look, Jay, I saw the mage-signal. I also saw a unicorn go and see what the problem is. I also noticed that there is a man called 'Darro' mixed up in this, and he needs a healer. Please can I rest my wings and then we'll find her!:

Jay looked at the pegasus in annoyance, and then spotted a clearing down below, with – (can it be? A fire?)

Slowly Jatoka descended. Jay saw the shocked faces of elves, a angel, a fairie, a troll, and a person who seemed to be two people, look in startled amazement at him.

:Jay?: Jatoka queried, :I sense a dragon and a Adept-mage in the forest, along with someone else.:

(What have I let myself in for?) Jay wondered silently. Then he slid off Joka's sweat-ridden back and saddle, and made a full court bow. "I am Jay Christson of Animi, betrothed to Rainbow Faye of Animi, and I want to know where that fool Heir is!"

Axe & Dax:
Xenon felt like he was plodding down the trail like he used to plod in the evening of a warm spring day – after following a plow behind one of his father's tired old plow horses all day. The same slow monotony seemed to guide his steps. Then Dak moved up beside him and the dragon flew off toward camp. Xenon dredged up a bit of arrogant pride and used it to fuel his waning consciousness. It would never do to be tired... never.

"Dak," Xenon said, "I am going to tell you about this wretched party of loose stones as we head back toward camp so they won't come as any more of a shock to you than they necessarily must. Also, I have gotten extremely bored with the lot of them and I am going to retire for an hour or two to muse upon some interesting occurrences that have come to my attention of late... and I do not wish to be bothered with saving you from some foolish act you might happen to commit... if you were unaware of your circumstances." (Not that he won't make those mistakes anyway, but what the Hades, let him keep his pride).

Dak thought, (Ah! Mission briefing followed by insult! This sounds more like the Xenon I know.) He walked on beside Xenon and nodded his tousled head.

"First, the whole scurvy lot are not pulling together for kregzhrnagz," Xenon said, "and further more, they aren't likely to unless danger requires it. There are too many leaders and few followers. Further there are more than the usual separate number of agendas and some simply seem to lack any survival instinct whatsoever. There are non-combatant types involved. Some of them, I think, actually contemplate going to the Citadel and pulling Medivh Savar out by his toenails kicking and screaming, and execute him on the spot for blood magic crimes or some such. Some of the idiots might try to give him a fair trial."

"The Citadel? Isn't that where you grew up?" Dak dredged up a bit of trivia from his vast mental warehouse of such things, like ladies' favourite colors, and who was allied with who in the thieves guilds.

"No and yes," Xenon said. "No, I grew up on a farm in Jacora on the edges of the Kaladh actually, but I received some of my training while living at the Citadel."

Dak nodded again; this was more knowledge than he had been able to garner in the three years that he had been taking odd jobs from Xenon; Xenon must be truly tired to be so forthcoming.

"So to begin." Xenon considered where to start for a moment and then went on. "First there is the troll and his huge war sheep. No don't ask... save it and ask him if you want. He loves elves overmuch and has a sappy sort of adoration for old ties his people once had with them. He says he is an ambassador for his people to the outside world since they have won their war against a huge hoard of dark elves and demons. I am unsure about his qualifications as such, since he seems to consider it appropriate for an ambassador to come up to the world and immediately go after Savar in his Citadel on the say so of those he has not met prior to last evening... but ambassadorial politics are strange; I should know – and he did receive an invitation from Savar through Agelein... whom I am sure you remember."

Dakorillon was listening intently with one part of his mind, while the other part drifted. (War sheep? Have they spiked its wool with lime like the barbarian warriors with their woad and limed hair? Trolls and elves? So the old song, 'Oh my sire was a troll and my dam was an elf' is true? Agelein? Oh, yes, I remember her. I got some of my worst jobs during that 'tender' time after their 'break-up'. And he's actually dealing with her?)

