PLEASE NOTE: This is a discontinued series.  I don't know if it will be started again, despite having an outline for the next story.  So, if you don't mind the fact you may not get a real ending to this series, please, be my guest and proceed!

Eye of Illusions
Verismilitude
Shycat

When Jarell K'letta was a child, Morden had told him dreams could not hurt him. He said they were figments of the imagination. Jarell had had no words to argue and too much respect to even consider doing so; but he'd always felt Morden was wrong. Dreams did hurt. In his dreams he saw his parents die. There were many ways of dying, each horrible and violent, each causing him to awaken screaming.

The night Jarell had learned the truth should have been the night he was free from nightmares, but that was not so. Instead, he saw his parents being murdered by the trolls. They were tied to the orb, their energy being sucked into it, their bodies jerking and shaking as their life was stolen. He saw Morden, blood oozing around the knife embedded in his heart. He saw Velakis, dying by his own hand, shock etched onto his face as he slumped to the ground.

In the room's darkness, a tear slid past his shuttered eyes, and Jarell burrowed deeper into the blanket, cocooning himself in the thick warmth. It felt good, though he knew it was only a surface relief for his suffering. He thought of Lucas, the most unlikely friend he'd ever come across, and latched onto that thought to keep himself from drifting off into the nightmares. He missed Lucas greatly, but his friend had returned to Duranee. So Jarell was in the estate Morden had owned, by himself, trying not to fall asleep because he would be plagued by horrors he did not want to deal with; and Lucas was in Duranee, probably fighting in another battle that would surely gain him nothing. The last time he'd seen Lucas he had tried telling him that. What could he possibly gain from constantly fighting battles?

Jarell felt sorry for the humans. They knew so little about politics. He wondered if their land was anything like Raushanka. From the stories Lucas had told him, he supposed not. He also supposed that he would never actually get to see it with his own eyes. Even if Duranee did not have the luxuries of Raushanka, it would be an adventure, something exciting that could help him escape this loneliness and the duties set before him. Duties he had little interest in.

Jarell grasped his pillow and hugged it, enjoying the comfort and false security it gave him. Maybe the pain would not come tonight. He smiled bitterly to himself. A great irony, he thought. He was now one of Raushanka's greatest healers, yet he could not even heal himself.

~*~

The fire devoured the huts. Black billows of smoke floated overhead like an ominous fog. Children wailed as their parents were slain by the marauders, watching their bodies collapse to the ground in pools of blood. Soldiers struggled to save the village, but the worst of the destruction had already been done. Before his eyes, Lucas of Sorren watched a barbarian cut down one of his men. He bellowed and charged at the bandit, brandishing his sword, giving the murderer little time to defend himself. Screams, laments, despair, fire, burning . . . the roar. It filled his ears. The emotions, the sounds, the pain . . . then nothing was there except a buzzing.

A child cried out, its voice shrilling. He spun around, hearing nothing but the buzz and the child's desperate cry. Around him his men fought. Other soldiers, not under his command, fought. The villagers fought. And one by one they were chopped down like sacrificial lambs. Blood soaked the ground and there was a baby, dead. A woman screamed and thrashed as a man punched her pregnant belly. Again, Lucas heard the child's cry.

There. In that hut. He sprinted for it, seeing nothing but the burning home, hearing nothing but the buzz and the child's screams. Jeremiah. He was being given another chance to save Jeremiah.

Something jumped in front of him, a man. The barbarian swung at him, his blade glistening in the firelight. Lucas jumped back, but felt a sting in his arm as the weapon sliced across it. Pushing the pain aside as an inconvenience, he retaliated, arcing his sword down. The blade slashed through the chest, felling his attacker to the ground. His sword toppled from his hand, his arm weakened by the blood streaming from his gaping wound. He stumbled towards the hut, no longer hearing the child's cries, but still determined. He kicked down the door and smoke poured out. Flames began to lap at the door frame and crawl along the outer wall.

He stepped inside, his throat hot and tight, lungs itching, his heart pounding furiously, as sweat seeped into his eyes. He coughed and looked around blindly. Smoke and fire, smoke and fire. No screams. Just smoke and fire. He was grabbed from behind. He was being dragged from the burning home. He fought, yelling wordlessly. Another pair of arms attacked him and he struck out, connecting with something solid, but doing little damage.

"Jeremiah!" Not again! It couldn't happen again! Arms wrapped around him, holding his own pinned against his body. He continued to struggle, but his strength was waning.

"You can't go in there. It's suicide!" said the man behind him. A familiar voice. One of his soldiers, he thought dimly.

"NO! I have to save him!"

His men began to talk all at once: "You can't!" "It's over!" "He's dead! They're all dead!"

No. Please, God, no. It could not be true. My son, dear God. My son.

Lucas sagged against the arms and he felt the blood running freely down his arm. It throbbed, but did not hurt. There was wetness on his cheeks. He knew it was not blood.

"It's okay, sir. We've got you." It sounded like David.

Lucas nodded, as the arms, so many arms, supported him. Then he faded into a darkness that promised the nightmares that did not scare him because they were merely frightening, but because they had actually happened.

~*~

It had only been a few hours since the battle at the village of Diophen, but already the few uninjured soldiers were becoming anxious. Their lieutenant was unconscious and the ranking officer, Captain Vienes, had still not been heard from. Mark stood outside his tent, staring at the devastation that had been inflicted upon their army. If Vienes and the other men had been here, would they have triumphed or would it have only resulted in more casualties? As it was they didn't have enough men to bury the corpses. He saw David, his comrade and friend, stride towards him, then start to pass by without even looking in his direction.

"David . . ." Mark snagged his fellow soldier's arm as the other passed. "Captain Vienes and the other men haven't returned."

Eyes widening, David turned on his friend. "Does Lieutenant Sorren know?"

"He's still out. If Vienes has been killed, then Lucas will be the captain."

David shook his head, his lips stretched into a thin line, arms akimbo. "We don't know that anything has happened. We'll wait for a messenger's confirmation before assuming the worst."

"The marauders left in the direction Vienes was traveling from." He clutched David's shoulders and leaned into him. "There were only twenty men in that troop. There had to have been at least forty marauders. They'd never stand a chance!"

David threw the hands off his shoulders. "You don't know that!"

Now shivering despite the warm humidity, Mark said, his voice straining, "Then why haven't they returned?"

"I-I don't know." David rubbed his face fiercely, then slicked his short hair back with both hands. "I was going to check on Sorren. We'll have to tell him."

"How's he going to take this? There's no way he can take the command. You know he can't. You saw the way he flipped out at Diophen earlier."

"He'll handle it," David said, staring at his friend. "You know he will. What happened today and what happened to his wife and son all those years ago has nothing to do with his ability to lead the troops. Now, are you coming with me?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued in the direction he'd been heading previously. Still shivering, Mark trailed after.

~*~

The village was charcoal dark and still steaming from the fire that had destroyed it. Bodies of men, women, and children were strewn everywhere and a rotten-sweet stench permeated the air. Lucas spun in circles, his arms out, imploring the villagers to forgive him. He had been too late.

