Darkness Rising, Pages 351-400

                Ariana glanced up along the spiraling path and saw that the tunnel they had come out of was directly above the spout of water pouring from the rock face.  She pointed at it and said, “I think I can find it well enough.  I’ll use spout as a reference.”

                Shayla nodded and smiled, “I’ll leave you to it then.”

                As the barbarian princess started away Ariana said to her, “Thank you Shayla.  I appreciate you showing me this.”  The girl waved over her shoulder as she continued to ascend back toward the tunnel that had brought them.  The paladin watched till she had gone, then she eagerly stripped from her armor, piling it near the base of the path and making a mental note to ask Gar if he would service it for her.  He had made it after all, she didn’t like to let anyone else work on it if she could help it.  Naked, the paladin stepped quickly to the waters edge and, pausing briefly to test the temperature with a naked toe, she jumped in feet first.  She had considered diving, but didn’t know if there were any obstacles under the water on which to strike her head.  As she sank into the water, which turned out to come up to just beneath her shoulder so that the upper slopes of her large, firm breasts were visible she hissed at the heat of the water.  But as Shayla had said, within a few moments it was tolerable and she began to enjoy herself, swimming a few laps around the pool which didn’t get any deeper and was only about fifty feet across at its widest point.  After that she retrieved her soaps and things from the side of the pool and then swam with them to the slab of rock at its center.  Pulling herself up on it she laid out her soaps and then stepped toward the center where the water that sprouted out of the rock face twenty feet up splashed.  She tested it with a hand and found it to be the same temperature as the pool, so she stepped beneath and began to wash, scrubbing her hair twice and her lithe body as well.

                It was as she was rinsing off for the second time that she thought she heard a noise and stepped from the pouring water, frowning at a series of ripples near the area where she had climbed into the pool.  It looked as though someone had jumped in there, but as she scanned the surface of the clear pool she could see no one and didn’t think anyone would have hade time to swim around behind the rock on which she stood.  Still, not wanting to be sorry she didn’t check later, she turned and started around the edge of the rock, scanning the surface for signs of movement.  When it came, it was not from the relatively calm pool encircling the slab of rock as she had expected, but was instead from the stream of water splashing at its center.  A form came hurtling toward her through that water, catching the paladin by surprise as she spun toward it, then gasped aloud as it collided with her and tackled her, falling with the redhead toward the water of the pool.  She had the briefest sensation of strong, well muscled arms around her waist before she hit the water on her back and was born to the bottom of the pool by the weight of her attacker.  She saw a flash of long black hair swirling in the water and knew that the man wrestling with her was physically larger than she was.  Devlin then… or perhaps Kelvan she thought as she recalled the way the young prince had been looking at her immediately after the fight with the Sporelock. 

                They came to rest on the bottom of the pool, the paladin’s bare back touching the rock, long since worn smooth by the water.  The prince, whichever one it was, shifted his grip, keeping one burly arm around her waist and reaching up to curl his other about her throat, pulling her around so that he was behind her, his body pressed up against hers as he pulled her back against him.  She knew two things from that move, the first that he was as naked as she and the second that he was very well endowed and rock hard!  These two facts led her to an inescapable conclusion, whichever prince this was had every intention of violating her honor!  She knew enough about the people of the tribes to know that it was believed a man had earned the right to bed  a woman if he could take her by force, but Ariana Moonstone was not the sort of woman to let herself be taken by any man against her will, especially when the tribes were just as open to the more traditional methods of wooing a prospective mate, which neither of these men had bothered to try with her.

                She tried to drive an elbow back into his side, though most of the blows force was stolen by the water, which caused her to move much more slowly.  The prince had ample time to shift his body to the opposite side, avoiding the blow, so the paladin planted her feet against the slick surface of the pools bottom and pushed, forcing the both of them to slide along the bottom of the pool on his back, as she was now lying atop him.  Her attacker had no way of fighting their progress unless he was going to release her with at least one of his arms, and he didn’t seem foolish enough to do that, instead he tightened his hold on the voluptuous warrior, hoping to weaken her from lack of oxygen before she reached the edge of the pool.  He nearly succeeded too, for her vision was starting to blur a few moments before they reached the side of the pool and the top his head impacted with the rock wall.  She imagined she heard his grunt of pain as he hit, but she definitely felt the bubbles of his exhalation and his arms loosened enough for the warrior woman to break free.  She rolled from his arms and shoved herself upright, her head and shoulders breaking the surface of the water with a mighty gasp of air, her long tresses flying and sending droplets scattering across the surface of the pool.  He broke the surface in front of her and she scrambled back, putting distance between them while her vision cleared and he caught her breath.

                “What the hell do you think you’re doing…” she paused, squinting at him through her water fuzzed vision to confirm his identity, “…Kelvan?”       

                “Something I’ve wanted to do since the moment I set eyes on you in Peacehope!”  His shoulders were rising and falling rapidly as he panted and she thought she saw blood starting to form at his hairline, no doubt slamming his head against the rock wall had broken the skin.  “Your body is built for fucking!”

                She frowned, wondering if this had something to do with what Rachnid had mentioned to her, about his siblings believing him to be ill.  “You’re betrothed Kelvan. Remember that?  Remember Ember?”

                “That stuck up bitch won’t put out till after I’ve married her!  So I’ve decided to find my pleasure elsewhere!”  He was moving toward her now, his face stretched in a crazed leer.

                She gave up ground, retreating from him as fast as the water would let her.  Oddly, he seemed more accomplished at moving through the water as he was gaining on her rather quickly.  “I’m afraid I’m not available either Kelvan.  I’m betrothed as well, perhaps you didn’t know.  Sir Avalon Charm, the First Knight of Peacehope is my fiancé.” 

                He snorted derisively.  “I’ve heard that, just as I’ve heard that he was lying on his death bed when we left the city.  Likely he dead already, which makes you fair game.”

                She changed tactics then, trying to sound stern and disapproving.  “Kelvan stop this!  I’m not interested in you like that. I’m not of your tribes, I don’t believe the same things you do.  I’m far too old for you!”  She winced inwardly at that last part, for she hardly thought of herself as old, but in this case it was true, she didn’t think he had even yet reached his eighteenth year.

                “I like my women experienced!”  He laughed and at that moment Ariana came up against the rock wall and could retreat no further.  In moments he was going to force her to defend herself, and while she didn’t want to hurt him, neither was she keen on being raped.  Then again, she wasn’t even certain she could take him empty handed.  Young he may be but he was already an accomplished warrior and she knew that the warriors of the tribes learned to fight both with weapons and without, the latter being an area where her own training seriously lacked.

                He kept coming and Ariana stepped toward him, raising an arm from the water and striking open handed toward his face, hoping to shock some sense into him.  The slap echoed through the cavern and turned his head to the side, halting his forward progress.  For a moment she thought she might have succeeded but as he slowly turned his face back to meet her gaze she saw the rage in his eyes and knew she was in trouble.  Whatever was inside the prince was no longer human and that meant he was no longer in control of his faculties.  Ariana felt it best to go on the offensive then and she raised her other arm, driving an elbow toward his face which the prince leaned back to avoid, smiling slightly.  Then the paladin, taking advantage of his backward leaning position, tried to drive her right knee into his bared testicles.  Kelvan simply shifted to his right and lowered his left hand, catching her knee at his hip and pinning it to his waist while his left hand slipped around hers, pulling her tight against him.  Ariana slapped him again but he just laughed, using his arm about her waist to lift her off the ground and slam her back against the rock wall.  Ariana gasped at the impact, the air driven from her lungs and Kelvans mouth was suddenly on hers, his tongue sliding between her lips as he pinned her body to the rock face with his own.  He growled deep in his chest at the feel of her pressed against him and Ariana, slowly regaining her strength started to struggle anew, turning her face away to curse him as she pounded on his shoulders and back with her balled fists.  It was all she could reach thanks to the way he held her against the rock face, and she didn’t dare try to knee him with her other leg as that would give him the opportunity to get between her thighs and then she might as well let him have her.

                “So beautiful.”  He moaned as he kissed his way down the side of her face and neck, his arm sliding from around her waist, his hand slipping up between them and filling with one of her breasts, which he squeezed till she winced and gasped.
                “Get off me damn you Kelvan!” she growled, pushing at his shoulders with both hands, trying to push him away.  “This isn’t right, you’re not acting like yourself!”  Realizing he was too strong to push away, she decided that fighting him off was still her best bet so she folded her right arm and brought the elbow sharp against his temple.  His head rocked to the side and he growled, slamming his body against hers so that she bounced off the rock face behind her.  Again she hammered the side of his head with her elbow and again he growled and responded by slamming against her, driving the breath from her lungs.  A third time she pounded his temple with her elbow and this time she followed through with the other hand, flattening her fingers and driving the points of them into his throat.  He gagged and finally staggered back, hands rising to his throat as he tried to breathe and swallow past his ravaged larynx.  Ariana felt both feet hit the slippery bottom of the pool and had to stumble to catch her footing, but was soon standing and ready for his next move.  It never came… instead a soft laughter from above drew both their eyes upward and Ariana felt a cold chill settle in her chest at the sight of five Shadow Elves standing on the ridge leading down to the pool, all five pairs of eyes trained upon them.  The paladin recognized four of them as the quartet from whom they had rescued Ishara, but the fifth, another woman, she couldn’t place.  It was she who was laughing.

                “Is this foreplay among surface dwellers?”  she asked, her lavender eyes sweeping over the nude pair in the pool below.  “If so, I’m beginning to think you will be much easier to dominate than was originally believed.”

                “Who are you?  What do you want?”  Ariana called, wary now of both the shadow elves and Kelvan, though it seemed the prince had recognized the elves for the threat they were.  He seemed to have forgotten his intentions toward her of a minute before.

                She turned and gestured at quartet of shadow elves with her, “I believe you’ve met the D’Spayr children?”  Ariana shivered to see the eyes of one of the males, the one whose chainmail shirt had been crafted of humanoid teeth, letting his gaze trail over what was visible of her naked body, which thankfully wasn’t much.  “And I’m Silke Shadoe, priestess of the shadow god.”

                Ariana narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.  While admittedly she wasn’t as versed in religion lore as was her friend Natashiana, she couldn’t remember ever having heard of a shadow god before.  “And what do you want here?”

                “That which you have taken from us!”  Suddenly the dark skinned beauties eyes flashed dangerously and Ariana became aware of the distant sounds of combat.  Kelvan whirled, making a break for the ridge where he had hidden his clothing and weapons, the paladin following suit.  The priestess had raised her hand above her head in a universal gesture of a spell about to be cast and Ariana saw her hands suddenly become surrounded in a greenish glow.  An acrid smell reached her nostrils and suddenly she felt as though her body, from the shoulders down, was on fire.  She screamed and saw Kelvan halt his progress as he too started to scream in pain.  Ariana didn’t stop moving though, she kept moving toward the edge of the pool but as she went the burning just got worse and as she drew abreast of Kelvan she saw the young prince drop to one knee, his face disappearing for a brief moment beneath the surface of the water, which she realized had been magically transformed into acid.  His head tilted back so that his face was still above the liquid and his screamed again, the water around him starting to go red and Ariana did the only thing she thought might give her a chance of surviving.  She planted a foot on his shoulder and used him to propel herself out of the pool, toward the ledge where her armor and Vindicator lay.  She hit the rock ledge hard and gasped, feeling the comparatively cool air of the cave on her raw and blistered skin.  “Take her!” she heard the priestess snap and then the sound of feet rushing down the spiraling ledge toward her. 

                Ariana reached out and wrapped her fingers around Vindicators handle, started to push herself to her feet but was instantly forced back down when a dark booted foot descended on the blade and she fell back to her hands and knees, refusing to relinquish the weapon.  She turned her head, looking up defiantly into the face of the shadow elf who stood before her, the first to arrive at her side.  He was not overly tall but slightly built and bristled with blades, reminding her of Shadow Walker and marking him in her eyes as a rogue.  The second brother, who wore a sword across his back arrived and without hesitation drove a fist into the paladin’s temple.  She slumped to the ground with a moan, the last thing she saw as she lost consciousness was the wild eyed elf with the tooth fetish leaning toward her, his eyes alight with malice.

                Shayla was still laying out her bedroll after having shown Ariana where to find the hot spring further into the cave when she noticed the dim light from the narrow entrance into the main cavern suddenly blocked out.  She had been kneeling near it and as she looked up her eyes widened in stunned surprise and fright.  Her uncle, Karnash, was making his way into the cavern, his dark gaze sweeping the cave as he entered.  While she recognized him at once, she couldn’t help wondering if it was indeed still her uncle, for he had undergone some rather alarming physical changes.  Already a large man, Karnash was now an apparent mountain of muscle, towering nearly seven feet tall and so broad that even as he turned to his side to enter the cave his broad chest and back still scraped the sides.  His face was still weathered and lined, his beard seemed blacker though… the fullness of it seeming somehow to blend with the shadows that looked to tug at the edges of his body.  Most alarming of all, however, at least in the eyes of the princess, was that his body seemed lined with dark veins, as though the very blood flowing through him was now composed of some dark liquid.  His eyes fell upon her, the closest to the entrance of the cave and his mouth widened in a sick, predatory smile, his teeth seeming unnaturally white within the inky blackness of the beard.

                “Well,” he said, his voice an even more bass rumble that it had originally been, “if it isn’t my wayward niece…” his eyes flicked across the room to where Devlin was straightening, his brows drawing together as he too recognized their uncle and took in the changes in him, “…and my nephew.”  Gar, Magnus, Rachnid and Rylan had all frozen, too surprised by his sudden appearance to react quickly.  “And they’ve brought new toys!”  Said the warlord usurper, his smile broadening, looking more like a manic leer than a grin, as his gaze took in the rest of the party.  “Let’s play!”

                Predictably, Wolfgar was the first to react, charging across the cave with a furious roar, hammer raised high.  Karnash turned to meet him, a slight narrowing of his eyes the only indication that he recognized the threat that the dwarf represented.  He had his sword across his back, but he didn’t bring it forth, seeming convinced he could manage the dwarf without it.  As Gar came on, Shayla fell back, drawing her sword from her hip and glancing about, familiarizing herself with the impromptu battle field.  It was as her eyes darted about that she noticed a movement in the deeper shadows of the cavern.  For a moment she thought that the mold monster was coming back, but then she saw several sets of red eyes appear in the darkness a moment before armored figures stepped forward.  Gar had reached Karnash by this point and his hammer swept forward, aiming for the easiest target on his massive opponent, the broad expanse of his chest.  Karnash lowered an arm and almost nonchalantly parried the hammer aside, staggering the dwarf to the right. The sound of the parry reverberated through the room as Shayla opened her mouth to shout a warning at the others, who were as yet unaware of the danger coming out of the shadows.  Her voice was drowned by the sound of the combat next to her and she could do nothing but watch, horrified, as a large figure in black plate armor sporting spikes on the shoulders, elbows and knees stepped up behind Magnus.  The mage had begun to cast, his attention on the barbarian still filling the mouth of the cave.  His eyes widened and his back arched, Shayla screaming her denial of what her eyes showed her as the armored figures blade suddenly burst from the mages chest and a deep, resonant voice seemed to echo up from within the armor.  “Death!”