Xenon continued – amused at, but determined to ignore – Dak's mental musings. "The troll is, however, both an adept in elemental magic of earth and fire, and an accomplished war leader in some respects at least... besides standing ten feet tall of solid muscle. When the group was in trouble from screylinh recently, he fought them with skill and cool thought, and his sheep, which is sentient by the way, did so as well. He'll probably survive this masquerade if he doesn't challenge me as well as Savar.

"Second comes Raven and Solarin. Raven is the small dark haired female warrior with the elvish look and the quick temper, who owns – and/or is bonded to – the crow who is watching your Aya. Raven is fairly to well competent warrior from what I have seen, and has a magic blade of ebony black... and an almost apparent bond of some sort to the Karilanthian ranger, Solarin. Solarin is haughty, arrogant and quite competent at what he does... the picture of a Karilanthian. We do not get along much, and have had our words over elves in general – you, my friend, being an exception – and he continually tries to lead this rag tag group off through the Kaladh to some dragreksh elf vale. He and I are likely to have it out if he continues, and he doesn't have much chance of winning even if his little beauty helps... but he is an excellent ranger and caretaker for the weaker in the group, and might live through this meet with Savar if some creature of the Kaladh or his own bond doesn't kill him first."

(Solarin? That name's familiar, but I don't remember him being associated with a human, and Aya is not my lady, just a lady in need.) Dakorillon corrected Xenon mentally. (Bonds with a human? Luck and Love, Solarin, what could you be thinking?! Oh, free him, Luck from that creeping death! and Lady Love, soothe his heart.) Dak's mind took a moment to think of his own follies before refocusing on what Xenon was saying, but he knew he could play it back later and get every nuance and word if he desired.

"Those are the next most likely to try to lead this group, and the troll will fall in with them if they do." Xenon continued to speak quietly as he stopped and paused on the path, halfway between the place where they were and the camp. He didn't wish the others to overhear, and Kang assured him that there was no one within several hundred yards of them in any direction... except those in the camp.

"There is a little assassin named ShadowBlade who travels with a rather polite unicorn – Ynys I think – who seems to be of nice breeding, and who sticks with ShadowBlade as though they were friends. They may be. Blade doesn't like me and thus has no taste in men, but is a pretty good fighter. She also carries a black blade; they must be sold in some market nearby you would think. She is one of Solarin's pets as well, though they didn't arrive together from the place whence this gaggle left last eve. Agelein you know; she is as sweet and as deadly as ever... don't eat her cooking."

(The assassin or the unicorn has good breeding?) Dak wondered. (It could go either way, in Xenon's opinion. No taste in men? Fine taste I would say; that means she's my type.) Dak grinned and then quickly sobered before Xenon could think he was laughing at something Xenon was saying. (Agelein, yes, she has been my contact on several occasions, and yes, I remember, she has had several people expire after one of her dinners in town. She can't cook field rations at all; she always burns the bacon and her beans are always hard, and somehow she can make the best venison taste like boot soles....)

Xenon's face contorted in a fit of rage at Dak's mental remarks. "Dak," he purred, the danger in his voice clear and immanent, "don't you remember that I know all I care to know? If you continue your insults of me in thought or deed, I will make sure you wish you had not. If you want the Fregrezderkshedregeth little dringe of an assassin then take her... but I will tire, oh so very quickly if you continue to differ with me that her taste in men is Fragregrashdregruthagin HORRIBLE! Now shut up, both in mind and voice and let me finish."

(Uh, oh. Does he mean the unicorn, elf or Aggy?) Dak's mind scrambled for clarification, like a rat trying to find purchase in a quickly filling drainpipe. (The elf, he means the elf... shut up? But I never said… oh... silent, I am silent... oh Xenon the Adept who can fry my favourites off at thirty paces... oh so silent... silent as an owl, silent as a mouse, silent as a....) He broke off before the rage could overflow, and looked over through his one-sided bangs with a hopefully repentant and inoffensive a look as possible – one perfected by seventy-five years as a street rat.