He stumbled forward. The earth seemed to spin beneath him. He didn't know where to go, what to do, or what to think. He could only stagger about blindly, hoping that he would come across a living person. Anything living would suffice. Even the animals were quiet, either dead themselves or scared away from the violent attack on the village. Anything living . . . anything. He saw faces of those he knew, neighbors, friends--

His wife.

Her body faced the opposite direction, but instinctively he knew it was her. Perhaps it was the long, dark blonde hair or the patterned dress that had been a favorite, but he knew. His breath caught in his throat as it dawned on him how dirty she was. The hair was tangled together in black, matted clumps, the dress was frayed and torn, smudged with dirt and bodily fluids.

"Emily." His voice would go no louder than a whisper, hampered by horror and disbelief. His eyes stung with grief and he began to drag himself towards her, feeling weak and useless, uncharacteristically vulnerable.

The corpse writhed. He froze. It flopped on the ground like a fish out of water. It keened as it continued to flounder, struggling to come back to life. It struggled to its feet, dust sifting off the ragged dress, curled hands hanging limply by its side. The face was sallow, the lips were white, tendrils of hair clung to the sides of the face, and where the eyes should've been was only a pulpy mess in each socket, gore crusting the rims. "They killed me."

His mouth fell agape. He could not speak.

"You killed me."

"N . . . no." He forced it out, trying to speak in his own defense, knowing how useless it was. She was right. He had killed her, as surely as if he had swung the blade himself.

"You didn't protect us. When they came, you weren't here." It removed the dress, pulling the cloth over its head, leaving the body naked. The corpse turned the sightless eye sockets down to its stomach, its hands moving to the gaping wound there. Though it was covered in cuts and gashes, this was the worst. Intestines were pushing at the wound, hanging partly out. "This is your fault." Fingers brushed over one of the limp organs.

He couldn't close his eyes--this is a nightmare--he couldn't move--this isn't real--he could only watch--I'll wake up any minute--and listen.

One of the closest huts burst into flames and a child screamed from inside the home. It was not the child from the battleground, the one he had mistaken for his son. It was his son. He tried to turn towards the fire. He tried to save his son, but something powerful held onto him and it wouldn't let go.

"His grave was the inferno of his own home."

He moaned. "Don't do this to me."

"You let him burn to death. You let him burn as you did the child from the village. You are not a soldier, Lucas. You are a murderer."

"I tried! Please, believe me!" A tear slipped down his cheek and rolled off. He was barely even aware of it.

A piece of intestine fell to the ground. The child continued screaming. Lucas could feel the flames on the side of his body, feel it cooking his skin. Still he could not move, not an inch, no matter how hard he tried. And for the second time, his son burned to death.

Guts still dripping from its abdomen, his wife's corpse approached, staring at him through its mutilated tissue. His son's screams intensified and he knew the flames had reached him, were eating him alive. His stomach twisted painfully. He wretched as the cadaver reached for him, promising him he would meet the same fate as his son.

His lips twisted in a parody of a smile as he heard the promise of justice being served.

~*~

"Sir!" Mark turned to David. "He's not waking up."

David pushed him aside and knelt by the cot. Lucas was feverish, heat radiating from him and sweat beading his forehead. He shivered. David shook his superior harshly then slapped him. Lucas's eyes flew open and he gasped. His arms darted out and he grasped handfuls of David's shirt.

His words tumbled out, faster with each sentence: "It was a hallucination. I thought it was my son in that village, but it wasn't . . . he burned to death, too. My wife was cut open and her eyes had been gouged out. Our home had been destroyed and inside I found a small body, almost unrecognizable, but I recognized him because he was my son and I should've been there to protect him, but I wasn't, and in that village I heard the child screaming in the burning hut and I thought it was Jeremiah again and if I hadn't been hallucinating I could've saved him, I could've if I had been able to keep my head, if I hadn't let that man injure me, even that shouldn't've stopped me, nothing should've stopped me, it was my fault. It was all my fault." He closed his eyes again.

Mark and David remained kneeling in silence, exchanging sidelong glances, but neither able to say anything that could soothe their leader's anguish. They knew Lucas had lost his wife and son to raiders, but neither had known the details or how deeply Lucas actually blamed himself.

"Sir," Mark spoke hesitantly. "It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could do. All of us--" He swallowed. "All of us tried. We all failed."

"If Vienes had been there it would not have happened." Lucas turned his head to look past his soldiers and out the open tent flap. "Shouldn't he and the other men be back?"

David and Mark exchanged wary glances. This was why they had come to see Lucas, but neither had realized just what shape he was in. Could he handle the news after what he'd just gone through, the memories of his family's death reawakened by the disaster of earlier today? They couldn't protect him, but even as Mark told him Vienes and the other men hadn't arrived yet, they wondered if the captain actually was dead and whether Lucas could take his place.

"We thought he was supposed to be," said Mark, casting nervous glances at David. "We haven't heard any news from a messenger though. Perhaps we shouldn't assume the worst, sir."

"That's a lie," Lucas said, glaring at the young soldier, "and you know it. Vienes should've been here a long time ago. The same marauders who attacked the village we were defending may have bested them. I wouldn't be surprised if that's what happened."

David and Mark simultaneously looked at the ground, disturbed that their superior had voiced their very worries.

Mark was unwilling to look anywhere else as he tried to bring optimism to the light. "No one should assume anything until we've received word from a messenger. The Captain and the other men may have just been sidetracked. We don't know that anything worse has happened. Or they may have been attacked and were able to win." This time he did meet Lucas's eyes.

"Do you honestly believe that, Mark?"

Mark didn't  reply.

The lieutenant nodded as he pushed himself up with his elbows. "That's what I thought. We'll wait for a messenger. We'll give him a day at the most. After that we'll move out. We can't wait around here any longer than need be."

"Will you be okay to lead the army, sir?" David asked.

"I don't have much choice in the matter. Do I?"

He shook his head and both men rose to their feet. There was nothing left to be said. Now they could only wait and hope. But all three men already knew what their news would be.

~*~

The messenger followed one of the guards he had approached into the camp of battle-torn soldiers. At the age of nine he had seen destruction and violence, but he had never seen such a sight as this. There were expressions dulled by Wizard Dust, a powerful substance that often put one into a state aside from reality. There were the faces marked with bitterness and hate. The most horrifying were the men, the youngest around sixteen and the oldest perhaps thirty, who were bawling, seemingly unashamed of their childish behavior. Darren had never seen a soldier cry. Maybe this was why he was delivering the message he had been given. The soldiers were all afraid.

As he walked through the camp he saw something that struck a dissonant chord in him. People--he knew instantly that many were dead--were stretched out on worn blankets, some covered, others not. As he walked deeper into this jungle of tents and corpses and soldiers, he saw exactly what had happened to those dead people. Through the moans and cries and pleas for it to all be ended, because of the carnage he saw, he suddenly knew what caused soldiers to cry, and it wasn't much different from why other people cried.