                The monster from the shadows reached up with its empty hand and shoved the mage forward, retracting its blade and Magnus slumped to the ground unmoving.  The shadow knight, which was the only name that Shayla’s brain could give these creatures, turned to her and started forward and she retreated, her gaze flickering to the fallen mage whom she had begun to have feelings for.  Though she was near panic some part of her mind registered that there was no blood pooling around the Arcanist and surely that had to mean he wasn’t dead?  Devlin came charging into her view then, shoulder slamming the shadow knight who staggered to the side then turned its red glowing eyes on him and raised its sword.  Her brother already had blade in hand and raised his to meet its attack but before she could see whether he would be successful in his parry she heard more fighting from elsewhere in the cave.  She glanced around, noting that Rachnid and the young squire, Rylan were teamed up against another of the dark knights while a third was now moving inexorably toward her.  Shayla swallowed her fear, squared her shoulders and raised her blade, “You want me demon?  Come take me!”

                Though surprised by the ease with which the barbarian had parried his initial strike Gar recovered quickly and spun back to the fight, his hammer coming around wide and aiming for the area around the larger mans belt buckle.  This time he scored a solid hit, grunting as the force of the blow sent vibrations rattling through his arms and shoulders, making his teeth clack together.  Karnash grunted as well, staggering back a step and snarling at the dwarf, reaching back now for his sword.  Gar crouched, his eyes widening ever so slightly as the swords blade came into view, crackling with what looked to Gar like shadowy blue flames along its edges.  “So it’s t’be magic weapons is it?”  The dwarf nodded, smiling grimly as he channeled just enough of his concentration into the little used magic stored within both his ancient hammer and his armor.  “All right… two can play that game lad!”  Runes flared to life on the face of the hammer and all over the chest and back of the ring mail armor he always wore.  A glow, almost like an aura of power illuminated around the dwarf’s stout body and the shadow knight who had been advancing on Shayla hissed and staggered away as it moved close by the warrior.  “Come on then!”  With that he charged into the obviously magically augmented barbarian, hammer swinging viciously toward the knees.  Karnash’s blade came down quickly, catching the hammer just beneath its head, on the handle, thinking he would slice it cleanly through.  When the hammer merely rebounded and the dwarf used the momentum of that to swing around and renew his attack from an opposite direction Karnash was so surprised that he didn’t react in time to parry again and the head of the dwarf’s hammer slammed into the side of his knee.  He bellowed in pain and anger and that knee buckled, sending him crashing into a kneeling position.  Gar pressed his sudden advantage, thrusting the top of his hammers head into the massive chest and knocking the barbarian backward, sending him sprawling in the mouth of the cave.  With a grin that nearly mimicked that which had been on the barbarians face a moment earlier, Gar ran up the length of the humans body to stand on his chest, raising his hammer high and aiming for the broad, bearded face.  Before he could bring the hammer down and crush the barbarian’s skull Karnash’s sword came up, the flat of the blade slamming into the dwarf’s shoulder.  It wasn’t a very solid blow, but Gar’s footing was such that it staggered him to the side, off the barbarians chest.  Karnash spun on his back, kicking out with a heavy booted foot and caught the dwarf on the side, where his kidney would be.  Growling in pain he staggered into the wall of the cave and Karnash, moving with a speed that a man of his size had no business possessing rose to his knees and thrust his sword at the dwarf.  Gar barely rolled away along the wall, the runes on his armor and hammer flashing as the shadow fire that lined the sword reacted to the runic magic.  There was a bright flash and both combatants were flung away, the dwarf slamming into the wall and crumpling to the ground while the barbarian slid on his back to the middle of the cavern and was quickly climbing back to his feet.

                Across the cavern, Rylan Eaglehart and Rachnid were standing with their backs to a rock wall as one of the shadow knights advanced upon them.  The little goblin priest had his hands raised above his tattooed head and was mumbling a desperate prayer to his God, but when there was no discernible effect he cried out, “They’re not undead!  I can’t turn them!”

                Rylan, who had his sword in hand, danced forward and slashed at the monstrous armored figure, the knight casually deflecting the blade away with a quick swipe of its own.  The blow, though seeming to use little force, was still sufficient to stagger the young squire back into the wall next to the goblin.  “Nothing we do seems to hurt it!” he growled, fear bubbling in his chest.

                From near the fallen form of Magnus came a woman’s voice, resonating with power that drew the eyes of both men and the shadow knight they faced toward her.  Ishara Wodan, who had moved swiftly to check on the fallen mage, now stood, her long legs straddling the spell caster, arms raised above her head, long blonde ponytail whipping in a wind that no one else could feel as her eyes blazed with a brilliant blue energy.  “Then perhaps it is my turn!” she said and unleashed from her hands a brilliant beam of blue light that shot across the room and caught the dark armored figure squarely on the chest.  Rylan and Rachnid both winced and looked away, the light so brilliant in the dimly lit cave that it hurt the eyes to view it.  For a moment it seemed as though nothing happened, the shadow knight simply stood and regarded the high elven priestess.  Then a low rumble seemed to build within its chest and Rylan understood suddenly that it was in pain.  The knight staggered back and his form began to fade, the holy light being cast by Ishara seemed to be dissipating the shadowy form.  For a moment the young squires heart leapt with joy, but then there was a flash of movement and he opened his mouth to shout a warning to her, but it was too late.  From the mouth of the tunnel behind her, where he had seen Lady Ariana disappear a short while before emerged a group of shadow elves that he knew to be the same ones they had faced a mere few days earlier.  One stepped up behind the blonde priestess and brought the handle of a sword down on the back of her head.  Ishara’s eyes rolled up in the back of her head as she slumped to the ground, another of the shadow elves was moving toward the power circle where Magnus had earlier confined Shadow Stalker and still another was moving to assist Karnash in his fight against the dwarf. 

                Devlin was still slumped unconscious against a wall and one of the two shadow elven women was quick to cast a spell upon him, and then another on the slumbering mage.  It took only a moment for the circle to be broken and then Shadow Stalker was free as well.  Scant moments later Rylan screamed as his body was engulfed in the flickering black flames that had surrounded Karnash’s sword, the flames burned though they left no physical mark that he could see.  As he was held in the grip of the shadow flame the elven woman who had cast the magic turned to where Karnash and Wolfgar were still battling near the entrance to the cave.  “Enough!” she shouted, her voice magically augmented so that both men couldn’t help but hear her.  They paused in their brawl, turning toward her.  “Throw down your weapon dwarf, or the boy dies!”  At that point another shadow elf male, this one with wide, crazed eyes emerged from the tunnel at the back of the cavern, a nude Ariana Moonstone draped over his shoulder, her body still glistening with the waters from the pool she had been bathing in.  “That paladin will get it as well!”

                Gar glanced around, the cursed in dwarven and threw down his hammer.  Karnash stepped up and clubbed him upside the head, hard enough to break the skull of a lesser man, though the dwarf just slumped with a grown.  The elves glanced around, seeming convinced that everything was as it should be.  Rylan felt the grip of the shadow fire lessen and collapsed with a gasp, looking up just in time to see a large spider scampering out the door around the ankle of Karnash.

                “Success my lord!”  cried Silke Shadoe as she stalked triumphantly into the cavern ahead of Karnash, who entered behind her with the unconscious form of Ishara Wodan draped across one broad shoulder.  The cavern into which they had marched was not so large, though it was a good hundred feet across lengthwise, there was only about thirty feet across from the entrance to the centerpiece of the cavern.  A golden disc was fused into the wall opposite the entrance, the circle was ten feet wide in all directions and was lined on every discernible surface with magical runes, symbols and wards.  About six feet in front of it was an altar on which had been placed all manner of items, not the least of which was a ceremonial silver dagger.

                “No!” cried the shapely elven woman chained to the wall to the far left of the door as they entered.  Karnash glanced in that direction and smirked, as he always did when he saw the noble elf, formerly the ruler of Peacehope, naked and defenseless.  He remembered that it was her sister he now carried into the room, and in his opinion the priestess was the prettier of the two women… he looked forward to seeing her naked as well.

                Standing before the golden disc, gazing at it with a calm that did nothing to quell the power radiating off him, was Eclipse, the avatar of D’L’Tal’Itz, who had arrived nearly a week before and taken over the entire operation from Silke Shadoe.  Karnash had been surprised that the dark elven priestess had relinquished control so easily, but she, like the barbarians she now controlled, had been suitably impressed with mans power and so had given him authority over them all.  Karnash thought perhaps there was a more to it than that… he suspected the woman was afraid of Eclipse, but he would never say that openly.  After all, he was a bit afraid of her… something else he would never admit openly.  But if she feared the so called avatar enough to bend her knee to him, then that was enough to convince Karnash to do the same.

                He turned from the Sun Seal, the red glow emanating from the faceplate of his dark armor casting a bizarre hue over the planes and angles of the metal surfaces.  His cloak billowed around him as he turned.  “Excellent.”  Next to him the newly proclaimed high priestess of shadows, Ebony Penumbra, had also turned and was smiling slyly at the barbarian overlord.  That was the title they had bestowed upon Karnash when they learned that he lead all the barbarian tribes, each of them having been enslaved to help with the excavation of this room.  Karnash was powerfully drawn to the human woman, at least he thought she was human.  Her skin was white as snow, as were her hair and eyes.  Until recently, he had never seen a more shapely woman than this priestess, but the redheaded warrior they had captured in the pool back in the cave certainly gave her a run for her money.  Still, Ebony exuded lust and Karnash felt his manhood swell whenever he was in her presence.  He suspected she wanted him too, but thus far she had made no attempt to act on those feelings.

                The high priestess of Shadows turned to her favored henchman, an undead hobgoblin that Karnash had learned called himself Hyena.  He didn’t like this man, found his very existence unnatural, and the way he laughed in that high pitched, almost nasal way every time he did anything was unnerving.  “Hyena, secure the second the sacrifice and prepare her appropriately.”  Karnash turned to see the greater zombie, another thing he had learned since the arrival of this powerful group was the existence of a race of undead that were considered the equal of any other mortals, approaching him with that same leering smile he always wore on his face.  His long pointed ears, sticking out almost straight from either side of his head wagged slightly as he cackled, taking the shapely elf from Karnash.

                “Unhand her you scum!”  The countess cried indignantly from her place against the far wall.  She hadn’t lost any of her defiance, Karnash could see that, and he knew that several of the shadow cult had attempted to beat it from her.  He suspected that the undead monstrosity who had just relieved him of his burden had even been unleashed upon the beautiful dark haired high elf.  He knew that Hyena had a reputation as a sadistic, perverted cretin and he didn’t envy any woman that might catch his eye.  Though they could certainly hear her, no one paid the noble woman any heed.

                “What of her traveling companions?”  Ebony asked, turning her attention on Silke, who seemed barely able to contain her contempt of the albino human.  Karnash had noted that while she was perfectly willing to concede leadership to Eclipse, she had chafed at his decision to promote Ebony Penumbra to the position she herself had held before the human had come along.

                “Captured and held, for now.  They are a powerful group, I had thought that if they could be turned, they might be useful to us.”  Silke Shadoe commented.

                Karnash spoke now, for the first time.  “Two of them are my kin… my niece and nephew, returned to Trey’Elden after going in search of aid to help against what they saw as a hostile takeover of our people.”

                “You lead the people now, Overlord.  Your brothers children are of no consequence.  Do with them as you will.”  Eclipse ordered him.

                Karnash smiled and nodded.  “There is one of my men, Tral, who has been very loyal.  Long has he lusted after Princess Shayla, perhaps I will present her to him as a reward.”

                “Whatever you wish.”  The avatar turned away, facing the Sun Seal once again.  “We near the time of the ritual, and we have all that is required to see it through to completion.  Nothing can halt us now.”  He turned to Ebony and nodded, and the albino, smiling widely, knelt in front of the altar and started to work with the dagger and several of the magical ingredients that Karnash had seen the Shadow Elves going out into the world to collect for them.  “You have done well.  Leave us now as we prepare… I will summon you all when the time has come to break the seal.”

                Karnash though that Silke Shadoe was going to say something angry, the look on her face showed that she didn’t take well to being dismissed in that fashion, but instead she just turned away and stalked from the cavern.  Karnash looked around, his gaze resting for a time on where Ishara Wodan now slumped against the wall, her wrists chained above her head, the greater zombie hobgoblin cackling softly to himself as he stripped her naked.  Shuddering slightly in spite of himself, he turned and followed the former high priestess of shadows from the cavern.  The tunnel beyond the caverns entrance was long and narrow, the massive warrior had to duck his head to keep from striking it on the roof.  The whole tunnel had been recently carved from the side of the mountain he knew, it had been his people and those of the neighboring tribes who had done the work.  Karnash and several of his most trusted men had worked the lashes that kept them at their labors.  It had been tedious, hard work that had taken weeks but it seemed that it was finally nearing completion.  He had been promised a position of authority in the new world order that was to be birthed at the release of the mysterious shadow god.  He hoped that the shadow elves kept their word, but was not so naïve to believe he had anything to say about it one way or another.  He knew, though, that so long as he stayed loyal himself he had no cause to fear the lash.

                After more than a hundred yards the tunnel emptied into a vast cavern in which a horde of tribesmen and women were hunkered down, all of them in chains that ran from their necks to their wrists and their ankles.  Walking among them were the warriors that Karnash himself had hand picked to keep the warrior tribes docile.  Of course, they all knew that it was more the magic of the shadow elves that did that than it was any fear of the whips held by his men.  “Tral!” he called to the tall, scarred warrior with the dirty blonde hair that was standing about mid-way across the room.  He was crouched over a chained woman, his hand full of her long hair, her head bent back painfully as he growled something at her.  She was a shapely wench, and Karnash could well imagine what the known rapist was threatening her with.  It seemed she was to get a reprieve… at least temporarily.  As the warrior raised his head and looked toward Karnash the overlord of the barbarian tribes barked, “To me!”

                Tral shoved the woman away, sending her sprawling across the hard rock floor, then spit on her disdainfully before he jogged the short distance to stand before his leader.  “How went the mission?”  Tral asked.

                “Very well.”  Karnash responded, not mentioning the others failure to use his newly given title.  The two men had been friends for far too long for Karnash to hold Tral to that level of ceremony, as he did with his other men.  “We caught them in the caverns with the hot springs, recovered the shadow elves second sacrifice and… a little surprise as well.”

                Tral’s eyebrows shot up at that.  “Oh?”

                “My niece and nephew.  Devlin to be specific.  I understand that Kelvan was killed in the hot springs where the leader of the party was also caught.  I have been instructed to do with my kin as I see fit… I had thought that Shayla might be a good reward to present to you, as thanks for your dedicated service.”  Karnash told his friend with a lewd smile.

                Tral smiled widely, his eyes lighting up.  “Indeed!  Long have I desired such.”

                Karnash reached out and clapped his friend on the shoulder.  “I know, that’s why I offer her to you my old friend.  She has been given her own tent, and no doubt you will find her there.  Be wary though, she is fierce when cornered.”

                “All wildcats are!”  Tral said with a laugh, then turned and raced from the cavern.  Karnash watched him go, thinking that he had himself lusted after his niece once, but since setting eyes on that flame haired woman from the cave he had a new goal in mind… and since his new masters had given him his leave to do as he pleased, he saw no reason to put her pain off any longer.  Especially when her pain was going to mean so much pleasure for him!