"Fine. You're forgiven." Xenon continued. "Next there is the dragon. Even you wouldn't upset her on purpose so I'll leave that but to say that she hates big mages who work with blood and anything that remotely smells like demon. She is also ridiculously maudlin about elves as you have seen. There is a little bard named Sand – leave off of that one, she's mine. There is a masochistic but talented healer named Seashimmer, and while she is not a fighter, she seems a decent sort – stays quiet, does what she is told, is beautiful and thus, leaving aside her elven heritage, is the perfect woman. There is an idiot of a half elf running around like a chicken with his head cut off, which a screylinh almost obliged him in doing except for the quick blade hand of a party member to his assistance, but he is a woodsy sort; stealthy, sneaky, frightened at his own shadow. and excellent with a thrown knife. Think you – except less confident, not as good looking, younger, half elven, and capable of finding his way back from the jacks when in the forest. I doubt that he will be of much use, but you never know. Pike fodder might become scarce."

Xenon paused, waiting for any reply, but Dak stayed pleasantly silent except for a quick sarcastic mental, (O thank you Xenon,) which Xenon ignored as he continued.

"There is a war fairie named Etain. She is also beautiful and fairly quiet, but also a deadly warrior, especially with thrown knives... perhaps you all can have a little competition or some such. She'll be useful as a warrior no doubt. Her lot is also thrown in with Solarin and Raven but we will see how that goes. There is a young... elf –" Xenon hesitated just a moment then continued – "named Zeke and though he hasn't shown much so far, he has potential. You might want to befriend him."

Xenon paused for a breath. Then he dug back in again. "There is one there named Delane. You are not to go near her. She is death to you if you get too close and she is Temptation itself. She will be the death of someone in this group before she is done, almost certainly... make sure it is not you. There is an Angel of Laoghaire named Fallenangel – can you believe? – with an ancient breed of winged cat which is called Isis. The cat is sentient, beautiful and dangerous; the Angel is sentient, beautiful and not. An empath, and distracting, but not a real danger, except, perhaps, through her god. Being a religious man yourself, perhaps you should talk to her. Quite a coup if you could convert one of Laoghaire's Angels to Luck and Love, yes?" Xenon smiled a wicked smile.

"I claim her not, but she is not yet strongly of any faction, so do not alienate her. I think she may prove useful, if for nothing more than bait to draw out Savar. He will not be able to countenance such beauty and purity without seeking to sully it.

"She was talking to a Knight of Laoghaire as I left to find you, and probably assigned the poor beggar penance or some such. He'll need it, for he is carrying a demon blade, which I have seen before, as Savar once – and still does – coveted it for his collection. It is called Masamune... don't get near the blade. You can't miss it; the dergrathgut thing is nine feet long. I suspect he will make a useful pawn for someone – quite possibly Aggy or Savar.

"Kang has told me that there is another female of elven blood who has come into the camp and who travels with a wolf familiar of some sort. I have no idea as of yet where she falls in the scheme of things, but it begins to look like an elven market day back there. There was an absolutely ridiculous young princess ambassador from some place called Animi – across the mountains – with no manners and absolutely no ambassadorial skills – who was with the group. As she was an untrained Adept mage, I offered to teach her a bit, and she accepted, but instead of following me as she should when the group fled the screylinh hordes, she and her pegasus, Dee’rina – a much more interesting person, actually, than the Princess Rainbow – flew off to some cave, and according to Kang are succoring a... man I know well... mores the pity. She may never return, as she seems fond of gathering raw magic to her and throwing it up, and yes, that analogy does present an appropriate picture, in great gouts, for little apparent reason – or perhaps only reasons – she, in her youthful state can fathom. She is gripped in a terrible bout with rampant pubescent hormones, and may one day become a decent sort... if not eaten by some denizen of the kaladh first. I would have gone to find her as well, but she has been annoying to the extreme and overly haughty to me, and thus, I think she may be more teachable after some Kaladh denizen chews on her for a while."