It was pain. It was loss.

When he entered the tent he let out a gasp of breath he hadn't even known he was holding. The guard left him in there alone and he almost called for him to come back. He didn't want to be alone in here. Then he realized he wasn't alone. The inside was dim, lit only by a solitary candle, but he could make out a moving lump and he heard the sounds of rustling, cloth sliding against cloth, and under that the steady stream of breath.

"What news have you, boy?" The weary voice came from the shadow-covered lump rising from the cot.

Darren swallowed, steeling himself for the violent reaction his message was sure to elicit. "It is about your captain and men." He clenched his fingers and plunged forward. "They have all been murdered by raiders. A group of my people were in the woods and found one still alive. The raiders wanted to deliver a message to all proponents of the merge with Raushanka. The soldier died as soon as he told us this."

The soldier--Lieutenant Sorren the dying man had called him--swore under his breath. He rose to his feet and as the candle's flame caught his face, Darren thought he saw the man's eyes glisten. "For five marcs, how would you like to accompany my troops to the Royal Base?"

Darren nodded enthusiastically at first, then suspicion calmed him. He slitted his eyes. "What for?"

"I want you to personally deliver a message to the queen and king. You are not to tell anyone." The soldier paused, as if mentally reassuring himself this was a wise move. "Tell them we are under opposition, that Vienes has been slain, along with the majority of the first infantry, and they are to gather all of the units for possible war against our own nation. Can you remember this?"

"Yes, sir." He promptly repeated the message, word for word, and the lieutenant gave him a satisfied nod. "But why can't you tell the king and queen that yourself?"

This time Darren was sure it wasn't a trick of the light. Sorren's eyes were glistening. "I have a message of my own to deliver to a friend. We're gonna need more than our own soldiers to win this."

~*~

"They are a disease. They are the worst kind of pest. They are a parasite. Our children have fallen for their lies, our leaders have fallen for their lies. Many of our own, the regular people such as you standing out in this crowd, have succumbed to their spells. Morden was a great man, a leader that will be missed, but in a moment of desperation, when his ward's life was at stake, he allowed the human into his life, opening this wound in which the infection has spread. Now, on this day of campaign, I urge you to elect me as one of the Hierarchy. I am a Warrior Mage of the tenth circle. I have had direct experience with the humans. I was responsible for the apprehension of the human that persuaded Morden to his side.

"But he saved the child's life, you say. Yes, Jarell K'letta is still alive. But do you honestly think that human, that pig, saved young Jarell's life out of the goodness of his heart? Of course not! He did it to soften our leaders, our very defenses, so the humans could come in and defeat us! Are we going to let this happen?

"You're right! We're not! Elect me as one of the Hierarchy and we will go into Duranee and put a stop to this menace before they can destroy us."

~*~

The three High Council Members sat at a round table in a room otherwise empty. It was completely made of stone, with only one arched window that allowed light in. Lanterns were hung around the walls, giving extra light. They faced each other in their formed triangle, no one speaking as they waited for the next wave of votes to be brought in. Beside the table was a sack on the stone floor, ballots spilling out of it onto the ground. The results had been counted before they were brought in, but the Hierarchy made it a point to keep tabs on the votes themselves.

They were down to three now. Since the Hierarchy had been formed centuries ago it had always been composed of four Mages of the tenth circle, all of which had been elected by the people. Sometimes they were called the Elders, sometimes the High Council, but they were known by all as the Hierarchy, for that was the name that everyone respected and feared. After Morden's death they had been laid open to inspection and almost every Mage of the tenth circle, though they were actually few in number, ran for the coveted spot. But it was not a close race. The three Council Members knew exactly who was in the lead and even without seeing the next wave of votes, or the wave after that, they knew who would win. It was very simple really.

All three had heard the speech Tael had given only days ago. They remembered who Tael was. He was the Warrior Mage that had captured the human, Lucas of Sorren, and had been outraged when they didn't kill the human. He had tried to defy Morden and had lost his rank of captain as a result. But he was still a Mage of the tenth circle and that made him difficult to deal with and free to run for the Hierarchy as he wished. And the people loved him. The people wanted him to win. The people were voting for him in masses.

Tael would win. They didn't need the final results to know this.

Lorelei was outraged. After centuries of pointless conflict, the hand of peace had finally been extended and Tael was attempting to cut it off with all the tools he had in his possession. The only reason he wanted the Council position was for the power it would give him. It made him no better than the trolls that had stolen the Eye of Jaffa and murdered the Wizards and Mages to conquer both lands.

Morden had truly done a stunning thing by accepting the human's help. It had stunned the rest of them. After learning of Morden's death, the remaining three had decided that they would work on the merge proposed by the Duranee royalty. Joining both lands together, forming trade posts, dropping all laws against the opposite race, and promoting peace among all would only make them stronger. If outside forces should ever attack, against them Duranee and Raushanka would be stronger together than if they stood separately. Tael was destroying this. He said the alliance would make them weak, but Lorelei knew he was wrong. The true weakness was allowing judgments with no basis to rule his heart and affect his brain.

The door to the room creaked open and a young woman carrying a large sack entered. She laid it on the table and slips of paper tumbled out. Lorelei thanked her and the young woman left. Sarina was already into the bag, pulling out a full sheet of parchment on which the second wave of votes were tabulated.

"Tael is still in the lead," she said, eyes roving over the text. "We'll count to make sure," Lorelei bit out. "No sense in an error allowing him to win. He shouldn't be allowed to be elected in the first place."

"If the people want him, the people get him," Ortos said drolly.

"Do you think these policies of war Tael is proposing are in our kingdom's best interest?"

Ortos shrugged, looking bored. "I never thought a peace treaty with Duranee was for the best. He may have a point."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Lorelei bent over the table. Ortos stared past her shoulder. "You think we should allow him to win?"

"Perhaps."

Sarina had grabbed a handful of slips out of the bag and was going through them as she spoke. "It would be no different from before. As long as the treaty is being worked on we are vulnerable to an attack. Tael's proposition will keep us not only protected, but also more powerful than the humans. Accept it, Lorelei. That's all there is to it."

Lorelei pressed her lips together and curled her fingers into fists. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "It's a mistake. You'll realize this when it's too late."

"I don't think we have anything to worry about," Ortos said. He pulled out a handful of slips. "Now are you going to help us go through these or are we going to have to do this ourselves?"

~*~

Lorelei had come by several times; she was worried about Jarell. She told him what was happening with the Hierarchy and who had won the election, though he showed little interest in it. Sometimes he just wanted her to leave. He didn't care about Raushanka or the Hierarchy. Sometimes he didn't even care about being a Healing Mage. All that had died with Morden. Lorelei wanted to work on his healing abilities, take over Morden's place as his mentor. Jarell guessed she would be best qualified as she was a Healing Mage of the highest possible rank, but he didn't want to reach the tenth circle anymore. He healed the lame and the sick, he was one of Raushanka's best healers, and the youngest . . . and his own condition was deteriorating. His heart was torn. In the weeks since Morden's death and seeing Lucas for the last time, Jarell had come to learn that it was very possible for one to die of loneliness. He had never seen it actually happen, but he could feel it happening to himself. That he could die from his wounded heart did not bother him. In fact, he welcomed it.