                He couldn’t ever remember being so torn, always in his life his goals had been clearly set, his path clearly defined.  Now, for the first time, he wasn’t certain how to proceed.  Lady Ariana Moonstone had found his Achilles heel… his little brother.  Nathaniel Dieter had all but given up on ever finding Bryant alive… but if what she said was true, if this young rogue that worked for her was carrying a dagger like his… could there really be any doubt as to who he was?  Shadow Stalker sighed and shook his head, his spirit troubled for the first time in his memory.  He was under contract to the Shadow Elves, they had rescued him from that cave though he was certain that recovery of Ishara Wodan had been their true mission, he couldn’t deny that they had granted him his freedom.  The Dragons had been captured, his weapons and gear returned to him and then he had come here, to this impromptu mining camp with them.  He had seen where they had taken the others… keeping them separated as much as possible.  Ariana had been taken to a lodge that he had since learned belonged to Karnash, the erstwhile ruler of the barbarian people.  Shadow Stalker wasn’t fooled, he knew a figurehead when he saw one.  Silke Shadoe and her people simply thought that it would be easier to keep a proud people like this in line if they felt that they were being looked after by one of their own.  Likely, when they were finished with whatever it was here that they were doing, they were going to kill Karnash and all the others.  Would Shadow Stalker be included in that slaughter?  He thought it likely, knowing what he knew about the shadow elves.  They were loyal to each other, to a certain extent, but outsiders didn’t warrant the same status.  When looked at from that angle, it was a little easier to contemplate switching sides, which he had been considering ever since Ariana told him about Shadow Walker, the young thief that traveled with her band normally.  He still couldn’t really believe he was considering that… he had never considered himself the sort that would renege on a contract.  And yet he suspected that the Shadow Elves would do it to him in a similar situation, might even be considering it already as he had already surmised.

                “Blast!”  he growled.  He was pacing the camp, moving around it perimeter, keeping to the shadows though he did this more out of instinct than any actual attempt to keep unseen.  If it really was Bryant that she knew… how could he not help her and her friends escape here?  Didn’t the oath he had made to his mother and his little brother all those years ago, to protect him to the best of his ability, supersede any contract he had with the Shadow Elves? 

                Movement further into the camp caught his eye and he looked over to see the tall, slender yet powerfully built form of the man he had heard called Tral making his way eagerly through the camp.  The assassin followed the mans course with his eyes, his gaze eventually settling on the tent he knew that Karnash had taken the barbarian princess to.  So that was their game?  Have a little fun with their female prisoners before determining what to do with them?  “Well… that’s just rude.”  Was he rationalizing it?  Probably.  Was he going to let that stop him from helping them?  Definitely not.  He turned, thinking to intercept the blonde barbarian warrior but then another movement drew his eye toward the mouth of the caverns that the barbarian slaves had been excavating.  Karnash emerged and Shadow Stalker’s eyes narrowed as he saw the man heading toward his own lodge, where the assassin knew Ariana to have been taken.  He glanced back and forth between the tents… did he help Shayla first or Ariana?  Which woman held the most sway over his immediate future?  With a minimum of guilty conscience, he turned had followed Karnash.

                He entered his lodge quietly, moving with a stealth that really shouldn’t have been possible for a man of his size.  There was a great many things he could do now that he hadn’t been able to do before the elves changed him, Karnash thought.  He was superior now in every way he could fathom, and he was proud of that.  He paused as he entered the large tent, made of the skins of many saber toothed tigers he himself had killed over the years.  The paladin lay there on his cot, still as nude as when he had brought her here, apparently unconscious with her arms elevated, chained at the wrist to a post over her head.  She was laying on her back, eyes closed, head turned away, face slightly concealed beneath the sweep of fiery red hair.  He felt himself stirring at the sight of her, never could he remember seeing a more perfect specimen of womanhood.  Her breasts were quite large and firmly rounded, without the slightest hint of sag, thrusting upward like twin mountain peaks.  Her belly, looking slightly concave with her arms elevated as they were, was also firm but flat and toned.  Her legs were long and lean, the thighs well muscled, as were the calves, but not so much that they looked bulky.  She was the closest thing to perfect he had ever seen.  His heart began to pound in his broad chest as he pulled a stool made from the bones of a mammoth over to the bedside and sat upon it.  He reached up to brush his wild black hair out of his face, his eyes, so much darker since the shadow infusion than they had been before, sweeping her prostrate form hungrily.  He reached out toward her and was surprised to see his hand trembling slightly, but when he placed it on the smooth, flat expanse of her stomach he marveled at the warmth and feel of it, like the finest silk. 

                “Odins’ beard!” he said softly, though in the tent his voice still managed to carry.  He splayed his fingers wide and moved his hand up slowly, caressing her soft flesh.  She stirred, sighing softly and turning her head toward him.  He watched her beautiful face, seeing the way the full lips parted slightly, noting the tip of the pink tongue beyond them.  Her nose was straight and slightly up turned at the end, her eyes, if they were open, would be a vibrant emerald green he knew.  She had high cheekbones and her lustrous hair framed an oval face that would have looked too long on any other woman but on her was perfect.  His fingers started up the underside of her right breast and when he reached the apex he took her large nipple between thumb and forefinger and rolled it gently.  Her eyes popped open and she glared at him.  He smiled, having suspected all along that she wasn’t really asleep.  “Do you even know how beautiful you are Lady Moonstone?” he asked her by way of greeting.

                “Take your hand off me you slobbering son of an orcish whore!” she growled back.

                Karnash raised his bushy eyebrows in mock surprise.  “Lady Moonstone,” he said with feigned severity, “what would your father think if he heard you talking like that?”

                Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him.  “Were he alive to hear it, he would applaud my choice of epithet.  He hated orcs.” 

                Karnash laughed, then spread his big hand across her breast, liking that he couldn’t quite engulf the whole thing, and began to squeeze it playfully.  “So daddy is dead, is he?  Good.”  He leaned forward so that his bearded face hovered an inch over hers, “Less chance of him coming after me that way.”

                She spit in his face and he turned it away reflexively, though the saliva struck his beard on the right side.  He didn’t bother to wipe it away, and as his ear was now facing her, she growled into it, “It wouldn’t be my father you would have to worry about anyway pig!”  The barbarian overlord turned his face back to meet her eyes, smiling like the predator he was, and then his mouth was on hers, harsh and bruising.  She strained against the mattress beneath her, trying to pull away and her body shifted to the side as his hand slid quickly from her breast down to her crotch, his fingers wiggling between her thighs.  She couldn’t move far enough to avoid his questing touch with her hands shackled as they were, nor could se break the forced kiss.  His free hand came up, grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back, breaking the kiss and making her gasp in pain in spite of herself.

                “I’m going to enjoy you wench!” he growled, then started to work his lips down the smooth, slender column of her throat.  At his words the paladin froze, something icy and dangerous suddenly crept into her eyes and as though he could feel the sudden chill off her Karnash raised his face and looked down, though his fingers were still working their way into her from below. 

                When his eyes met hers he was surprised to feel a chill shiver its way through him at the utter frigidness of that stare.  “What did you call me?”  It was not well known, in fact only those closest to her were aware, but one of the only ways to truly anger Ariana Moonstone was to refer to her by the derogatory term wench.  It was a… quirk of hers.

                Her right leg suddenly came up off the bed, bending at the knee so that it could slam into his temple, the paladin nearly bending double to land the blow.  Karnash, taken by surprise from the blow, staggered off his stool and to his knees beside the cot.  He shook his head, the surprisingly strong blow having actually stunned him.  Ariana lifted her head off the cot and looked at him, trying to find another way to attack him, but she couldn’t reach him from her position chained as she was.  Then she saw something move behind the barbarian and her eyes came up, widening as she saw Shadow Stalker detach himself from the shadows behind Karnash.  There was the glint of something shiny in his hand and then the Overlords head was being pulled back by the chin and the assassin’s hand curled around his neck.  Next moment something dark that resembled blood but was more black than red spurted forth, splattering across her bare breasts and stomach and with a gurgling rasp Karnash fell to the floor of his lodge.

                Shadow Stalker glared down at the fallen warrior and said, as though it made perfect sense to him, “Ladies do not like to be referred to as wenches.”  Ariana thought, exactly though she didn’t say anything.  Outwardly, she was too surprised by his sudden appearance to react right away.  Shadow Stalker looked up from the fallen barbarian at Ariana, then quickly glanced away as though he were embarrassed to be seeing her naked.  But then she realized that that wasn’t it at all… it was more that he didn’t want her to be embarrassed by him seeing her naked!

                “Why?” she asked him softly.

                He turned then, being careful to look only at her eyes.  “You know why.”

                They stared into each others eyes for a moment and seemed to come to some kind of mutual understanding.  Then she glanced up at her shackled wrists, “Can you do something about these?”  She jingled the chain meaningfully.  She thought she saw the fabric that covered his mouth move in such a way that it would mimic a smile as he produced a lockpick from somewhere within the folds of his cloak.

                Shayla heard the sound of heavy footfalls approaching the tent and a voice said something to the guards stationed outside, a voice that send a shiver of trepidation through her.  The flap of the tent was tossed aside and in stalked Tral, bent at the waist to clear the entrance.  As he straightened, Shayla stared, wide eyed with sudden terror.  He looked much as she remembered him, tall and powerful with long, dirty blonde hair that was pulled into several braids.  His beard was scraggily and also braided to either side of his chin.  He had more tribal tattoos than did most of the men of the tribe, and more battle scars, though if half the stories she had heard about those was true she knew she was in real trouble now.  His light blue eyes played over her hungrily, pausing indecently on her bosom and the long lines of her legs, enjoying how her leggings seemed to cling to them enticingly.  Not for the first time, Shayla wished that it wasn’t the custom of the women of the tribes to wear such provocative clothing.

                “Princess.” He said with a mocking bow.

                Shayla said nothing, but pulled at the bonds keeping her hands tied behind her back.  She hadn’t been tied to anything, but she had been left with her wrists bound behind her by rope.  The shadow elf that had done the tying knew his knots, she hadn’t been able to work any slack into the bonds.  That and the guards she knew were outside her door and she was well and truly a prisoner.  Now, it seemed, she was to be a trophy as well.  She had no illusions about his purpose here, nor did she doubt who had sent him… or why.  Ever had Tral and Karnash been friends, and all that had ever kept either man from having his way with her had been their mutual fear of her father, a factor that was no longer an issue.

                He approached her now where she sat on the cot, pulling a bone handled dagger with a long, narrow blade from a sheath at the small of his back.  She noticed that he wasn’t wearing a sword, meaning he had wisely left it somewhere outside the tent.  Tral was a rapist, but he wasn’t a fool it seemed.  He knelt before her, brandishing the dagger, waving the razor sharp blade under her nose as he smiled into her face.  His teeth were crooked and rotting, lending some truth to the rumors of his addictions to certain drugs.  This was the first time she had ever been close enough to him to see his teeth clearly, and she hated herself for flinching away from that leer.  He laughed, “What?  No words of welcome for your old friend Tral?”

                “We were never friends!” she said to him heatedly.

                He smiled, moving the dagger forward so that the point of the blade rested against her chin.  She froze, her blue eyes widening slightly.  “You know, I’m sure, that Karnash is our ruler now?  Your uncle has been declared supreme overlord of all the tribes, who have united under his banner.”

                She couldn’t keep herself from replying with disdain to that announcement.  “You mean his shadow elf allies enslaved them and named him Overlord!”

                Tral shrugged, the tip of the dagger starting to slide slowly down the front of her throat.  Shayla swallowed her fear, her head tilting back in the hopes of keeping him from cutting her.  His smile widened as his eyes followed the path of the dagger down her long, slender neck.  “Whatever the path that he took, he is our leader now, and he has decided in his wisdom that I should be rewarded for my faithful service.  He has given you to me to be my mate… a worthy match, I’m sure you’ll agree!”  He laughed as he saw a shudder of revulsion pass through her.  “I think it would be a good idea if you were to start finding it within yourself to be a bit more friendly toward me, Princess.”  His daggers tip had slipped between the folds of the shirt she was wearing, one of the ones she had purchased before leaving Peacehope.  With a deft flick of the blade he sent the top button flying and pushed the folds of material aside to gaze, apparently enraptured, at the expanse of sun bronzed skin revealed beneath.  “I am your man now, and the nicer you are to me, the easier I can make your life from here on out.”

                “I would rather die than be mated to you!” she said, hearing the tremor in her own voice and hating it.  Showing fear to him was only going to spur him onward, not that there was much she could do to avoid that now, she realized.

                He met her eyes, the dagger flicking again and sending another button flying.  “Perhaps,” he allowed, “but as I am able to grant that wish or not, on my whim, it would still behoove you to be nicer to me, don’t you think?”

                “Never!” she spat at him, then she screamed softly as his dagger suddenly whipped downward, slicing open the shirt to her waist.  She was certain it had cut her open, but Tral evidently knew his way around a blade quite well, for she hadn’t even been nicked.  He had even managed to cut the strap holding the cups of her brassiere together, so that it fell open with the rest of the shirt.  She felt panic welling up within her and with it tears as he set the dagger aside, next to his knee on the floor and reached forward to cup her breasts in his calloused hands.  He kneaded the firm globes, sliding his thumbs over her nipples and moaning slightly at the feel of her soft, tender flesh beneath his palms.

                “Magnificent!”  He moaned.  He pushed against her chest, laying her back on the cot and she didn’t resist, genuine terror making her acquiesce to his desire.  His hands moved down from her breasts over her flat stomach and started to pull at the fasteners of her leggings.  She had lost her sword belt and blade back in the cavern when she and the others had been captured.  He opened her pants and started to pull the snug fitting leathers down her rounded hips, the princess lifting her buttocks off the cot to keep him from tearing them more than to help him.  Before he could pull the pants off, though, he had remove her boots and he tossed them aside carelessly before sending her leathers to join them, then he smiled as he reached for the waistband of her underpants, something else she had bought in Peacehope.  “You’ve grown accustomed to the dress of those soft women in the big cities… it’s not our way, but I have to say I like it!”  He grinned as he pulled the cotton underwear down her long legs, then raised them to his nose and inhaled her scent.  Shayla repressed another shudder, then he tossed them away as well, laughing at the obvious fear reflected in her blue eyes.  Standing, he started to undress himself, which didn’t take much as he was bare chested and wore only leather pants and boots.  He had bronze arm bands as well, but those he left on.  “I’ve wanted to do this to you for years, since you first came of age and were available to claim.  But your father protected you… insisting that your coupling would need to be planned in order to strengthen the tribe, unite us with another tribe.  But all the tribes are united now, under Karnash, so even your father would have no reason to deny me any longer!”

                “Tral,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and reasonable, “please don’t do this.  I don’t love you….”