Xenon's face was filled with a wicked smile, but he also was apparently worried a bit about her, Dak was sure, else he would have just dismissed her as dead and been done with it.

"Thus, that leaves only the Karilanthian Noble Paladin of Solaras who has recently joined up. I don't believe any reasonable person could aught but understand what that means, and avoid her and her self-righteous Karilanthian demeanor – like the plague they are.

"And than, Dak, is the short form of it," Xenon continued, walking towards the camp. "I doubt you will need much of an introduction from me to these... fine folk… and probably will fare better without it. Still, they mindspeak there like regular conversation, and since I know this... pains you, I will have Kang shield you... as long as you do not wander too far away. As for aught else, I will hire you for a bit since I'm going to have to take care of you until you leave this wood anyway, and I will try to come up with some weapons for you. Once you are armed, you are easily a match for most of those there in combat, and certainly superior to most in wit. I'm sure you'll have them all laughing at each other and you, making things feel like there’s a party going on within moments after you arrive.... Ah here we are."

So saying, Xenon preceded Dak into the clearing and went directly over to the southern face of the circle. He ignored the others, effecting to be wrapped up in his own musings. He leaned back against the wall and then relaxed as Kang flowed around him, supporting him completely and leaving only a few tiny holes in the sides of the featureless dome that surrounded him for breathing. They were small and wove a twisting pathway through the adamant before reaching him inside. Xenon, however, didn't notice. He rushed headlong – like falling into black depths – into the dark torrents of exhausted oblivion.

(Was that a compliment, Xenon my friend? You are slipping. Next you'll be inviting beggars to dinner at your expense, and forgiving those who insult you; what is the world coming to?) Dak grinned at his own fancy and surveyed the camp.

(There's the dragon; she's beautiful, right enough, especially sleeping. He's right; you can't miss the sheep... hmm, no lime. Frag me! That's one big, black man... troll, and he's an Adept? Why doesn't he just get it over with and declare himself one of the gods? He and Xenon could start a nice Pantheon – god of big, black sheep, god of unpleasant death in a slow and painful manner.... Who would they choose as consorts? The sheep?) Dak chuckled at his own audacious thoughts.

(That must be the elven assassin – not to be confused with Aggy the assassin or Delane the assassin or myself – and the elf, Zeke, and the unknown elf woman and wolf by the fire with the sleeping beauties, Sand, Seashimmer, Delane, and, what did he call him? 'the idiot of a half-elf'. But he did say that he was much like me, so he can't be all bad.) He continued his survey of the camp, with his natural oblivion to Xenon's insults.

(That would be the Angel and cat there, and the armoured fellow would be the knight. Paladin, ah, yes, over by Solarin. Yes, that is the Solarin that I've seen before; how many years has it been? Oh, Luck and Love, he did pick a cutie, though; if you have to lose your mind, may as well pick someone good looking to do it over. Well, Dak, my boy, that leaves the war fairie – how dangerous can someone six inches tall be? – and the unicorn, who has supposedly gone to check out Xenon's protégé. Oh, yes, and dear Aggy, where is she?) He took a moment to look around and found her sitting in a tree, staring at the elven assassin.

(Well, no reason to intrude on Solarin and the Paladin; they seem to be in deep discussion, and I have always said let sleeping dragons lie, so off to the fire then, to meet the beauty who is the object of Aggy's stare, because, I really don't want to talk to Aggy, anyway; she's always haughty and has been fussy ever since she and Xenon parted ways; all she wants to do is complain about how badly she was treated.) With that, he put his thoughts in motion and headed over to the fire with a quick look over his shoulder to tell the Black to "stay".

-*-

When she was within calling distance and was visible to those seated around the fire, she called out a hello. She came to stand near the fire – not too close, but enough not to be rude.