After all, death was an escape.

It had been close to three months since Morden's death and in that time he had seen Lucas only twice. Despite the gruff human's absence, he found himself thinking of the strange kinship that had developed. Had Lucas already forgotten about him? He tried to explain the odd feeling that accompanied these thoughts, trying to give it a deep, convoluted meaning. He knew what it was and the answer was actually very simple and rational. It was love. It was as if Lucas was his long lost brother, the missing half of his soul that would make him feel whole again. Especially since Morden's death, Jarell had wanted the feeling of family back, to see Lucas again and regain the sense of peace the trolls had stolen from him.

He thought about all of this while knelt in Morden's garden, pulling out weeds among the vegetables. It had been a favorite pastime of Morden's and Jarell had taken up the habit, finding that it was one of the only things these days that could help him find peace. He heard his name being called through his reverie and the familiarity of the voice startled him into awareness. It was a voice he had thought he would never hear again. He jumped to his feet and whirled around, weeds and dirt falling from his clothes. His heart beat wildly and his face flushed.

"Lucas?" He blinked rapidly. He barely noticed the two soldiers flanking his friend. He didn't care who they were or why they were here. He only saw the person that had saved his life, and the only one who had ever shown any compassion for him, other than Morden and Lorelei.

Lucas smiled warmly, walking towards Jarell, his arms outstretched. "Good to see you, kid."

Jarell nearly bowled him over, squeezing the larger man tightly. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Ah, ah, breathing would be nice," Lucas croaked as he patted Jarell's back.

Jarell released him abruptly and stood back. He used his forearm to push aside his errant bangs. "I can't believe you're here."

Lucas shrugged, embarrassed by the attention. "You think I'd forget about you?"

He didn't want to admit that he had. "Why are you here? I honestly thought you'd never return."

The two men behind Lucas shifted from foot to foot, exchanging wary glances. Jarell looked at them, then Lucas, his eyes narrowing.

"What happened?" he demanded, as reality began setting in, remembering what Lucas was and where he came from. "You didn't come here just to see me. You need my help." He backed up a few more steps.

"There's a rebellion in Duranee. The worst we've ever seen. Our captain was slaughtered, which means I'm now in command of the unit. We need your people's help."

He closed his eyes as the news sank in, stopping the world. Lucas had returned for a favor; and an impossible one at that. He opened his eyes and the world began to move again, albeit at a painfully slow pace. "We can't help you. Our people are divided as well. An election was held to fill Morden's place and the people voted for Tael."

Lucas shook his head. No, he wouldn't have remembered the name.

"Lorelei said that Tael is the man who captured you and brought you before the Hierarchy. He's a Warrior Mage of the tenth circle and he wants to stop the peace treaty with Duranee. He has a large number of supporters."

"And the other three have just let this happen? Don't they have the power to keep people like him from coming to power?"

Jarell brushed a hand through his hair, forgetting about the dirt on his hands, and winced as tangles snagged it. His hand flopped down and began picking at the fabric of his ragged shirt. "Ortos and Sarina don't care. If they think it'll benefit them they'll let it happen. Lorelei is the only one opposed and there's nothing she can do about it. Tael has power now and because he's a Warrior Mage he has full command of our military units. If any of the soldiers saw you and your friends they'd kill you without hesitation." He stopped picking at his shirt and rubbed his arm. "They're ruthless, Lucas. Just like the trolls."

"We can't allow this," Lucas said.

Jarell crossed his arms, not even bothering to brush aside the wayward curls that had fallen over his face again. Can't allow it? Did Lucas have any idea what he was up against? "What do you propose we do?"

Lucas faltered, as if he had read Jarell's mind and seen the doubts hidden there. Which was ridiculous of course. Lucas wasn't a Wizard. He was an ordinary human. "We need to speak with Lorelei, take her back to Duranee with us. If she talks to the king and queen, maybe they can form a treaty that will help both lands. Somehow she'll have to convince the other two. Then Tael won't matter." Then as if just remembering his manners and the so far silent soldiers accompanying him, he said, "Oh, and these are my friends and my two best soldiers, David and Mark."

Jarell nodded at them and they repeated the gesture. He noted that they seemed very nervous about their current surroundings. Obviously they had spent little time in Elven territory.

"I hope you don't mind their coming along. I thought it'd be safer this way."

"I understand. Would you like something to drink before we leave? I have fresh juice."

"That sounds good."

Lucas sounded uncomfortable taking him up on the offer. They followed him into what used to be Morden's home and was now his. Jarell could tell Lucas didn't want to wait around. He was a man of action. He wanted to get things done right away. Jarell knew that they weren't going to be able to accomplish anything quickly though. He wasn't sure if they could accomplish anything at all. Lucas had no idea who Tael really was.

~*~

Jarell stepped into Lorelei's house, followed by the three human soldiers. Lorelei had told him when he was a child that he could invite himself into her home anytime he wanted. As Morden had, she considered him family.

The house was quiet. It wasn't strange because Lorelei, like Morden, enjoyed privacy. She and Morden had been close friends and similar in many ways. When he was younger, Jarell had thought they should marry, until the day he learned that any candidate for the Hierarchy was not allowed to marry. That had been a strong blow to him as he had often dreamed of having a wife and kids, teaching his young ones the magic trade.

"Lorelei!" There was no response, only the wall clock's ticking.

"Are you sure she's home?" Mark wandered over to the clock, followed by David.

Jarell frowned as he rotated where he stood, taking in the natural earth tones, plush carpeting, and elegant furniture. He had been here many times in his life and he could never remember coming into the parlor with such a feeling of emptiness. Everything felt wrong. "She usually is this time of day." He turned to look at Lucas and was surprised to discover he was gone. Where did he go? Jarell frowned and knitted his brows together. Perhaps down the hall to look for Lorelei on his own.

He strode through the hallway feeling the sense of discomfort rising with each step. "Lucas! Lorelei!" No answer. His skin tingled and his heart began thumping in his chest. Why weren't they answering? He broke into a jog.

A voice drifted down from the end of the hallway, where Lorelei's study was located. "Jarell, get in here now." The urgency drove Jarell faster and he sprinted the remaining length of hall. He rounded the corner of the study and stopped short at what he saw.

It had happened again. 'They all leave. Your parents, Morden, and now Lorelei. Lucas will be next. They all leave.' No. No. He squeezed his eyes shut. No. The body lay slumped over the desk, gray hair billowing out across the shoulders and back, sweeping against the desk and revealing her pointed ears. In one hand was a clutched pen, the other lay propped under her head as if she were only sleeping.

"She's dead," Lucas said. Jarell heard the sympathy. "I'm sorry."