                “Love?” he laughed harshly as he kicked his boots away and then started to push his pants down over his lean hips.  “We don’t care about love, our people are about strength!  Might is right, and we take what… and who we want!  That’s always been our way and it will always be our way.  Your father knew that too, but he relied on that champion of his to keep your honor intact until he could find a proper match for you!”  Thought of Kellinor made Shayla’s heart ache slightly, for she had always thought that one day she might have wound up mated to him, hoped it even, though she had never said such to her father.  “Now it’s been decided that I’m the proper match for the high and mighty princess!”  He was naked by now, and Shayla saw his manhood standing firm and erect, jutting out from below his muscled stomach, pointing at her in what she thought a slightly accusatory manner.  It was the first time she had ever seen a man naked, and she swallowed fearfully.  Tral misinterpreted her fear and smiled, “I know… it’s big isn’t it?  Never had one as big as mine before, have you?”  She could honestly say that she hadn’t, considering she had never been with a man before at all.  But at that moment she couldn’t find her voice, it seemed fear and robbed her of it.

                Her new husband, and by all the pertinent laws of her people he was legally her husband, bent at the waist and placed his hands on her shoulders, repositioning her on the cot so that when he laid down atop her they were stretched lengthwise.  He was smiling down at her, evidently he didn’t feel the need for any more talk as he slid his hands between them, forcing her legs apart.  She resisted at first, if for no other reason than to show that she still had some defiance left in her, but too soon he had her knees bent and her thighs wide.  He was grinning down at her, his hands pushing her knees as flat as they could go, and since Shayla was rather limber they were completely flat against the cot.  She felt his manhood pressing against her tender mound and she couldn’t bear to look into his face any longer.  She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes closed as she felt his erection pushing upward, her nether lips parting around his pole as he pushed into her.  He groaned at the tightness of her, and she whimpered at the pain of it, for she was dry and of course had never done this before.  This wasn’t how her first time was supposed to happen.  She had had many dreams of this, but never had it been with her being forced by a husband she didn’t want.  She had even started to fantasize about a certain mage, who she knew might even now be dead, being the one to whom she gave her innocence. 

                His upward motion stopped as he found her hymen and his eyes widened as he grinned, “You’re still a virgin?”  She was chewing on her lower lip to keep from crying out in pain and anguish, so she only nodded, not trusting herself to talk.  “Oh, that’s too perfect!”  Suddenly his hands were sliding up her thighs and he was gripping her hips as he shifted up to his knees.  She opened her eyes in confusion as he shifted her position along with him, raising her hips slightly and she instinctively closed her long legs about his waist.  He was looking down at her and when her eyes met his she found she couldn’t look away, the hunger there was inescapable and she found herself pulled into that gaze, drowning in it.  He gripped her hips, his fingers gripping so strongly that she winced slightly and then he pulled her to him as he thrust powerfully into her.  Shayla couldn’t stop herself, she screamed, throwing her head back and arching her spine as he drove into her to the hilt….

                Ariana stood with one long, very shapely leg perched on the edge of the cot, adjusting the top of one of her boots that rose to just below her knee.  Shadow Stalker stood a short distance away, near the door to the lodge where he could see outside in case they were about to get any unwanted visitors, but he also had a good view of the paladin.  It was hard not to watch her as much as he watched the door, she truly was one of the most exquisite women he had ever seen.

                “Rather lucky that Karnash decided to keep my gear in here with me.”  She said, lowering her boot to the floor and straightening.  She turned and took Vindicator by the handle, the zweihander had been leaning against a wall of the lodge, waiting for her.  All of her gear, armor, weapons… all of it, had been found in a trunk against a wall.

                Shadow Stalker shook his head, “Luck had nothing to do with it.  They kept it here because they fully intended to return it to you.”  She turned to look at him, her expression questioning.  “They were discussing plans for what to do with you and your people as we were coming here from that cavern where they caught us all.  It seemed they intended the same fate for you as befell Karnash here, imbuing you with shadow energy to turn you to their side.”

                Ariana felt a shudder of trepidation run through her.  She looked down at the fallen barbarian, “Is that how they turned him against his people?”

                Shadow Stalker shrugged, “I don’t think it would have taken much corruption anyway, from what I’ve seen of him.  In his case I think it was more of an enticement to join them, he was already pretty much against his people.  But you they intended to turn, then use you against your homeland.”  Ariana had to admit, it was a good plan, and would probably have succeeded if Shadow Stalker hadn’t intervened. 

                She moved over to stand in front of him, her green eyes meeting his brown ones for a moment before she spoke.  “It seems then that I owe you not only for rescuing me, but for rescuing my city as well.  I won’t forget that, Shadow Stalker.  But you understand… if you intend to stay with us, you will have to answer for the death of Duke Rethbourne and the kidnappings?”

                He paused a long while before he answered, then he nodded.  “I understand that, but if what these Shadow Elves have planned comes to pass, my past transgressions will be the least of our worries.”

                “You know where they’re keeping the rest of my team?” she asked, turning toward the lodges only entrance and exit.

                “I saw where they were all taken, yes.”  He moved toward the entrance with her, “The goblin got away though… is that an issue for us?”

                Ariana smiled slightly.  “For us?  No.  For the Shadow Elves… quite possibly.”

                “He’s just a goblin.  What can he do?”

                Ariana turned her head to regard the assassin for a moment.  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Rachnid over the years, it’s that people underestimate him at their own peril.  That little goblin has the most insane luck of anyone I’ve ever met.”  As they continued out of the lodge they didn’t see the eyes of the barbarian overlord flicker open behind them.  But as they stepped into the open, seeing that Sol was beginning to set in the distance they heard a scream that set Ariana’s blood to running cold.  “That was Shayla!”

                “She was given to one of Karnash’s men!  This way!”  Shadow Stalker started sprinting across the large encampment, toward a tent that Ariana could see in the distance.  In front of that tent stood two shadow elves, evidently set as guards against the possibility of the princess escaping.  The two elves saw the humans approaching and moved to intercept them, bringing the wicked looking spears they each wielded into a guard position as they did.  “I’ve got the left!” Shadow Stalker growled low as they moved forward.  Ariana said nothing, but set her sights on the guard to the right.  Behind them, still unseen, Karnash emerged from his lodge and started to look about for the guard that had been posted outside it.  He had left his sword with that shadow elf and he wanted the blade now so he could use it to slice the assassin to ribbons.  No doubt the rogue had killed the guard before slipping into his lodge to betray the Shadow Cult.

                As they reached the pair of guards, Shadow Stalker dove and rolled, coming up on one knee and driving his sword toward the stomach of the elf on the left.  Ariana, not so prone to fancy fighting as was Shadow Stalker and the young man she thought to be his brother, merely brought Vindicator around in a low sweep and knocked the point of the spear aside, then she moved up the length of it, twisting and bringing her great sword around in a savage spin.  A moment later the guards head was rolling away on the ground as his body toppled, dark blood spraying forth from the stump of his neck.  Shadow Stalker, having continued his forward momentum after stabbing the other elf, kicked backward, drawing his blade out as he kicked the other guard to the ground.  That shadow elf fell with a moan, his intestines spilling onto the rocky floor.

                “Guards!  To arms!  The prisoners are escaping!”  Karnash bellowed from behind them, still casting about for his lost sword.

                Ariana turned and, seeing the overlord, looked back at Shadow Stalker.  “Some assassin you are!  You’re victims don’t seem to stay dead!”

                The rogue had turned back to look at Karnash as well, and now he simply shrugged as though it didn’t matter.  “Only means I get to kill him again.”

                Another scream, though this one less anguished than the first, drew their attention back to the tent.  Shadow Stalker motioned for Ariana to go forward through entrance, telling her with hand signals that he was going to circle around the back.  She nodded, then started forward without hesitation, using the blade of Vindicator to move the flap covering the entrance aside as she passed.  Inside she found Shayla, naked from the waist down and bloody, the blouse and bra she had been wearing now hanging in tatters.  Behind her, his muscular arm wrapped about her head, pulling her chin back so that he could hold a dagger to her throat, was a barbarian warrior with long, dirty blonde hair done in several braids.  From what she could see of him, he seemed naked save for a couple of bronze arm bands.

                “Let the girl go, there’s no escape for you whether she lives or dies, threatening her makes no difference here.”  Ariana told him.

                His eyes narrowed slightly, and she found it somewhat troubling that she saw little in that gaze of concern or doubt.  “At the very least I get to take her with me so that no one else can sample what you’ve just interrupted bitch.”  Ariana’s eyes narrowed, in her book being called a bitch wasn’t much better than a wench, though she admitted to herself that at least it was occasionally true.

                “As I’ve said, either way there’s no escape for you.  But if she lives, you may as well.  I don’t make it a habit of killing those who surrender to me.”  She said, seeing the point of a razor sharp blade suddenly protrude from the skins behind him that formed the rear wall of this tent.

                His eyes were darting about and he asked, “I heard you speaking to someone outside, where’s your partner in this?”

                Her only response was a smile as Shadow Stalker stepped through the slit he had made in the tent wall.  The barbarian must have seen something in her eyes because he started to turn his head but then he stiffened and his eyes widened as he gasped in pain.  The assassin had stepped up behind him and driving the blade of his dagger into the small of the other mans back.  Ariana started forward, thinking to help Shayla but as she did so the barbarian drew his blade deep across the princess’s neck.  Shayla’s eyes widened in terror and she opened her mouth to scream, but so deep was the laceration that her final sound came out as a hiss from the severed tubes in her neck, gurgling and bubbling as her knees buckled.

                “No!”  Ariana cried, dashing forward to catch the girl as she fell.  Shadow Stalker cursed, shoving the barbarian aside and then falling atop him as he toppled, slashing the mans throat and then driving his dagger three times into his heart for good measure.  By the time the assassin had stood up he could hear the sound of running feet outside.  He turned to Ariana, who was cradling the already dead princess in her arms as tears ran down her face.  “She deserved better than this.”

                Shadow Stalker crouched at her side, placed a gloved hand on her shoulder.  “You know that anger you’re feeling right now?”  She turned her tear streaked face toward him.  “Channel it,” he raised his bloody dagger and pointed toward the flap covering the tents entrance, “use it on them.  It may be the only chance we have of escaping here.”

                Goblin though he may be, Rachnid was a rather resourceful fellow.  It was helpful as well that his goblin form wasn’t the only one he could maintain, and in his spider form he could go places much more easily that he wouldn’t have been able to get into otherwise.  So it was that the spider, rather large for a common variety arachnid found in most houses around Kyzanthia, was scampering through the center of the shadow elf and barbarian encampment, escaping the notice of most.  He was approaching the tent that he knew his friend Wolfgar had been taken to, having been watching from a distance as the other members of the Dragons were carried or dragged into the camp.  He figured that once Ariana and that rather surprising assassin had made their play they would be grateful for a little help.  He could think of no better member of the team to send them first than Gar. 

                Of course there was a guard at the entrance to the tent where the dwarf was being kept, but that was of no consequence to Rachnid, who didn’t bother with the entrance but instead slipped beneath the skins that this tent, like most of those around the camp, was made from.  He paused just inside, thankful that spiders weren’t hindered by such things as needing to see in the dark.  He could smell the dwarf directly ahead of him, but he had paused to ensure that there were no other, unfamiliar scents in the tent.  When he had determined that he was alone with the dwarf he decided that it would be easiest to free the warrior if he returned to his goblin form, so he did… and immediately realized he couldn’t see.  He sighed in a rather irritated manner, and in response to that slight sound he heard a grunt from somewhere in the darkness.

                “Who’s there?” came the soft growl of Wolfgar’s voice.

                “It’s me Gar, Rachnid.”  Whispered the goblin.

                “What?  Go away… I’d never live it down if the others learned I’d been rescued by a goblin.”  Gar said, his voice sounding distressed.

                Rachnid frowned, finding this a very odd thing to say at so critical a time.  “Why?  What’s so bad about that?”

                A slight groan, “Oh never mind, just get over here and untie me.”

                “I would… but I can’t see you.  This darkness is weird, my people can see in the dark the same as yours, but this stuff is like….”

                “It’s a shadow spell, designed to blind anyone inside the tent.  Those confounded elves can see in this murk just fine, but the rest of us?  It’s the same stuff they used when we faced that group in Morlanta on the coast.  Damned aggravating, but effective just the same.”  There was a pause, then the dwarf said, “Don’t you have something that can counter it?  Some kind of holy light or something?”

                Rachnid rolled his eyes and shook his head, not caring that the dwarf couldn’t see him.  “I’m not Mistress Ishara, she’s the priestess of Ra with all the holy light and that rot.  I deal with Rachnos… my thing is spiders, remember?”

                “Fat lot of good they’ll do me here.”  Gar grumbled.

                Feeling slightly offended on behalf of his eight legged friends, Rachnid retorted, “Well, I may not be able to shed any light on the situation, but I do have a dagger, and if it’s only ropes holding you then….”  He let the sentence trail off as he started across the room, feeling with his hands extended out in front of you.  “I should think you’d be more eager to leave, what with Lady Ariana and that assassin left to battle the whole camp on their own.”

                “What?!”  Gar’s voice was maybe a little louder than it should be.  “Why didn’t you say so!  Get me out of here.”

                Rachnid sighed, “That’s what I’m trying to do, or haven’t you been listening?  Now keep grumbling, it’s easier to find you if I can hear you.”

                “I don’t grumble.”  Gar grumbled.  It wasn’t much, but it was sufficient for the goblin to find him in the dark, and then he produced a dagger from within his clerics robe and bent to the task of cutting the dwarf free of the ropes. 

                “Ouch!  Be careful you dolt!”  Gar groused.  “You’re supposed to be cutting the ropes, not me!”

                Rachnid felt a spike of anger.  “Well, if you hadn’t let yourself get caught by a bunch of dark skinned elves I wouldn’t need to be here doing this at all, now would I?”

                He felt the dwarf stiffen as he kept sawing at the ropes.  “Let myself get caught…?  By a bunch of…?”  Suddenly the ropes fell free, dropping the ground as the goblin cut through the last of them and Gar was up, a battle cry escaping his lips as he raced toward what he thought must have been the entrance to the tent.  Rachnid scampered back out of the way, thinking of changing back into his spider form and going after the others, leaving the enraged dwarf to join the fight.  But rather than escaping through the tents entrance, the blinded dwarf barreled straight into the side of the tent, collapsing it atop them both.  “Confound it!”  Gar bellowed, thrashing and tearing at the skins that had enveloped him.  “This is just perfect!”

                Rachnid heard the sound of running feet approaching from outside and knew that some of the guards were coming to investigate.  He had hoped that all the guards would be on their way to deal with Ariana and Shadow Stalker by now, but apparently they weren’t so naïve as to leave the other prisoners unattended.  He heard Gar shout in pain and realized that the shadow elves must be attacking him through the tent.  He hadn’t bothered trying to struggle, knowing that he could get free easily by transforming into a spider and slipping out the same as he had come in.  But if he left the dwarf to be killed in this manner by the shadow elves, then what had he bothered rescuing the man for in the first place?  The goblin started to rack his brain, trying to think of something he could do to help.  He wasn’t exactly a combat heavy sort, most of his magic was designed to bolster others in fighting, or to heal them after the fact.  Still, as a servant of Rachnos there were a few tricks he had that other priests didn’t, and one of them might just help him now.  With Gar still bellowing at the dark elves who were stabbing at him through the material of the tent, Rachnid dropped to his knee and placed his open palm against the ground beneath his feet.  Closing his eyes, he stretched out with his senses and smiled, feeling a great many other presences scattered throughout, many of them angered at the disruptions that had been caused to their homes over the last several weeks. 