"My name is Kay Silversong, and this is my mindmate Shadowdancer. We bid you good day and hope that you are all well. We are wandering the lands and have just recently come to this area. Does anyone know why the land near here but a ways away feels tainted? Like someone has used blood-magic to summon Dark Creatures, or to raise power for itself."

Zeke looked up surprised as a voice spoke. (It does? They did? Oh, she's cute; the willing wench quota seems to be rising,) he thought happily. ShadowBlade seemed lost in a near doze so he answered.

"Greetings, fair Kay and gentle Shadowdancer; our thanks for your greeting, and good day to you as well. I hadn't noticed any taint in the land hereabouts, nor have I seen any Summonings recently. Perhaps you are mistaken? My name is Zeke, and I welcome you to our humble camp. If I may be of... service... to you, please let me know." He smiled his best winning smile which changed to a frown as he saw Xenon pass by. He felt better though once the Demoner webbed himself to the wall. But it caused him to miss whatever reply she had made, so he just smiled and nodded to her. "Of course."

His eye was then caught by the movement of someone approaching from the entrance. and he saw an elf male with a black steed, unsaddled but following faithfully. Zeke patted the log beside him and offered Kay and the wolf bowls of stew, before looking up at the elf who had just arrived.

Zeke greeted the new arrival. "Hail, cousin, welcome to our campsite. There is still stew aplenty if you would like some, and nothing in it that wasn't truly dead before cooking," he said with a smile. "There are some mud-covered spuds as well, that are amazingly good."

Dakorillon eyed the stew, the spuds and the elf carefully before replying, hunger winning out over common sense. "Thank you, cousin, I don't mind if I do. My name is Dakorillon SilverSong," he said with a courtly bow. "And you?"

"Zeke is my name, I am a mercenary from the West," Zeke answered, happy to have someone actually ask him something. He handed Dakorillon a bowl of the stew after cleaning it with a bit of magic. Dak accepted the bowl and sat on a convenient rock.

"I am a bard, who has recently come upon some travail, and in doing so lost my harp as well as my weapons, and, as can be expected in any tragic tale, a woman of uncommon beauty was involved. But that is a tale for another hour," Dak answered, digging into the stew which was well flavoured and didn't taste of rot at all. (Perhaps, friend Zeke has taken a sword upside the head one too many times and he's a bit addled. Well, he seems happy enough with that answer for now.)

Zeke stirred what was left of the stew and bit into another mud-covered tuber. (They are a bit crunchy but the insides are soft and warm.)

Dak was sure he was right about the sword upside the head when he saw the elf take a bite out of the clay-baked potato without removing the outer clay. "Cousin Zeke, mayhap you'll find the taste improved if you remove the exterior – or even just scoop out the interior; there is really no waste involved with leaving a bit of tuber skin stuck to the inside of the baking clay."

Zeke looked downfaced at yet another faux pax. The mortal world was much more complicated than he had been led to believe. He stared into the fire, too embarrassed to do much more than that.

-*-

Several hours passed with people quietly talking or getting some much needed sleep. Those awake occasionally drifted to sleep, and those asleep awoke, but the screylinh battle had taken much from some, and those who had newly arrived were quietly informed of much of the last eve's events... as well as their final destination. The warm sun shone down and made a lazy day of it for many, but for some, dark dreams assailed the idyllic bliss in the clearing. For some this was undoubtedly their unconscious reaction to the tainted land they were entering. For others, perhaps, it was something which rose up from dark or tortured souls.

There were those who watched, of course. Elven senses were keen and there were those there with keener senses – yet in relation to certain things. Thus many were awake or awakening when, at about three in the afternoon, they saw, descending from the clouds above, a huge black winged form, with a man astride its back... and Jay and Jatoka landed in the clearing and began to speak.

Start | Back | Next

Go to the:
Home Page | Members Page | Rules Of Conduct | Pictures | Cast List | Story

Background created and ©Copyrighted by Kathryn Shannon on behalf of Mistic Circle

---

This page is hosted by Get your own Free Home Page