His heart clenched and he had to restrain a gasp. He fisted one hand over his heart, the other raking through his hair unconsciously, and remaining there, grasping the curls tightly to relieve the pain in his chest.

"She was old," Lucas said. Jarell looked at him and quickly away. He could not bear to look at that face. "The stress must've caught up to her."

"Stress." All the incredulity he felt doused his words. "You think this was stress." He reached out his fingers, a small part of his mind marveling that they did not tremble, and brushed them across her neck. They settled upon the crook, testing for a pulse that was not there and a vision that only the Healing Mages were capable of seeing. Energy ran through him, sparking from his fingers in a yellow stream of light. He tried picking up signs of life and saw none. There was no chance of saving her. He was not allowed time to register this before he was hit with another sensation. There was something else here. He could feel something that did not belong in her body. Something was wrong about her death. Something--

"Unnatural."

"What?" Jarell felt Lucas standing behind him, his presence a daunting anxiety.

"Her death. It was unnatural." He moved his fingers away and splayed his hand against his own chest. "She was murdered."

"Who killed her?"

"Who do you think?" Jarell snapped, wincing visibly at the anger there. He forced himself to level his tone. "It was Tael. He's the only one who can benefit from her death. She was his greatest barrier to controlling the Hierarchy and all of Raushanka. Now he can get someone else to fill her place and destroy everything she and Morden had achieved."

"Were you close?" Lucas's voice was gentle, and Jarell was sure if he turned around he'd see pity in his eyes. He didn't want Lucas's pity.

"She was like a grandmother."

"You're taking this well."

Jarell smiled. It was a small, bitter smile. "No. I'm not." He looked up at Lucas and stared directly into the pale blue eyes. His soul ached, his heart was torn, and his stomach and chest burned, as if filled with fiery rocks. "That's the end. Where to next?"

Inwardly he cried when confronted with Lucas's compassion and speechlessness. He couldn't face it right now. He hurt too much. Morden's death was still fresh in his mind and now Lorelei. He didn't want sympathy. It was all too harsh a reminder of what was lost to him.

Jarell left the room without waiting for an answer to his question.

~*~

I'm thirty-eight, Lucas thought. It struck him suddenly and without warning. It surfaced shortly after finding Lorelei's body and witnessing Jarell's cool reaction. The young elf had been calm and detached, but underneath the surface, Lucas had felt the turmoil. That was when he was reminded of Jarell's age, and the difference between them. He was thirty-eight and Jarell was nineteen. He was twice Jarell's age. He had stood in the room after Jarell left, feeling a chill crawling up his spine and pooling in his gut. He thought of his son again. His son would've been only a few years younger than Jarell if he'd survived. It was young. Too young to suffer like this, to lose so much. And it occurred to him in that moment just how truly alone Jarell was.

A stab of anguish knifed through him. He wanted to protect Jarell, but how could he when he had been unable to protect his own son and wife? A vision from earlier in the day assailed him. Jarell had been enthusiastic when seeing him at first, but almost instantly his mood had frosted over. How could he possibly help this sad individual when he could not forget the plaguing image of his eviscerated wife and his mutilated son? He could still hear a pale copy of Emily's voice.

"You didn't protect us. When they came, you weren't here."

With that image in his head, he left the study and Lorelei's body and told Mark and David what had happened. They were going back to Duranee to put a stop to this themselves. With Jarell's help maybe they could come back and form a protest in Raushanka powerful enough to put an end to Tael. It was doubtful, but they had no choice.

They found Jarell outside, sitting beside a giant fir, picking idly at a flower. Did he want to travel to Duranee with them? He told them yes. There was nothing here for him. First, though, he would gather food and water from Lorelei's kitchen. She wouldn't need it anymore.

Lucas remembered the first day he had encountered Jarell. The kid had saved his life. He smiled to himself, remembering Jarell's protest at being called a kid.

"I'm nineteen. I'm an adult."

He certainly was that. But the adult was warring with the part of him that was still only a child. Jarell did not have to admit this to him, Lucas could see it. He could even feel it.

Jarell had not spoken to him since leaving Lorelei's home, instead keeping up a steady stream of conversation with Mark and David. The other two soldiers had spent little time in Raushanka after rescuing Jarell and had not been able to get the full effects of elven society. The elves' world was one of greater technology and magic was everywhere. Where Mages were revered in Raushanka, the Wizards normally went into seclusion in Duranee.

In a way, he supposed the Wizards were the smart ones. The marauders did not know their hide-outs any more than the villagers or soldiers did. Even if the marauders did know, they would be too afraid to attack them. Even the most vicious criminals knew how powerful a practiced Wizard was.

Lucas's sister, Tara, had been one of those who had gone into seclusion. She was twelve years younger than he. At sixteen she decided she wanted to study wizardry and their parents had been unable to change her mind. They had kicked her out of their home and he had not seen her since.

In a part of his mind, he compared Tara to Jarell. Though Jarell was considerably younger than Tara, they were still only children in his mind. Children to be watched over and protected. Was that what he really thought of Jarell? More like the sibling he had lost than the son? Or was there any difference at all? After Tara had left he had spent days thinking about her, but after a few years the thoughts tapered off and only occasionally would he wonder if she was still alive. How would he react if he ever saw her again? Or if he discovered she was dead? He pushed the thought back. It disturbed him too much.

And somewhere deeper within something chided him. He tried to ignore it, but it continued to mock him with a driving silence that was even more distracting than shouting could ever be. Push it back. Push her from your mind, just like your son and wife. Push back everything you hold dear, that way it won't hurt as much. And when you push everything away you'll be standing by yourself. That's the way you want it. Isn't it?

~*~

"I hear something."

They had gained a considerable amount of distance from Jarell's home and they had been nearing the Kilns when Lucas voiced the warning.

The four travelers stopped, listening to the murmur of voices and crunching vegetation in the distance. Jarell shifted the bag hanging from his back and rolled his shoulders to loosen them. "It must be soldiers. One of the psychics must've been scanning the area. We've got to run."

Lucas jerked his thumb to the load he was carrying. "I'm carrying a tent. So is David. We're not going to be moving very fast. What would the odds be if we stood our ground and fought?"

"If there is even one Warrior Mage in their midst we're all as good as dead."

"You're an elf!" Mark exclaimed. "They won't kill you."

Jarell shook his head, remembering that not long ago he had also thought the same thing. Things were just not that black and white anymore. "I'm helping you guys. Just being near you of my own free will and doing nothing to capture you turns me into a traitor. We have to run. There's no other choice."

Lucas stood still, staring through the trees in the direction of the approaching sounds. It wouldn't be long before the Elven soldiers reached them. "Okay then. We run. If we must we'll lose some of our provisions. Let's go."

They didn't exactly run, it was more of an ambling jog, but the Kilns drew close much faster. Their pursuers also were drawing near quickly.

Continuing his steady pace, sweat now beading his forehead, Lucas gritted out between pants of breath, "Will they follow us into the Kilns?"

Jarell shook his head, though Lucas wasn't looking at him. "I don't know. It's not our territory, but if they're under Tael's command, they probably won't care."