                “Hello my friends!” He whispered happily at the spiders he could feel, all of them seeming just as happy to sense him.  “I wonder if you could give us a hand up here?”  He kept his hand on the ground and his smile widened as he sensed every arachnid presence within range of his mind moving as one toward he surface.  He had often believed that if people knew just how many spiders they actually lived around that went unseen, they would be astounded.  He wondered if, now that the shadow elves were about to experience it, whether they would be astounded by it too!

                Ariana and Shadow Stalker went out of the lodge side by side, the assassin moving to the left while the paladin went right.  There were already shadow elf guards present when they stepped out, and Vindicator came up and then out, sweeping away the spear of the first guard Ariana encountered.  Back came the sword, its keen edge sweeping for the neck of the spear wielding elf.  He ducked, spinning under her swing, circling the spear around his back and then sweeping with it toward the backs of her knees as he came out of his spin.  The shaft of the spear caught her across the back of her knees and they buckled so that she fell to a kneeling position, but she kept herself upright by thrusting Vindicator into the ground and leaning on it.  Turning her head to look over her shoulder, she lashed out with one of those legs in a rear kick that caught the elf in the groin and he doubled over with a groan, his eyes widening as he dropped his spear and clutched as hit testicles.

                To her left Shadow Stalker had met similar resistance, meeting a spear wielder as soon as she stepped from the tent.  Out came his katana, sweeping across at waist height and the shadow elf was forced to dance backward or have his fingers severed at the knuckles.  He came back in quickly though, jabbing at the assassin with his spear, but to his surprise the rogue didn’t retreat as he had expected him to, but instead went straight up into the air, twisting so that he was sideways to the elf and his feet came down on the spear shaft, forcing the point downward.  The elf, already moving forward for the stab, couldn’t halt his momentum and the spears point buried itself in the ground.  Shadow Stalker saw the mans eyes coming up and met the gaze, then he was aloft again, flipping and twisting through the air, his katana flashing once more.  As he landed behind the elf his opponent was toppling to the side, his head falling in the opposite direction.  Seeing movement in the distance, he glanced toward the lodge he had rescued Ariana in earlier and saw Karnash moving toward them at a run, sword in hand.  Evidently had found the body of the guard where Shadow Stalker had hidden it earlier, one tent over from the lodge.  The overlords sword had been there as well and as he came on the assassin saw the blade burst into inky blue black flames.

                Ariana rose and spun in one motion, bringing Vindicator around to bear on the shadow elf she had just kicked.  Beyond him she could see the assassin flipping through the air while beheading a spearman and decided that there was no further doubt, this had to be Shadow Walkers brother.  Then her attention was focused back on the fight as the elf staggered back to his feet, drawing a short sword from a scabbard that had been concealed beneath his cape, at the small of his back.

                Ariana smiled at him and brandished Vindicator, its six foot length glimmering in the fading light.  “Mine’s bigger!”

                The shadow elf snarled and lunged, stabbing with the blade and Ariana danced to the side, bringing Vindicator up to parry and then releasing the sword with her right hand to bring it against the mans jaw in a solid right hook.  He staggered, surprised by the blow, then straightened to see Ariana spinning the massive sword in a startling display of speed.  She often wielded Vindicator two handed, not only because it was the most comfortable form of fighting she knew with the blade, but also to mislead people into thinking it was heavy.  But one of the abilities of the sword was that it was magically weightless to any wielder of the Moonstone bloodline.  It allowed her to change fighting styles without notice, and that had been known to throw off many an opponent.  She ended the display of swordsmanship, something she wouldn’t normally engage in, in a deep crouch, looking up into his startled face with a sly smile.  Extending her free hand she motioned him forward, daring him to attack her.  No coward, the shadow elf came on, his own sword moving with near blinding speed, but Ariana was up to the challenge, meeting his charge with a loud ringing of mithron off shadowsteel.  They went back and forth that way for a time, each giving ground as the other pressed some advantage, back and forth, until the shadow elf lunged in with a high overhand strike.  Rather than parry, Ariana simply moved out of the way and he overextended, stepping past her so that the paladin could kick the back of his knee, staggering him forward.  Not bothering to try and recover his balance, the shadow elf simply fell forward and rolled, then twisted and came up on one knee, facing her, sword ready for the attack he was certain would be coming.  It was then that a spider crawled across his wrist and, startled, he brushed it away.  Then there was another on his forearm, one climbing up his neck and he stood, turning on the spot and batting at his armor and skin, sending more of the arachnids flying.  In moments the shadow elf seemed to be covered with them and he screamed, then Ariana glanced down toward his boots and saw the spiders erupting out of several small holes in the ground.  Though she knew instinctively who was responsible for this, she couldn’t suppress a shudder and twinge of sympathy for the elf.  But as he fell, screaming and flailing at the spiders that were now biting him with relish, she turned away and glanced around the encampment. She saw no sign of Rachnid, but knew he had to be there somewhere.  Then she saw the trio of shadow elves that were stabbing at a short, squat form that was in turn thrashing about beneath a collapsed tent.  She recognized the distant voice that was growling at the elves and smirked as she took off running in that direction.

                Shadow Stalker sprinted forward to meet Karnash, unconcerned but wary of the dark flames that danced along his claymores blade.  As the two warriors came within reach of one another the barbarian overlord swung his mighty blade, aiming to separate the assassins head from his shoulders.  Far too wise to fall for so easy a tactic, Shadow Stalker leaned backward while still moving forward, dropping to his knees and letting his momentum carry him forward in a slide that took him between the much larger mans legs.  He raised his katana, aiming for the barbarian’s groin.  Desperate to avoid the slash, Karnash flung himself into the air, flipping forward but felt a white hot pain lance through his leg as the assassins blade bit deep into his inner thigh, near where his legs met but to the right slightly.  A spray of blood, or what passed for it inside of Karnash now, splattered across Shadow Stalkers mostly masked face, avoiding his eyes but he felt the moisture over his lips.  He rolled to a kneeling position, turning to face his opponent and seeing that Karnash had landed on his back.  The big man rolled over and lumbered to his feet, but Shadow Stalker had a moment to reach up and touch the viscous material that had splattered his facemask.  It was black and thicker than blood and seemed to be solidifying as it rested on the tips of his gloved fingers.  He was glade that whatever it was hadn’t gotten into his eyes.

                Karnash was limping slightly as he got to his feet, pushing himself upright with the blade of his sword pressed into the ground for support. He snarled savagely at the assassin and hefted the blade again, motioning the other man forward.  Shadow Stalker shifted his weight, preparing to pounce and then paused as a faint whistling sound reached his ears.  With a soft thunk an arrow appeared jutting out of the ground between them, the shaft vibrating slightly… the fletchings a soft shade of blue green.  As one the two men turned toward the hill to the west of the camp and saw a tall, shapely woman standing there, longbow raised as she placed another arrow to her bows string, her mahogany hair whipping out behind her in a breeze they couldn’t feel in the little valley where the barbarians had made their camp.

                “Now what?” Karnash growled harshly.

Chapter Eleven

                Falcon glanced up briefly from beneath the deep hood of the cloak he was wearing as a disguise.  The crowd had gathered en masse, awaiting what was sure to be a spectacle of a hanging.  It was why he was here too, though not to watch the hanging… he intended to prevent it.  He scanned the crowd, taking stock of the number of Sentinels that were milling about.  There were about a dozen of them, all gathered rather haphazardly around the gallows.  He raised his gaze still farther, to the walls of the city that surrounded this inner square, in the palace district where the public executions were scheduled to take place.  Up there, wandering the tops of the walls and armed to the teeth were the militia… alert to the fact that the people who were about to be killed had friends that might well try to free them.  They were there to stop that, if possible… but Falcon knew they had an ace in the hole.  Ashlyn had arranged to be on duty today and was waiting to do her part.  Here in the courtyard, where they were to hang Relic and Lance Crowe as traitors, it was up to he and Aribeth to rescue the men.  Meanwhile, as they were out here distracting the guards Reaper and Sasha were inside, trying to find a way to rescue Krystel, Talia and Blaze.               

                It wasn’t much of a plan… as plans went, more of a play it by ear scenario, but since the palace security people had kept the preparations a closely guarded secret, that had had very little information on which to go.  All they knew, because it had been advertised on fliers posted all over the island, was that Relic and Lance were to be executed today.  A loud bang announced the opening of the palace gates and all heads turned in that direction, waiting for the arrival of the guards that would be leading the two prisoners to their deaths.  That Relic and Lance had been kept in the dungeons of the palace instead of the Sentinel Headquarters jail was no real surprise.  It was easier to keep them from talking to anyone in the dungeons.  As Falcon noticed the Templar and the Demon Hunter being led out he saw that they were nude, and if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, they had been shackled hand a foot and gagged as well.  ‘Huntyr’s not taking any chances on them saying anything that might hurt his position, is he?’  The ranger thought to himself.

                He sensed someone step up next to him and turned to find Aribeth standing there, deliberately not meeting his eyes.  Rather than hide beneath a cloak as he had done, which would have looked suspicious, she reluctantly let her sister disguise her and Falcon had to admit, the gypsy had done a fantastic job.  Gone was the silver hair and the mages robes, now she had hair the color of peaches and her skin had been lightened with a skillful application of makeup.  Her eye color had even been changed from blue to brown.  She was wearing a simply peasant style dress that was a few sizes too big to hide the all too Moonstone body that she shared with her sisters.  Sensing his scrutiny, she cast a glance up into his hood and nodded, then smiled as he deliberately ran his eyes over her, letting his expression show how much he approved of the new look.

                “I like my hair like this… I might make it permanent.”  She whispered.

                He allowed himself to smile, glad that the young woman was not so nervous that she couldn’t still joke with him as she had always done.  “Nah, it’s nice for a while, but I’ll miss the silver.  It stood out in a crowd.”

                She looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.  “Are you saying I don’t stand out this way?”  It was a good expression, one he had seen her older sisters use a few times, but they had more experience manipulating men and it wasn’t as powerful on her face.  Not yet, anyway.

                “You’re not supposed to stand out, remember?”  He nodded toward the gallows, where Lance and Relic were being pushed and shoved up the stairs.  “Are we ready?”

                She nodded, “You were right,” she said softly, “they didn’t have anyone near the gallows prepared to sense the use of magic.  It was quite an oversight considering they know I’m free.”  Falcon didn’t think that Huntyr Shroude or Daemonaya Wodan considered Aribeth Moonstone enough of a threat to have planned for her interference.  That was their mistake.  “The ropes will snap as they fall, but we’ll have to move quickly once they do.”

                “We’ll position ourselves near the gallows.  What about their chains?  Can you open those locks?”  Falcon asked.

                She frowned, glancing up at the gallows where the hangman was testing the width of his nooses to the cheers and catcalls of the crowd.  It didn’t matter how heroic the prisoners had been, a good hanging always brought out the worst in people.  “Relic’s I can.  I think Lance’s are magical though, they may resist my magic.”

                “Do what you can.  I’ll keep the guards off you as long as I can.  When we move, head toward the West wall, Ashlyn should be waiting for us there.”  The girl nodded, then they headed for the gallows, the tall ranger forcing a path through the crowd with ample application of elbows.

                Sasha made her way up the middle of the main street, toward the narrow gate leading onto the palace grounds that she knew was reserved for use by the servants.  She had done her best to disguise herself, though couldn’t bring herself to reduce her looks any, she could certainly make them different.  After she had done so for Aribeth, she had taken the time to lighten her own hair to a chocolate brown and with a liberal but skillful application of makeup she had lightened her own olive complexion so that she was much paler of skin.  Her dark eyes she had changed to blue and she now wore the rags of a common washer woman, though they were snug fitting, as though she had had them since her youth and was unable to afford new ones since coming into her body.  She was barefoot and kicked up a lot of dirt as she walked, wanting her feet and calves to be dirty, knowing it would add to the look.  Up on one shoulder was a wicker basket full of laundry, sheets and things that Reaper had stolen that did in fact belong to the palace.

                As she approached the servants gate the lone guard that was stationed there perked up, his boredom forgotten in the face of the gently swaying hips moving his direction.  Sasha couldn’t help but smile, already this one was putty in her hands. ‘Men are so easy.’ She thought, her full lips spreading farther.

                “Not watching the hanging milady?”  he asked as she got close enough to speak to.  She let him see her apparently genuine smile at being referred to by the honorific, which she knew most lowborn women weren’t.  No doubt he was hoping to earn points with the pretty young peasant, no reason to let him think he hadn’t.

                “Oh no!  No place for me, according to my father.  Besides, with him off watching those traitors hang, someone had to get the work done!” She smiled at him again and shrugged her shoulder, adjusting the heavy basket somewhat.

                “You’re not one of our usual laundry girls.”  He commented, though she saw no hint of suspicion in his eyes, he was only making conversation, not wanting her to go.  She had no intention of it.  “I’d have remembered you.”

                She laughed lightly, “Aren’t you a sweetheart!?”  She reached up with the hand not bracing the basket and coyly swept a lock of hair from her forehead.  “I haven’t actually worked for the palace long, they only hired me a week ago.  Actually, they hired my father, but like I said, if I don’t do the work today, it won’t get done.”  She leaned toward him slightly, “I’m not technically supposed to be going into the palace you know.  But I’m afraid he’ll get in trouble if the linens don’t get turned in on time.”  She allowed the heavy basket to overbalance her and stumbled forward with a surprised gasp.  The guard was quick to step forward, catching her before she fell and she made of point of pressing her body against his as she looked up into his face.  "You won’t turn me in will you?”

                A shrewd, calculating look suddenly crept across his features.  “That depends,” he said softly, “what’s your fathers job worth to you?”

                ‘Got him!’ she thought, even as she let her eyes widen in apparent fright.  “Gods above sir, it’s our livelihood.  If he lost his job… we… we’d lose everything!”  She took a moment to study him, the feel of his young body pressed against hers, his arms about her waist, holding her to him.  He was young, no more than nineteen and he had a narrow, acne scarred face.  His eyes were brown, as was his hair beneath his helm and he was thin but felt strong, as he would be if he had gone through soldier training to be a palace guard.  He was a homely looking young man, but that only made him easier for a master temptress like Sasha to manipulate.

                His smile widened, becoming almost predatory.  She could almost see his thoughts as he felt certain he was backing the new girl into a corner.  “Well then, it seems to me that you should be willing to pay a little something to keep your old man employed.”

                She frowned, trying to look concerned.  Fortunately, dancing wasn’t all she was good at.  Kizmet was a fair actress too.  “I haven’t got much money.  That’s why he needed the job in the first place.”

                His arms suddenly tightened about her waist, pulling her more snugly against him and she felt one slide down, caressing her right buttock through the material of her simple skirt.  “You have a great deal more to offer than money… what did you say your name was?”

                She tried to look shocked and embarrassed by his lewd behavior, coloring slightly and glancing around as though hoping no one was watching.  “Kellie.”  She said, trying to squirm away from him, wanting to play the role properly. 