"We'll have to watch for old troll-traps that are still lying about."

There was shouting in the distance. The elves had discovered their trail and were now picking up speed. The crunching sounds were working their way closer and Jarell heard a distinctly familiar voice. A voice he had learned to hate as well as fear.

"Tael," Jarell gasped, stopping abruptly. "We won't make it. Tael is with them."

"Yes, we will," Lucas growled and spun around to face Jarell. "Move faster."

"They have Tael! You don't understand! He has a medallion! He's of the tenth circle!" Panic welled in his chest and he felt the threat of nausea. Now was not a good time to get sick. "We have to get rid of the provisions. Dump the tents! They're slowing us down!"

"We will not," Lucas said calmly. "If we get rid of the tents we won't survive in the Kilns at night. Mark, David, dump out part of the food. We'll have to be careful about rations."

Jarell watched the soldiers comply. He pressed his lips together, ignoring the burn of sweat in his eyes. His legs ached from the unaccustomed exertion. He wasn't sure how much further he could go on. Silently he vowed to himself that after this was all over, he was going to take up gardening. Being a Healing Mage was too hazardous for his health.

~*~

Tael clasped the medallion hanging from his neck in one hand, staring intently into the verdant array of trees. A bird of prey cried as it flew overhead. He looked to the sky, then into the forest again. The medallion glowed faintly, tickling his hand with its feathery caresses of energy.

A still-learning Psychic Mage stood beside him. Mayla was only of the fifth circle, but strong enough to help him keep an eye on various sectors throughout Raushanka. He had told her to keep a particularly close eye on Lorelei's residence. He had never told her why, only that it was for protection.

That morning he had taken Lorelei's quill when no one was looking and had cast a spell on it. It was done quickly and crudely, and if he had been able to cast the spell under better conditions and had more time it would've been more effective, but obviously it had worked. The greatest trick would be making sure no one else found out what he had done.

Mayla had approached him in his own personal study in the High Council Hall, claiming she could sense humans in Raushanka. Where were these humans? In Lorelei's home.

He immediately gathered a small band of soldiers together.

The psychic had been able to direct them from Lorelei's home to a path that was taking them towards the Kilns. She delivered a surprise when she had announced that one of the people they were tracking was not human. He was an elf and she could feel great power in him.

"An elf is with them," Tael murmured. He looked at the ground as they walked through the forest, then at the Psychic Mage. She nodded. "It must be the boy, Jarell. He, like Morden, has a soft heart for the humans. We can't let them get away."

He shouted out an order to his soldiers and they began to run. Mayla was visibly unaccustomed to this, but to her credit did not once complain. They paused only occasionally as she would focus in on Jarell and the humans, then they would continue in that direction. The ground beneath them was no longer soft soil, but hard rock, and he knew that the enemy was going to try to cross through the Kilns. He noticed this in bemusement. Even if the trolls had been driven out, it was a place that did not offer safe passage. Tael commanded them to halt again.

"Can you still see them?" Psychic abilities had never been tested in the Kilns. He knew that Mages used to come into the Kilns to meditate and increase their ability, but he wasn't sure that it had ever actually worked. If Mayla had been of, at least, the seventh circle he wouldn't have questioned her abilities. But she was only of the fifth circle, they were in treacherous terrain, and she had used her powers much more often than someone of her level normally would.

The psychic concentrated, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. After what had taken much too long in Tael's opinion, she answered, "Faintly. Do you still wish to pursue? The Kilns are dangerous."

He clenched the medallion, jaw set, eyes locked forward. The woods were sparser here, the ground harder to walk on. The air was thinner and in the Kilns somewhere were deadly traps set by trolls. "Yes. We're still pursuing."

Mayla did not appear happy about his decision, but he really didn't care. They hiked up the mountain, some stumbling and swearing. Mayla had fallen behind the rest of the soldiers. Tael scowled. Next time he would choose a psychic that could keep up.

A high-pitched scream pierced the air. Some of the soldiers whirled around in confusion. Tael spun around and saw where several were already gathered around something.

"What has happened?" he demanded.

They moved aside, giving him a gap to see through. A pit had been camouflaged and Mayla had fallen in. At the very bottom her body was impaled upon sharp stakes. Blood was spattered on her face and open, shocked eyes. The wooden stakes jutted out of her body, one through the chest, one through the abdomen. One had narrowly missed her head. Her mouth was still open in a silent scream. His fingers curled into claws. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Sir?" one of the soldiers asked hesitantly.

"What?" He stared at the ground, willing himself to remain calm. The medallion flared against his chest.

"What are we going to do?"

Tael turned his head to look at the soldier. He was young, almost as young as the boy they were tracking down now. "We can't find them without a psychic. We'll turn back."

"The body?"

Tael waved his hand behind his back, not willing to turn around and see the pit or what lay at the bottom. "Leave it. I'm not going to spend my time trying to get the corpse out. She should've been paying attention to where she was walking."

The soldier swallowed and Tael glared at him, daring him to question his authority. The soldier wisely remained silent.

"When we get back I'm putting a reward on Jarell K'letta's head. Alive only." He cursed inwardly as he spoke the words. They had been so close. "When he returns we'll have some things to discuss. And I know him. He will return."

~*~

When night fell they staked out a spot to sleep. Even after they could no longer hear their pursuers, they had not stopped to rest. Everyone, Jarell especially, was tired. Lucas would've kept going, just to get to Duranee that much faster. He knew he could and he knew Mark and David could, but he didn't want to push Jarell beyond his limits. The kid was already covered in sweat,dampening his hair. His body trembled with fatigue. They set the tents up in a relatively sound location, hoping no wild animals should discover their campground. Mark and David took one tent and Jarell and Lucas the other.

In the small tent's silence, Lucas could tell Jarell was uncomfortable. It wasn't the tight quarters either. It was something else. Something he couldn't quite figure out. He knew it had something to do with himself though. He wasn't a master of the fine art of communication, but he couldn't let this lie. Jarell's arm brushed against him and he jerked it back with a soft gasp. His body tightened against Lucas's and he tried shifting away, discovering that there was no place to go. Lucas decided that it was now or never. If not now, they would never get any sleep.

"Jarell." His throat felt dry. "Something has been bothering you." Did that sound as dumb as he thought it did?

"I don't know what you're talking about." The tone was defiant, as if challenging Lucas to question him.

"Is it Lorelei?"

"Only partly."

Only partly? "What's the other part then?"

Jarell sighed and he shifted on his blanket. Lucas guessed he must be looking in his direction and he wondered if the young elf had the ability to see him in the darkness. "When you look at me, what do you see?"

The question caught him off guard with the seemingly abrupt change in subject. It wasn't the response he'd been expecting. "I don't understand--"

"What do you see?" Though he sounded angry, Lucas could hear the insistence, the deep-seated desperation.

Now or never, he reminded himself. "I see . . ." Don't ruin this. He took a short breath to clear his head. He had to say something for Jarell's sake. "I see a charismatic young man who is in a great deal of pain. I see defiance and loneliness. Power and tenderness. The heart of a warrior and the soul of a scribe. You're a mass of contradictions and it irritates me, yet it's the very thing I admire. I have never met anyone else who could be complete opposites all in one." He stopped, surprised at his own eloquence, but there was no sound from his companion and he forced himself to trudge onward, finding that with each word, though it came through a lot of digging, it came sincerely. "And I don't want you to change and I don't want you distraught. You're the person that rescued me from damnation. You're my friend, Jarell. My redeemer."

"Your redeemer?" The words were hushed, full of awe.

"I never told you this, but I had a wife and son once. They were murdered by raiders. They killed my wife and my son burned to death." He stopped and swallowed, finding the recollection painful. But for Jarell's sake he continued. "I came to the village too late and everyone was dead, all of the huts burned down. I found them . . . I only knew it was my son because he was wearing a chain I had given to him when he was five."

"The Deities," Jarell whispered, horror clouding his voice. "Why did you never tell me?"

"I've yet to come to terms with it. I still have nightmares about it. Yesterday another village was attacked and another little boy burned to death in his own home. I was unable to save him, but I tried. I swear I did. I had a nightmare and I relived the entire thing, but this time my wife came to me, the way she was when I saw her corpse, and she promised me I would die. I heard her words and welcomed them. The first time I saw you I thought you may be the way to help me overcome that resignation. And when I saw you earlier today, for the first time in so long, I felt like a piece of myself was given back. As if a piece of my son is in you."

Seconds passed, stretching into a full minute that seemed much longer, yet not long enough to comprehend everything that had passed between them. "Do you ever fear being alone?"

Was this what Jarell's mood had been about? He was afraid of being alone? He almost laughed out loud, the spontaneous response he would have given to almost anyone. Don't be ridiculous. But it wasn't ridiculous. He knew it wasn't. "I fear being alone all the time."

There, that hadn't been so hard to admit. He was fooling himself, he knew. It had been one of the hardest things he'd ever said aloud. Yes, I face down raiders wielding sharp swords every day. Yes, I will take on a Warrior Mage that has the ability to control objects with the smooth fluidness of water. Yes, I will go against unknown odds and take on a troll, an opponent I know next to nothing about, to save a young elf which I, again, know next to nothing about. But I can't admit to being afraid of being alone.

"Lucas." His voice was soft, almost timid. "Don't leave me. Okay?"

A vice squeezed his heart, threatening to rupture it. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands. "I won't, kid. I promise you, I won't."

~*~

There were similarities between Duranee and Raushanka. Jarell noticed this immediately. But there were also startling differences. Once again he remembered the children's tales he'd been told long ago. The dying land, the stench of death, the corpses of animals. He didn't see the corpses of animals, he didn't see a dying land, and he didn't smell death. What he saw and smelled was smoke.

Smoke hung above the trees in a thick haze and drifted through the proud trees and colorful vegetation like living fog. It was everywhere and it stank. He nearly choked on the overwhelming sting in his throat. His eyes watered and he was sure they were red from the irritation. The three soldiers stood in the midst of the smoke, appearing unaffected.

The Deities. How long had this been going on? He held a hand over his mouth, trying to take in a clean breath. Lucas noticed his plight and tossed a thick cloth to him. He caught it and instantly raised it to his nose and mouth to breathe through.

"Once we get in a bit closer to the Royal Base, I want you to wrap that around your head and make sure your ears are hidden."

Jarell removed the cloth from his face and looked at it curiously. "Won't that draw just as much attention as my ears themselves?"

Lucas shook his head, and kneeled down as he slid his pack from his shoulders. "You're going to tie your hair back, too. We'll tell people you're a Wizard and they'll know to leave you alone."

"Wizards have a lot of control here?"

"Not like your Mages. They're feared by many and the king and queen use them often in important matters, but they mainly live on their own, outside society. They usually show little interest in the affairs of the rest of us."

Jarell didn't know what to say to that, so remained silent and joined Lucas, Mark, and David on the ground. They were breaking their fast with biscuits and water, the only food they had retained. Jarell could only nibble at his bread as his stomach was knotted so tightly.

Lucas leaned casually against an evergreen, one knee propped up, the other leg stretched in front of him. He swallowed what was in his mouth before cocking his head at Jarell, who was sitting in a lotus position in front of him. "Not hungry?" He pointed at the biscuit Jarell was currently picking apart.

As if just noticing it, Jarell stared at the piece of bread, then up at Lucas. David and Mark watched on quietly, flicking their gazes between the food and Jarell and Lucas.

Jarell gave a little shrug. "Not really." He looked glumly at the biscuit as he continued to mangle it. "I guess too much is going on."

"You'll need your energy." Lucas broke off another piece from his biscuit, but did not put it in his mouth.

Jarell frowned and without warning his eyes misted over. "This was Lorelei's."

Lucas froze, as did Mark and David. The latter two looked at each other, nodded in silent agreement, and got up, leaving Jarell and Lucas alone. If David and Mark thought they needed time alone, that was fine by Jarell, but he really didn't have anything to say. Nothing, at least, that wouldn't admit his own weaknesses. He didn't want to turn that weakness over to Lucas; it would make him vulnerable. Just like losing Morden and Lorelei had made him vulnerable. He had given a piece of himself to each of them, and they had died taking those pieces with them. He no longer had their protection and he no longer had their love. If he gave his weaknesses over to Lucas, and asked for his protection, he was opening himself to that same agony. When Lucas died, where would he be then?

Dying himself, he was sure. Just as he had been until he saw Lucas again yesterday.

Lucas was watching him intently. He had cast the biscuit aside, no longer interested in food himself, and he leaned forward, as he did when giving someone his full attention, propping his arm on his raised knee.

The face was rough with a few days growth of whiskers and battle-weary lines. But within his eyes, that could make the blood of the fiercest run cold, there was a tenderness and compassion that was directed at only those he chose to take under his wing. "You weren't given the chance to properly mourn for Lorelei. We left quickly."

Jarell shook his head, trying to brush aside his behavior as ridiculous. "It's nothing. I should be used to this by now." He swiped at his tears with one hand.

Lucas's brows and nose wrinkled, his eyes narrowed. "Jarell, how can anyone get used to losing those they love? Kid, I lost my son and wife many, many years ago and I don't think I'll ever get used to that fact."

A tear escaped past his fingers and made a glistening trail down his cheek. His voice trembled. "Then how do you cope?"

Lucas arose from where he was seated and made his way to Jarell who was crying in earnest now. He sat beside him and swung an arm over his shoulder, drawing the young elf closer to him. He half-expected Jarell to resist, but he didn't. And they sat like that, in the one-armed hug as Jarell attempted to come to terms with his stricken emotions.

Softly, his voice almost a whisper, Lucas said, "You cope by leaning on other people."