                He smiled, adjusting his arms so that she couldn’t get away.  “Come on Kellie,” he said, ducking as the laundry basket bounced off his helm, “isn’t your fathers job and your families well being worth a little slap and tickle in the corner?”

                “I’m not that kind of girl!”  Sasha said archly, though inside she was amused, because in fact she was very much that kind of girl.

                “Today you are!”  His voice had turned harsh and she raised his hands, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her slightly.  “Or I’ll summon the Lieutenant and tell him I’ve caught a thief trying to sneak through the gate.  That would really ruin your father!”

                She allowed a stricken look to cross her face.  “You… you would do that?”  She looked down, trying to appear unsure.  “I thought you were so nice.”  She said this softly.

                “I can be, if you’re going to be nice to me.  Might be I can even make things better for your father.  I’m rather important around here, you know.”  She had to bite back a scornful laugh at that. 

                She looked up, feeling the tears that were welling up in her eyes and wishing that someone could be grading this performance.  “You… you could?”

                “Sure!  Tell you what, you become my girl… you know, on the side like… and I’ll do everything I can to get your fathers position here improved.”  He released her arms and stepped back, looking into her eyes with what he no doubt thought was confidence.  “Of course, you’d have to prove to me that you were willing.”

                She glanced around, suddenly seeming scandalized.  “Here?  Now?”

                He reached up with a smile and removed the laundry basket from her shoulder.  She said a silent prayer of thanks, it had started to throb.  “Well, not right here, no.  Over there,” he motioned to the side of the narrow gate with his head, “behind the bushes there’s room.”  As he spoke he turned and carried her laundry basket toward the spot he had indicated.  Sasha didn’t move, still wanting to appear hesitant.  He put the basket down near the wall and then turned to her, his expression growing stern again.  “Come on Kellie,” he said, extending a hand to her, “think about your family.”

                She frowned, then squared her shoulders, trying to look as though she had just come to an important and difficult decision.  She moved forward and placed her hand in his, saying, “If I’m going to be your girl, don’t I need to know your name?”     

                He was grinning in anticipation now, drawing her by the hand into the bushes, out of sight of the street.  “It’s Tilder.”  He said, then he was apparently done talking for her turned and abruptly pushed her up against the rough brick wall and pinned her there with his own body.  His mouth found hers and Sasha tilted her face back to meet his lips, her eyes widening in surprise as he abruptly tried to shove his tongue down her throat.  He groaned as his hands filled with her breasts, squeezing them through the rough cotton material of her dress.  The bushes behind him rustled softly and Sasha moaned herself to cover the noise as Reaper seemed to materialize behind the unsuspecting guard.  He paused, tilting his hooded head to one side, watching the debacle unfold.  Sasha glared at him around the head of Tilder, silently urging him to get it over with.  He raised his arms and mimed removing a helmet.  Sasha rolled her eyes, then slowly slid her hands up from where they had been pressed against his chest, trailing her fingers up his neck.  He moaned, grinding his pelvis against hers and she rolled her eyes again, then her fingers were undoing the strap of his helm.  As she raised it off his ugly head she got sprinkled with some of the sweat that had accumulated in his hair and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.  Once she had tossed the helm to the ground beside the young guard Reaper stepped silently up behind him and pressed a finger lightly to a spot just beneath his right ear.  Tilders eyes widened and his head tilted back, his tongue still protruding from where it had been slithering down her throat like a snake, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed into the bushes.

                “If they gave awards for performances like that,” she said to the assassin as he stooped and started removing the kids armor, “I would certainly have won one.”

                Reaper glanced up at her as he pulled off the kids chainmail shirt.  “You certainly made a believer of young Tilder here.”  She laughed softly as the assassin continued to remove his disguise from the young guard.

                Falcon stood just below and in front of the raised gallows, trying hard not to let the guards gathered nearby see his face, which meant keeping his head bowed.  He had had the foresight to spread manure and dirt over the cloak, so no one deigned to come to near him, thinking him a transient.  To help with that, he was carrying a small wooden cup that he would extend toward anyone brave enough to come near him.  He had actually made three silvers since donning the disguise.  His staff, his chosen weapon, was in hand but it too was disguised.  Obviously he couldn’t make it look like something it wasn’t, but in his hands, with him all crouched over and decrepit looking, it no longer resembled a weapon and was instead a walking stick.

                He could no longer see Aribeth, but he knew she was standing just on the other side of the gallows, trying hard not to look too interested, just as he was.  She was well disguised, but the Moonstones were so beautiful that it was impossible to hide them completely and the danger she might be recognized was very real.  Not so real as with Sasha, who was famous even without her family name, and so Beth had been the logical choice of partner for him.  He became aware of a sudden hush falling over the crowd and heard booted feet mounting the stairs to the platform.  It stood about ten feet tall, so the actual standing surface was well above his head, which was good, it helped him to not be recognized, but the guards that patrolled around the base of the gallows could still pose a danger.  There were a total of thirteen he had now been able to determine, though only five of those were wandering the base of the platform.  Another five were on top while the last three were moving through the crowd, no doubt looking for him and the others, expecting them to do exactly what they were planning to do.  They weren’t too good at spotting people though, Falcon and Beth had been easily able to avoid them so far.

                A voice he recognized and that immediately made his anger mount started to speak loud and clearly from the platform overhead.  He had to fight not to tilt his head back and look up, knowing it would bring his face into focus as the sun would banish the shadows within his hood.  Cyrrik Eaglehart had arrived and was apparently to read the charges leveled against his prisoners.  Falcon twisted slightly, looking back over the crowd, seeing the pretender Countess and her soon to be husband seated at the rear of the crowd on a raised platform of their own.  They sat in matching thrones, their hands intertwined between the chairs.  Demona, as he now knew her to be, was smiling blissfully at her “subjects”, while Huntyr seemed stern and vigilant, his eyes sweeping the crowd.  Falcon was grateful had hadn’t had too much contact with the man over the years he had been in Peacehope, there was little chance of the nobleman recognizing him.  Of course, he supposed that was going to change after today. 

                As Cyrrik started to speak he turned back toward the gallows.  His eyes fell on a figure standing at the top of the wall on the far side of the courtyard, a slender blonde woman in militia armor, gazing with fury at her brother.  Falcon couldn’t actually see her expression, but her posture said it all.  He prayed that Ashlyn wouldn’t ruin their plan, such as it was, by acting on her mounting hatred of her older brother.  He could understand the sentiment, he had a sibling he felt that way about himself, but he thought she understood the importance of what they were doing and the role they needed her to play, not only now but in the future as well.

                “Hear ye, hear ye!”  Cyrrik called over the crowd and Falcon had to roll his eyes.  The officiousness of the affair was taxing his patience.  ‘Who talks like that anymore?’ he wondered.  “We are here gathered to witness the lawful execution of the traitors Lance Crowe and Gavin Villone of the Church of Light.  They have been charged and found guilty of attempting to recruit practitioners of the black arts to join in an army being mounted by Lady Ariana Moonstone to be used against the great City-State of Peacehope!”

                Someone in the crowd shouted, “Horseshit!”  Several people laughed and Falcon chuckled.  At least everyone wasn’t buying their story.  He almost turned to see the expression on the pretenders to the throne, but didn’t.

                Cyrrik went on as though he hadn’t heard.  “The penalty for such treason is death, here to be carried out as these two traitors are hung by the neck till they are dead!”

                Up on the raised platform Cyrrik rolled up the parchment he had been reading from, tucked it smartly under his arm and then turned and nodded to the hangman.  Falcon felt his body starting to tense as the hooded man, large and well muscled though with a protruding stomach, approached the lever that would open the hatches under the feet of the two prisoners.  The time was coming to act, and felt the tension all around him mounting as people anticipated the pulling of that lever.  He adjusted the grip on his staff and glanced around, seeing how many of the guards were nearby.  Three of them were close, the fourth was on the far side of the platform, possibly nearer to Beth but he felt fairly confident she could handle him.  He risked looking up, watching the hangman moved confidently and with purpose toward the lever and wondered idly who was under the mask.  His gaze shifted right, to where Cyrrik stood, watching the proceedings with an impassive expression.  The hangman reached the lever and grabbed it just as Cyrrik, sensing the rangers scrutiny glanced over and met his gaze.  The officers eyes widened in recognition and he opened his mouth to shout a command just as the hangman pulled the lever and the ground fell out from under the feet of Lance and Relic.

                Sasha had the laundry basket perched on her shoulder again and was moving along the path that lead from the servants gate through the grounds towards the palace.  She glanced to her left, through the gate that could be seen at the front of the property.  Through it was the crowd that had gathered for the hanging, visible from where she moved, the now disguised Reaper ambling along at her side.  He was wearing the armor of the guard he had knocked out, having left poor Tilder back in the bushes, bound and gagged.  Sasha had refused to let the assassin kill the young man, claiming it really hadn’t been his fault that he was stationed there and he shouldn’t die for being a hormonally overactive teen.  Reaper had relented and the young man had been tied up instead.  She was certain his career as a guard would be over after today.  Now the assassin wore his armor and she kept stealing glances up at the face that was visible beneath the helm, wondering if it was his real face or if he was disguised.  She suspected the latter, but there was really no way to know.  It wasn’t a handsome face, more pretty than handsome, which had its own appeal.  The armor fit him better than it had Tilder and she couldn’t help thinking that Reaper cut an impressive figure in the uniform of the palace guard.  These soldiers were separate from the militia and the Sentinels, though they were hand picked by the First Knight of the city from both forces.  She scowled, knowing that there was no way Avalon Charm would have chosen someone like Tilder to be a palace guard.  Did that mean that Huntyr and Demona had replaced him already too?  It was possible, the knight was still lying in the hospital ward in a coma as far as she knew, unless they had quietly arranged to have him killed.

                “Hey there!”  She stopped as a mans voice called out form the side and she felt Reaper tense.  “What’s this then?”

                “Calm down.”  Sasha hissed.  He had been distrustful of this plan from the beginning, mostly because it had been hers.  He had merely wanted to sneak into the palace, free the women and sneak back out.  She had thought that there was far too much that could go wrong, not the least of which was him getting himself and her sisters killed.  She had convinced him to go along with her plan instead, but he hadn’t liked it much.  She turned to see what had to be an officer coming their way, his armor just a bit shinier and more intricate than Tilders had been.  She offered the older human a shy smile as she looked over at Reaper, her eyes telling him to just stick to their cover story.

                “Just escorting the lady into the palace sir.”  Reaper told the officer, standing at a good approximation of attention, though it wasn’t perfect.

                “That’s not procedure private!” The officer said as he came to a stop in front of the pair of them.  He was a man of average height, though broad of shoulder.  His face was lined and his hair, which was cut short, was going gray.  He didn’t wear a helm, but he did have a sword on his hip.  The officer, who Sasha thought she had seen around the Gypsy Fortune a few times but whose name she couldn’t remember, looked at her and she noticed the way his gray eyes slid appreciatively over her.  She offered him a shy smile and cast her eyes downward, hoping he didn’t look closely enough to recognize her.  If that was going to happen it would be from a man like this, a more experienced soldier.  “What’s the reason for the escort?  Servants are allowed free access to the palace.”

                They had discussed this, and Reaper had a cover story ready.  “With the executions going on right now sir, it seemed an ideal time to me for someone to try and infiltrate the palace.  I didn’t recognize this one… so I thought it wise to escort her in and back out.”

                The officer reached out a gloved hand placed it under Sasha’s chin, lifting her face and turning it side to side as he examined her features.  She felt her heart racing, certain he was about to recognize her, but he only nodded.  “You’re right private.  I don’t recognize the wench either.”  Sasha was glad her sister wasn’t around for that last part.  “What’s your name girl?”

                Sasha swallowed as though nervous, it wasn’t difficult to be convincing.  “Kellie milord.”

                The officer, whom she could see now that he was closer was actually a colonel, looked her over slowly, a sly look coming into his aged gray eyes.  He glanced dismissively at Reaper.  “Well done private, I’ll take it from here.  Return to your post.”

                She saw Reaper glance at her, but she dare not return the look for fear that colonel would see it grow suspicious.  They both knew what the old man intended, and if rumors were true it was nothing new for the officers of the guard to have their way with the servants.  No doubt he was expecting to thoroughly enjoy having gotten stuck with being the duty officer during the executions.  Reaper, wisely, simply said “aye” and turned away, heading back toward the gate.  Sasha turned back toward the palace, the officer falling in next to her, his eyes undressing her as they walked along.

                “How long have you worked for the palace staff Kellie?” he asked her.

                “Not long milord, a week only.”  She kept her face studiously turned away from his, still afraid he might recognize her.

                “How old are you?”  he asked her, obviously trying to sound as though he were only making polite conversation.  He failed, she could hear the undertone of lust in his question.  The old pervert was wondering what age his new conquest was.

                She knew that in her disguise she looked much younger than she was, as had been her intent, so she told him, “Twenty milord.”

                He nodded as though this wasn’t the most exciting thing he had heard in a long while, his hands moving to clasp idly behind his back.  Sasha wondered whether Reaper was following somewhere out there.  “And where is your load to be taken?”  He nodded toward the basket still propped on her shoulder.

                “Their tablecloths milord, I’m to deliver them to the pantries.”  She said, inventing wildly.  In fact they were an assortment of linens, but she doubted very much whether the officer would take his attention off her long enough to verify her words.

                “Ah, so the cellars then.”  He said with a smile, no doubt delighted at the isolation that would provide him.

                “Yes milord.”  It was irking her to be so meek and submissive, which was really not in her nature, but she dare not blow her cover, not yet.  The colonel trotted ahead of her as they reached the servants entrance in the side of the palace proper and opened the door for her with a gentlemanly flourish and smile that didn’t touch his eyes.  As he straightened his eyes again played over her body in the snugly fitting peasants dress.  She returned his smile, hers shy and uncertain.  She continued to not look him in the face any more than she had to.  Entering the building she paused, as though uncertain where to go.  It was true too, for though she had been in the palace many times over the years, it was always as an honored guest.  She had no idea where the servants moved about.  “Beg your pardon milord, but I’m still so new….”

                He smiled and brushed past her, a hand trailing across her hip as he did so.  “This way Kellie.”  He said, opening a stout oaken door to one side of the servants entrance.  It revealed a narrow staircase going down into the cellars.  He lead the way down and she glanced about, wondering if Reaper could see her and knew where to go before she darted down the stairs after him.  They went down three flights before he stopped at another stout oak door.  The stairs continued down past them and Sasha peered down those as the colonel opened the door on the third flight and held it for her.  She gave him another smile as she moved into the room, knowing that her sisters were likely farther down the stairs, in the dungeons. 

                She moved into the room and glanced about, seeing a great many shelves lined with stacks of folded linens.  There were also great heaps of the soiled linens in baskets lining the walls and a few tables scattered about for folding the clean ones.  She heard the soft clicking of the doors lock as he secured it behind him, but she pretended not to as she crossed to one of the tables and proceeded to dump her load upon it and started to fold.  She wasn’t very good at it, having never bothered to learn how to do laundry herself growing up, that was what they had servants for after all.  But again the colonel wasn’t paying any attention to what she was doing and she felt him move up behind her.  She felt him press against her from behind and his arms came forward, his hands encircling her upper arms.  He had removed his gloves and now his bare hands slid down the length of her arms to her wrists, holding them still, preventing her from working any more.