~*~

They traveled deeper into Duranee and by high noon Lucas had announced they were nearly upon the Royal Base. Jarell wrapped the cloth around his head. It felt constricting. He complained to Lucas that he didn't like it and would just use his hair to cover his ears. The point was nonnegotiable for Lucas. Either Jarell put it on himself or Lucas would put it on for him, and it wouldn't be coming off anytime soon.

The Royal Base was unlike anything Jarell had ever seen. Unlike the High Council's sleek, modern design, the Royal Base inspired a different kind of awe. It was clearly centuries old and by now Jarell guessed that a great extent of the interior, as well as exterior, must have been renovated. It stood, gray and foreboding, in a large open clearing in the midst of the surrounding trees.

Lucas stood beside him. "This is my home away from home."

"Are you Royalty?" Jarell asked, not once taking his eyes from the castle.

"Something like that." The corners of Lucas's eyes crinkled.

Behind them, David and Mark waited. Standing to Lucas's right was Mark. "It looks quiet, sir."

Lucas nodded. "It does. We'll have to approach carefully."

Jarell whipped around to face him. "Why? What's wrong?"

"It could be nothing, but you can usually see sentries outside. Just stay behind me."

Jarell frowned, but did as he was told. With each step, Jarell could feel it. It was not unlike the ominous sensation he had felt at Lorelei's. They stood at the main door, unprotected in the wide open space. If someone chose to attack, they would be unprepared. A shudder ripped through him and he hugged himself at the unpleasant feeling.

Though Lucas had not even been watching him, he reached behind and patted Jarell's arm. "Don't let it get to you. There has to be a reasonable explanation."

"Like the raiders attacked the Royal Base and won," David muttered.

Lucas glared at him and quickly turned back to their present situation. He opened his mouth and hollered, "This is Captain Lucas of Sorren with three of my men! We are requesting permission to enter!"

The only response was the whistle of wind through trees.

"Doesn't look good, sir," Mark said.

Lucas shook his head, frustration twisting his face. "How could raiders have overtaken the entire Royal Base?"

"If they thought they were someone else," David suggested.

"It doesn't make sense. They would be more careful than that. We'll go in through the back. There's a hidden entrance."

"Hidden entrance?" Mark questioned, eyeing his superior skeptically.

Lucas's lips curled to the side. "Only four people are supposed to know about it. Vienes was kind enough to share the secret with me."

"Good thing, too," said David.

They trudged around back, Mark, David, and Jarell not sure what they were looking for. It caught all four by surprise when they all saw it. The door that normally blended in seamlessly with the stone wall was jutted open.

Lucas's eyes wandered around the door and into the murky room beyond. He gripped the hilt of his sword and slid it free of its scabbard. Mark and David followed suit. "Someone's been here all right. Everyone stay close together."

They moved through the small room. Mark stumbled into something and David jumped at the sound.

"Be careful!" he hissed.

Lucas motioned them forward with his fingers and opened the room's door into one of the corridors. Flames flickered and danced atop their torches, casting writhing shadows along the length of the hall. Jarell pointed to something that was nearly indistinguishable in the shadows. "Look!"

The other three froze, then peered down to where Jarell was pointing. From where they stood it was nothing more than a lump.

"What is it?" David asked, making no move to go inspect it.

No one answered. Jarell stepped forward, intent on satisfying his curiosity, but Lucas placed a hand on his chest. "Stay behind me."

He crept forward, sword clasped firmly in both hands. Jarell stayed close to him. Mark and David brought up the rear, also with their swords ready. The form did not move and the clog in Jarell's throat grew tighter. It reminded him of the time he discovered Lucas in the Kilns. It looked like a . . . he swallowed down the constriction in his throat.

"It's a corpse," he rasped.

Lucas spun to look at him, alarm lighting his eyes.  "They were under attack.  We have to get to the Royal Chamber immediately."

~*~

Lucas's heart was beating too hard and fast in his chest for him to pay attention to the logical ramblings of his mind. He ran ahead of Jarell, Mark, and David, and tossed open the doors before they could stop him. Without even considering caution, Lucas ran into the room. He did not look left, nor right; only forward, to the double thrones that sat directly opposite the doors.

"NO!" The cry echoed off the walls. He fell to his knees, the sword slipping from his hand. He buried his head in his hands, shaking it. How could he have let this happen? On their thrones sat the king and queen. The bodies were slumped over and the throats slit.

Jarell sprinted into the room, dropping beside Lucas, grasping the broad shoulders in his slender hands. He clutched him desperately, barely giving a look to the bodies on the thrones. He knew who they were. He didn't have to ask; it was obvious. Lucas's reaction was enough testimony. He did a double take. There was another body he hadn't noticed at first glance. It was small, that of a child. His hands slipped from Lucas's shoulders and he rose to his feet. Mark and David had already come into the room and stood at the doorway, their faces twin expressions of horror. Jarell ignored them and stumbled towards the body curled in on itself at the foot of the thrones. He reached out a hand and the body turned over easily, revealing the face of a boy no older than ten.

A broad hand came to rest on his own. "His name was Darren." Jarell looked over his shoulder. Lucas's eyes were stricken with grief, but were dry. "He was the messenger, delivering the news of my superior's, and the rest of our army's, demise. I sent him here."

He didn't have to say, 'It was my fault,' for the self-accusation to ring loudly. Jarell shook his head, removing his hand from beneath the larger one. He covered the hand, gripping it steadily. "It wasn't your fault."

"Jarell, I sent him here. How can you tell me it's not my fault?"

"The raiders could have just as easily attacked his village. They may have. It was fate. He couldn't escape it."

Lucas smiled sadly. "You believe in fate?"

Jarell returned the smile. "Sometimes."

Lucas clutched his shoulder and squeezed it. "My philosophy exactly." He rose unsteadily to his feet. His soldiers still stood in the doorway. "Mark, David, I need you to cover the bodies. Jarell and I have something to check on."

They nodded and walked quietly into the room, both looking pale and overwhelmed. Jarell came up behind Lucas as they turned into the hall. "Where are we going?" Lucas's stride was hard to keep up with and Jarell found that he had to move his legs quickly.

"To check on the Eye of Jaffa. I have a very bad feeling about this."

Jarell blanched at the name. "Do you think whoever did this stole it? Could they? I thought it was locked away?"

"If they knew about the hidden passageway, I can't guarantee that they wouldn't know how to get into the vault."

They passed several corpses, all of which Jarell made it a point to ignore. The room they entered was dimly lit like the rest of the fort, but it was even more confining. Two more bodies lay in front of the open vault. Jarell's heart beat wildly, the blood rushing through his ears. His hands shook as the implications set in.

"The Deities." He could think of nothing else to say.

Lucas stepped into the vault room. It was completely empty save for the table the Eye of Jaffa had rested on. He placed a hand on the table, staring down at it, his jaw twitching. Jarell staggered forward. It couldn't be happening. The worst had just come to pass.

The Eye of Jaffa had once again been stolen.

Okay, so it was kind of a cliffhanger.  Still, if you liked it, I'd love to know.  :o)  No flames, please! Shycat_98@yahoo.com