                “Milord.” She said softly, “I really have to get this done, I’ll get in trouble.”

                “Later.” He said, leaning down and nuzzling her hair with his face. He pulled her hands back away from the table, then stepped back and turned her to face him, twisting her arms behind her and holding them at the wrists with one of his strong hands.  He slipped his other arm about her waist and pulled her tight against him.  This wasn’t like it had been with Tilder.  This man was fully grown and powerfully built, and she suspected he was far more dangerous than the young guard had been.  “You are an exceptionally beautiful young woman Kellie.  I must have you.”

                She tried to look frightened and again, it wasn’t difficult.  “Milord please, I only wish to do my work.”  The arm he had about her waist tightened and the gasp she released as he lifted her in his embrace was real.  He turned and carried her across the room, then laid her atop one of the soft piles of linens, pulling her arms from behind her and then moving them above her head, holding them there with the same hand he had used earlier to pin them behind her.  He wasn’t listening to her anymore and she knew better than to argue.  No servant would argue with this man, no doubt they would know who he was, know that he was used to getting what he wanted from the servants.  He lowered himself atop her, his free hand working at the buttons of the bodice of her dress.  As they popped free he smiled, enjoying the image of her large, firmly thrusting breasts coming into view.  When he had the dress open to her waist he slipped his hand into it and cupped one of the large, firm yet pliant mounds through her cotton brassiere and squeezed.  She gasped, rolling her head back on the linens and making him smile in response.

                “If you relax Kellie, I promise you’ll enjoy it.  I’m quite good at this.”  As if to prove this his hands slipped easily around her back inside the dress and a moment later she felt the clasps of the brassiere give way.  She hadn’t even felt his fingers move.

                “Please!  Please milord… no.”  She kept playing the role, all the while wondering where in the hell Reaper was.  If the assassin didn’t arrive soon she would have to break down and have sex with this man, though from what she had seen thus far that wasn’t an entirely unpleasant thought.  He was older, but he was fit and handsome.

                Her continued protestations brought a flash of anger across his face and he slapped her, hard, the gypsy crying out in pain and surprise as her head rocked to the side.  A flash of anger passed through her eyes, but she forced it down, knowing that Kellie the servant would quail and such treatment, even if Sasha Moonstone would kill him.  His hands were rough suddenly as he decided it was time to play nice, shoving the bra down and baring her breasts.  He growled happily as he buried his face between her globes, reaching between them to open his belt and his pants.  Sasha had stopped struggling, she had even stopped acting, realizing now that he didn’t care.  He was too far gone to notice anything she did that might have been out of character.  Instead she started to prepare herself for what seemed the inevitable.  Many times before, in her rise to fame as a performer, she had had to sleep with men that she hadn’t been attracted to in order to garner their support.  In her mind, this was no different.  To Sasha, sex was a tool to be used when necessary.  Often it was a very enjoyable tool, but to her it was no more than that.

                She felt his manhood spring from his pants, felt it press against her inner thigh as he forced her legs apart and then reached up beneath her skirt for the cotton panties she had donned.  The matched the bra, both were simple and inexpensive, something that Kellie the servant girl would own but Sasha Moonstone would never be caught dead in.  The colonel, whose name she realized she still didn’t know, grunted as he felt the soft patch of hair between her thighs.  She was glad he hadn’t gone down on her, seen that it was black.  The difference in the color of her hair might have been telling to him, were he able to discern such things at this point.  Sasha rolled her head back and arched her spine as he positioned himself and she gasped out, biting her plump lower lip as he pushed into her roughly with a groan of delight.  His hips began to move in deep, jerky motions as he took her, her body shaking with his every thrust, driving her deeper into the pile of linens.  Where the hell was Reaper?

                The bodies plummeted through the trapdoors that had dropped open at their feet, but Falcon was unable to watch them as he saw Cyrrik Eaglehart charging across the raised platform toward him, drawing his sword as he came.  The man looked none the worse for wear from his excursion into the tombs, having apparently received from powerful healing.  That and a few days rest had been all it took to bring him back up to fighting form.  Of course, Falcon considered as he shrugged the cloak off and took up his staff, the same could be said for him.  As the blonde man launched himself off the platform at Falcon the ranger stepped back and raised his staff crosswise above his head, catching the other mans blade and then twisting and thrusting it out to the side, deflecting him into the crowd.  He glanced toward the space beneath the gallows, saw Relic and Lance struggling to their feet, looking perplexed and rather vulnerable in their nudity.  Their hands were secured behind them and lengths of rope dangled from their necks where the nooses still hung.  Relic was the first to understand what was happening as Aribeth scampered under the gallows.  A guard made to follow her in and the tall, powerfully built templar took a single step and planted his foot in the mans abdomen, leading with his heel. The guard was flung backward with a whoosh of escaped breath and then Falcon turned back to Cyrrik, far and away the most dangerous adversary they faced.

                He was lunging back in from the crowd, stabbing toward the rangers midriff with his sword and Falcon twisted away, parrying the blade away with his staff, thankful for the ironwood from which it was crafted, able to stand up to the razor edge of a sword without breaking.  He spun his bo vertically at his side, then brought the end around toward Cyrrik’s face, putting the momentum of the spin into it.  Cyrrik twisted, raising a shoulder and catching the blunt attack on his armored shoulder instead of his head, then he continued the maneuver, turning that shoulder into Falcon’s chest and staggering the ranger backward.  The Sentinel lunged again, stabbing once more with his sword and again the ranger was no longer there when he arrived, having spun away to the left, this time striking out with his staff across the back of the other mans knees, buckling them and sending him staggering to the floor.

                Under the gallows things weren’t getting much better, though Beth’s magic had been able to release Relic from his chains.  She had been right about Lance’s not being able to be picked in that way and she could only shrug apologetically at him.  Relic, who had turned to meet the charge of another guard side stepped a stab from a spear, grabbed the weapon and jerked it out of his hands, sending the guard tumbling out from under the gallows.  Two more guards came rushing, from opposite sides of the structure and Aribeth stepped in front of Lance, placing him between her and Relic, who face the other guard behind her.  She threw her hands out in front of her, the tips of her thumbs touching and her fingers splayed wide as she cried, “Volitas Inflamé!” A column of fire shot forth from her palms and the guard screamed in fright as he dived away, but the mage followed, the fire pursuing him like a blowtorch as she kept her gaze focused upon him.  When the fire touched his armored hide the metal superheated and what cloth there was burst into flames.  The guard shrieked in agony and started to writhe, Aribeth shuddered slightly and negated the spell, then glanced out at where Falcon was still fighting with Cyrrik.  “Kestrel!” She called, knowing he would hear.  “It’s time to go!”

                When Cyrrik had fallen to his knees the ranger had spun the staff back the opposite direction, reversing its momentum and sending the staff cracking against the back of the soldiers skull.  Cyrrik toppled forward just as Falcon heard the mage shout for him from under the gallows.  He tossed a glance over his shoulder, saw her starting away with the two freed prisoners in her wake and turned to follow.  He cast a glance down at the smoldering form of the guard Beth had killed and arched an eyebrow, wondering where she had learned such destructive magic.  Then he was under the gallows and moving across to follow them out through the crowd, and then to the gate.  Suddenly three men came rushing into view, blocking his exit from beneath the structure and Falcon recognized none other than Huntyr Shroude flanked by two Sentinels.  A glance over his shoulder showed him two more men blocking any retreat.  “Not so fast ranger.”  Huntyr sneered at him and beyond the young nobleman Falcon saw Aribeth turn and notice his plight.  Her eyes met his and he shook his head slightly, his cue for her to keep going, then he smiled.  ‘I’ve got this.’ The look said to her, and though she looked doubtful, she turned and continued to lead her charges toward the distant wall.

                The colonel of course had no idea where she got her nimbleness from thanks to her cover story, but he was enjoying making full use of her agile dancers body.  He had hooked his elbows under her knees and pushed them up nearly to her shoulders as he rammed into her powerfully, his mouth fastened hungrily over one of her large nipples.  Sasha, for her part, was actually fairly bored for as lovers went he was rather unimaginative… especially her lovers.  She found herself nearly drifting off as she closed her eyes to imagine herself somewhere far more pleasant.  He growled with avarice as he continued to use her in what he no doubt thought was a harsh way, but to Sasha, who actually enjoyed rough sex as much as any other king, this old man was rather meek.

                Suddenly she felt his head lift from her breast and that was quickly followed by the rest of him and she opened her eyes to see him being hauled to his feet, Reapers hand holding his head by the hair.  She watched dispassionately as the assassin, still clad in the guards armor, turned the colonels body to one side then drove his sword up through the mans back, the point of the blade erupting from his chest and sending a geyser of blood to paint the wall in front of him scarlet.  The assassin let his body fall as he turned back toward the gypsy.  He paused there, letting his eyes play over her prostrate form for a moment, lingering on her bare breasts for longer than was appropriate. 

                “Enjoying the view?” she asked him archly while some part of her mind wondered where the assassin would stack up in her list of lovers.  She had a suspicion he would very near to the top.

                He grinned at her openly and extended a hand to help her up as he said, “Very much.”

                She allowed him to help her up, then proceeded to straighten and button her dress asking, “What the Hades took you so long, anyway?”

                He shrugged and said, “Palace is a big place.  Took a while to figure out where he had taken you.  Then I had to go down a few levels to see if I could find the girls while you…” he glanced over at the dead colonel where he lie in a spreading pool of gore, “…entertained the officer of the watch.  It was a good opportunity to move about undetected.”

                She scowled slightly at that, not sure how she should feel about his having used her.  Then she realized that he had done exactly what she might have done in reverse circumstances.  “And?  Did you find them?”

                “Krystel and Talia are both down there.”  He said.

                Sasha frowned, then glanced around.  “You didn’t free them while you were there?”

                He looked at her with astonishment.  “Exactly how long did you want to have to entertain that man?  I found them, then I came back to get you.  Besides, they’ll trust you more than me, so it makes sense for you to be with me when we do free them.”

                Sasha had finished fixing her disguise by then and motioned toward the door.  “Let’s go then.”  Reaper nodded and turned to lead the way out of the room.  She glanced at the dead colonel and wondered if it was a bad thing that she felt no remorse for the mans death.  But she shrugged that off and followed him out to the stairs, and then down them.  They reached the bottom of this stairwell and the gypsy paused to see a dead guard slumped against the wall, his throat slashed from ear to ear, resembling some macabre second mouth.  She followed the assassin through the door that the guard had obviously been stationed at and found two more dead guards about twenty feet down the hallway.  Suddenly she understood what had delayed him in coming to her rescue and found she didn’t mind so much.  Reaper stopped at a wide steel door and crouched outside of it, working something into the lock and twisting it back and forth.  After a few seconds she heard a click and he stood up, pulling the door open and stepping to the side, nodding for her to go ahead.  Sasha moved forward into the doorway and looked in, her eyes widening to see her two youngest sisters lying on the hard stone floor, naked and chained.  Krystel, who had been lying on her side facing Talia who was similarly positioned, lifted her head and looked at Sasha. At first her face registered no recognition, but then her eyes widened slightly and she gasped out.

                “Sasha?”  Talia’s head came up weakly and looked around at her.  The gypsy saw that both of her sisters had been beaten, and judging by the bruises on their bodies likely they had endured much worse in the few days that they had been here while this rescue was put into effect.

                Sasha rushed to her sisters sides and crouched beside them, examining their wounds for a moment and determining they would live, barring any internal bleeding.  She started to work at Krystel’s chains but the brunette pulled away.  “Talia first.”  Sasha met her sisters cool gray eyes, then nodded and turned to the blonde.

                “Reaper, help me.”  She said softly and the assassin came in.  Krystel looked at him in surprise, recognizing the armor of one of the palace guards.

                “Reaper?” The knight said incredulously. 

                He flashed a smile as he bent down behind her and started to work at the lock on the chains about her wrists.  “In the flesh milady.”  He was quicker than Sasha and had her free in moments, though the gypsy had the young ranger free not too long after that.  All three sisters embraced and Reaper gave them a few seconds for it, then he cleared his throat.  “Out distraction will last only so long as Falcon and Aribeth can keep their attention diverted.  We should be going.”

                Sasha nodded and stood, helping her sisters to do the same.  “We’ll need our gear.”  Krystel said, looking from the gypsy to the assassin.  “It’s in one of the cells down here, they took it off us when they locked us up.  Shouldn’t take more than a minute to find it.”

                Reaper sighed, but nodded, knowing that he wouldn’t have wanted to leave without his equipment either.  “I’ll go, you three wait here.”  He stepped out of the cell and to the left, toward the locked doors he hadn’t checked earlier.  He had seen no reason to continue down the cell block after locating the sisters.  He hadn’t gone more than a fifteen feet, rounding a gradual corner when he came to a sudden halt, his eyes narrowing.  There before him, blocking the hall were two people, a large and rather fat green skinned orc who had his arms wrapped around a young, very pretty girl, one arm pulling her chin upright while the other held a knife to her throat.  “Well shit.” He muttered.

                “Take him!”  Huntyr Shroude growled and the two men flanking him charged at Falcon.  He could hear the men behind him following suit.  The ranger let them come for a moment, ensuring they were fully committed to their charges, then he jumped up and grabbed hold of the framework of the gallows substructure and pulled himself up till he was stretched laterally along its underside.  The gazes of the four men who had been charging at him all traveled upward as he moved and by the time they realized their error it was too late.  They all collided beneath the ranger in a cacophony of ringing metal and groaning leather, along with a couple of broken bones he thought… or perhaps hoped.  He dropped lightly onto the top of the pile, standing with his staff in the small of one mans back and his booted feet on the shoulders of two other men.  They all groaned under his weight as he smiled in a very self assured manner at Huntyr Shroude.

                “I do apologize milord, but I don’t think I’m going to let you capture me today.  I rather enjoy my freedom.”  He was still grinning and that grin widened even further as he saw the dark cloud of anger that passed over the young nobleman’s face.

                “I don’t need them to take you out, ranger!”  He said that last word with such venom in his voice that it sounded like a vile swearword.  The soldier had already drawn his sword by this point and so he lunged forward, aiming a stab and Falcons knee.  The ranger twisted to the side, leaning his staff down and knocking the blade low so that the stab sunk instead into the side of one his men, who screamed in pain and thrashed violently.  Falcon leapt off their backs and turned toward Huntyr, still grinning as he raised his staff and nodded his acceptance of the young mans challenge.  Shroude growled and then lunged, swiping a wide arc with his sword and Falcon, rather than retreating, stepped into the swing and caught it on the center of his staff, his hands wide so that they were to either side of the blade.  Falcon twisted his body to the right while moving his arms so that the staff twisted to the left, tangling the sword between them and jerking from the other mans hand.  He sent the blade flying and then slammed Huntyr with his shoulder while planting a foot behind his ankle.  He went down hard and then scrambled backward, narrowly avoiding the rangers downward thrust of his staff, which thumped into the ground between Huntyr’s ankles.  More soldiers were coming and Falcon glanced over his shoulder to see them rushing toward him.

                “I will kill you ranger.  And all of your friends as well!”  Huntyr threatened, but to the ranger they sounded like empty, hollow words.

                “Perhaps, one day.”  Falcon smiled at him, hearing the guards pounding boots growing closer.  “But not, I think, today!”  He gave a mocking half bow to the self-styled ruler of Peacehope, then turned and fled into the crowd, following in the wake of Aribeth, Relic and Lance Crowe.

                The crowd parted for him as he passed and he saw many faces, slack with shock at what they had just witnessed, watching him in wonder.  The reputations of the Dragons had gone up a bit today, he thought, and that made him smile again.  He broke into a run, certain it was a matter of seconds before the guards were on his trail.  He was glad he didn’t catch up to Beth and the other two, it meant that they had likely made good their escape.  As he reached the wall that surrounded the palace district, as they did all the various districts of the city, a man sized door to the left of the closed gate swung open and there stood Ashlyn Eaglehart, who he thought was a rather attractive woman in that uniform.  He slipped through the door and she closed it behind him.  He glanced around, saw Beth, Relic and Lance huddled in the darkness of the tunnel that ran the length of the wall.

                “All right, you four need to hurry.  I’ll send Reaper and the others along once they’ve gotten out of the palace.”  The blonde soldier said.

                Falcon heard Beth and the others starting to move away, and Ashlyn was turning away as well.  The ranger reached out to take her forearm and she turned back to him, one thin eyebrow arched questioningly.  “You be careful Ash,” said, using the more familiar nickname that those who had known her the longest called her by, though he didn’t technically qualify as an old friend to her, “if they catch on that your working with us, your life will be forfeit.  Especially after today.  We embarrassed Huntyr and his men out there, they won’t soon forget that.”

                Her pretty face split into a smile and she reached up to place a hand on his shoulder.  “I’ll be fine, I have other friends in the city as well.”  Then she turned and was gone, disappearing into the dark tunnel, toward where she was supposed to meet Reaper, Sasha and, if all went well, Krystel and Talia too.  He turned and, trying to ignore how the walls of the tunnel were seemingly closing in on him, raced off after Beth and the others.

                Grolug, the obese orcish jailer responsible for the prisoners held in the dungeons of the palace, looked with beady, nervous eyes on the assassin.  He tilted his head to the side a bit, regarding Reaper with confusion, and the assassin realized that the jailer didn’t realize he was an enemy.  He was wearing the armor of a palace guard, so perhaps he could make this unexpected encounter work for him.  “What going on?  Grolug heard fighting and find dead guards by door!”

                Reaper extended a calming hand toward the orc, trying not to look into the young girls eyes.  He recognized her as the barbarian girl that was supposed to marry the prince, but he had forgotten that she was in the palace.  No doubt she had been taken prisoner shortly after Huntyr Shroude had taken over and was being held as a possible bargaining chip.  If it was possible, Reaper knew they had to get her out of here as well, but he didn’t want to meet her gaze for fear that she would see something in his eyes that might make her panic as so many people did.  “Yeah, I saw them too…” the assassin realized he didn’t know the orc’s name, having never been held in the palace’s dungeon before, “…jailer.”  He winced inwardly, hoping that wasn’t the wrong way to address the creature.  “I came down here to relieve the man at the door, found him dead.  Came in… found the others.  Thought maybe you were all dead, then I found you and…” he pointed at the would-be princess, “…her.”

                “You no kill them?”  Grolug asked, looking suspiciously at the assassin.  His beady black eyes played over the man at the armor, as though sensing that something was out of place.  Reaper swore silently, wondering if this green skinned idiot was actually going to see through the disguise.  If so, he would never underestimate an orc again.  The fact was, he had swapped the young guards blade for his own, being far more comfortable with the katana, and it didn’t look quite right with the uniform.  Most people wouldn’t survive with him long enough to make that connection, but this was different.  He would have to kill the orc, he knew that… but he didn’t want to hurt the girl in the process.

                He shook his head. “No, I didn’t kill them.  I think they were killed by… I don’t know, an assassin or something.  Maybe hired to free those Moonstone women, they’re pretty wealthy you know?” he had always thought that the most convincing lies contained a kernel of truth.

                The orcs eyes lit up greedily at mention of the Moonstone women.  “Pretty too!”

                Reaper allowed himself a smile, “That they are.  Have you checked on them yet? Seen whether they’re still there?”  Grolug shook his head, his eyes flicking toward the hallway behind Reaper, in the direction of Krystel and Talia’s cell.  “Maybe we should check together, huh?”

                The orc looked back at him… his eyes narrowing slightly.  “What you say your name was?”

                Reaper sighed inwardly.  “I didn’t, but it’s Tilder… Private Tilder.”

                The orc seemed to consider him for a spell, then he nodded.  “Okay Tilder, we go check on women, then if they still there… we share all three of them, yes?”

                Reaper was starting to move closer to the orc, a reassuring smile on his face.  The monster was loosening his grip on the girl.  “Yeah… that sounds like fun!”

                What happened next the assassin would never, in a million years, have anticipated.  The girl suddenly shrieked “NO!” and flung her arms out to the sides.  An invisible force, like a blast of hair only without any perceivable current flung both the orc and Reaper away, the jailer rebounding off a wall and then staggering to the ground with a grunt of surprise.  Reaper, far more agile then the orc, curled himself into a ball and when he felt his body impact a wall he unfolded, planted his feet against the wall and pushed, diving farther down the hallway and dropping into a roll, coming up in a crouch and facing back the way he had come, eyes wide with surprise.  She stood in the middle of the hall, eyes wide, terrified, her still not quite developed breasts rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to keep from hyperventilating in panic.  She still had her arms extended to the sides and though her eyes were gazing in his direction, Reaper wasn’t sure if she was actually seeing him.

                The assassin turned his head as he heard the sound of light footsteps rushing toward him from behind.  The three Moonstone sisters appeared, Talia leaning pretty heavily on Sasha, Krystel seeming to move well of her own accord.  The two younger sisters were still naked, but they seemed unconcerned about that at the moment.  “What the Hell….”  Krystel asked, then fell silent and came to standstill as she saw the girl standing in the hall.  Her grey eyes flew about the hallway, noted the orc lying unconscious but breathing behind her and her quick, analytical mind put all the pieces together quickly.  She moved forward very slowly, calling out the to the girl softly.  “Hi there.”  The barbarian girls eyes flickered to her and stopped.  The knight thought there was recognition there.  “It’s Ember, right?  We met a few days ago, when my sister Ariana had that meeting.  Your man,” she struggled for a moment to recall the name, but then her photographic memory saved her, “Kelvan and his siblings, they went with her back to Trey’Elden, didn’t they?”  The girl nodded, still looking as though she couldn’t decide whether to bolt and run or collapse into sobs.  “I’m Krystel… Krystel Moonstone.” She turned and gestured at the other women.  “These are my other sisters, Sasha and Talia.”  She pointed at the assassin then.  “This man here, his name is Reaper and while he may not look like it right now, he’s with us.”

                Ember looked at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.  It was the first sign that she was starting to come out of her shock.  “He… he talked to the jailer about… about sharing us all.”

                Krystel cast a quick glance at Reaper, saying, “I’m sure that was just… just to distract him, you know?”  Reaper nodded slightly and Krystel looked back at the girl.  “He doesn’t want to hurt you any more than we do.”

                “I… I don’t really know what’s going on here.  I’m confused… I don’t know why I was arrested or any of this.  There were two men who were put in my cell… they tried to explain some of it to me, but then they were taken away.  I don’t what happened to them.”  Ember was starting to ramble.

                Sasha spoke up from behind Reaper, leaving Talia to lean against the wall and moving forward slowly to join her sister.  “That was Relic and Lance Crowe, right?”  Ember nodded, now looking at the gypsy.  “Our other sister, Aribeth and our friend Falcon are rescuing them right now.  We’re going to go join them as soon as we’re done here.  You can come with us Ember, if you want to.  But you’ll have to trust us and we’ll have to move fast, we’re running out of time.”

                “You… you want to help me?”  Ember asked, her blue eyes darting from one to the other of them, then settling on the assassin, who she was still unsure about.

                It was him that replied.  “Very much.”  Then he pointed beyond her to the orc, who was starting to stir.  “It would have to be better than staying with him, wouldn’t it?”

                Ember turned, saw the orc starting to wake up, gave a little squeal of fright and then scampered over to stand behind Krystel and Sasha.  Reaper got to his feet, strode over to Grolug and drew his katana as he went.  The orc shook his head to clear it, having risen to his hands and knees, but when he looked up into the face of the assassin and saw the darkness reflected back at him in the other mans eyes he squealed like a pig and started to crawl away.  The acrid odor of orc urine reached Reapers nostrils as he kicked the man onto his back and crouched over him.  The jailer was literally shaking in terror as he gazed up into the face of death and Reaper leaned over him, a small, cold smile on his face.  “How many other women have you terrorized down here?”  The orc shook his head, either unable or unwilling to respond.  “Consider this payback for all of them.”  He slit the monsters throat cleanly and then backed away, letting him bleed out.  “Can we go now?”

                “We still don’t have our gear.”  Krystel reminded him.

                Reaper rolled his eyes and started to turn toward her, to tell her that it could all be replaced, when Ember, Daughter of Sorn raised a slightly shaking arm and pointed to a door to the assassin’s right.  “They keep all that stuff in there.”  Reaper turned and looked at the door, then back at the girl.  “My cell was across from it, I would hear them taking stuff into that room.” 

                Reaper was inside the small cell that had been turned into a storage room in moments and Krystel helped him to find their things.  He also pulled out what items he thought might have belonged to Relic and Lance Crowe.  With those things in a backpack and slung over one shoulder, Lances spear in one hand, Reaper finally led the way back toward the stairs and the route they would have to take to the wall, where they were to hopefully meet with Ashlyn and make good their escape.

                Ashlyn made her way down the narrow hallway that ran through the inside of the wall, hoping she wasn’t going to be late to meet with Reaper and Sasha, and that they were successful in rescuing Krystel and Talia.  She had known the Moonstone sisters since she was a newborn babe, though of course she had been the closest to Krystel.  She had been the first of all of them to figure out that Krys was just as attracted to women as she was to men, and it had been their adolescent experimentations that had assured her that she was strictly a guys only kind of girl.  She had always been like another sister to those five women and she wanted to everything she could to help them.  Even if that meant staying in the employ of the very people who were responsible for the death of her beloved father.  Of course, they had said they didn’t know for certain if Cyrrik had had anything to do with it, it had been pretty hectic beneath the cemetery.  She hoped, for her brothers sake and that of his immortal soul, that he hadn’t had anything to do with their fathers death, but she wouldn’t put it past him.

                Cyrrik had become a man she barely knew anymore, not that they had ever been close.  His best friend growing up and been Rellik Vashόn, and the two men had been like brothers.  After the death of Rellik’s mother they had grown even closer and Cyrrik had grown apart from his family.  Their own mother had died, devastating their father, and Cyrrik had acted as though he didn’t care, which had devastated Galon even further.  Ashlyn and Rylan had both tried to talk to him many times, trying to bridge the gap that had developed between them, but now she wasn’t certain that was possible anymore.  If he had truly thrown in with the traitors that were trying to take over the city then she was afraid the time was rapidly coming when she would have to say goodbye to her brother forever, possibly at the point of her own blade.

                She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she saw the door at which she was to meet the assassin and the others.  She slowed from a jog to a walk as she approached it, wanting to be as quiet as possible, and pressed her ear to the door, half expecting to hear them already there waiting for her.  What she heard instead made her heart skip a beat.  “Byers!”  It was the voice of Major Ravishe Falcone, who had just that very morning been officially promoted to the rank of General, in charge of the militia, which had been her fathers position.  “I’m looking for the officer of the watch, Colonel Quint.  Have you seen him?”

                “No sir.”  Was the quick reply, from Byers, whoever that was.  Ash couldn’t remember ever meeting him before.  “I was just on my way down to relieve one of the dungeon guards sir, I’ll send him to you if I see him.”  Ashlyn’s eyes widened when she realized that that would take the young soldier directly into the path of Reaper and the others.  Not that they wouldn’t be able to handle him, but he wouldn’t be the only one heading down there if it was time for the changing of the guard.  It was a fair bet that the alarm would be sounded and then all the guards in the palace would be on to the escapees… she had to do something quickly.  It was a real sign of her fathers influence on her that Ashlyn was able to think on her feet so quickly.  She took off her helmet and tossed it to the floor, ruffled her long, platinum blonde hair and then, after taking a steadying breath, she whacked her head smartly against the stone wall, not hard enough to black out but hard enough that she felt a trickle of blood sliding down the side of her face.  Reaching up to hold her hand to the wound she opened the door with the other hand and staggered out into the small courtyard where she had been to meet with Reaper and the others.  Falcone and Byers, who had been about to go their separate ways, turned to gawk at her as she staggered into their midst.

                Falcone was the first one to her side, bending over to look into her face as he placed a hand on her arm, guiding her toward a bench.  His touch made her skin crawl and she was proud of herself for not letting her revulsion of him show on her face.  “Lieutenant!” he said solicitously, “What on Kyzanthia happened to you?”

                She allowed him to seat her on a stone bench, noticing that he sat next to her, perhaps a little too close but she didn’t move away in spite of the strong urge to do so.  He pulled her hand away from the wound and leaned in to examine it, his eyes narrowing slightly.  Byers was standing nearby, looking stunned.  “You’re aware of the escape from the gallows a few minutes ago sir?”  She asked and he nodded, still checking her wound.  She winced slightly as he prodded at it, though he was being surprisingly gentle.  “I had been on the top of the west wall when it happened, at my post.  I was on my way down to help the men but the whole thing happened so quickly that by the time I got to the bottom of the stairs in side the wall they had already made good their escape.  But the ranger, Falcon, was the last one to come into the tunnel and he saw me and he fled.  I didn’t have time to call for backup, I just chased him.”

                “On your own?”  Falcone asked, and to her mind, he sounded impressed.  “That was very brave Lieutenant.”

                “Thank you sir.  I know how dangerous he is, the Moonstones and I used to be close.  I knew Falcon pretty well when he was younger.”  She said, suddenly seeing a possible way of cementing her position within his people, which is what she had been told would be the best thing for her friends.

                “You used to be pretty close to them?  I was under the impression that they were still your friends.”  He said, a little suspiciously.

                She snorted in a fair approximation of derision.  “They turned traitor, sir.  If the Moonstones of all people are going to turn their backs on their city and their friends, then what choice do I have but to do the same to them?  My loyalty is to the city of Peacehope, not the Moonstone family.”

                He was silent for a while, cleaning her wound as best he could without any first aid equipment to hand.  When he spoke, his words set her heart on fire, made her want to attack him, but she refrained.  “You know, I suspected that Krystel and Talia had a hand in your fathers death down beneath Donovan Moonstones’ tomb.  Your father was the best friend their father ever had, likely they thought he would support their bid to take over.  I’m guessing that when they approached him about it down there, he refused and they had to kill him or risk their treachery coming to light.”  She was quivering with rage inside, but did well to conceal it.  “You should speak to your brother about it, I think he was there.”  She knew that Cyrrik had long been one of Falcone’s favorites, that he was likely up for some kind of promotion now.

                She fought hard to keep her voice calm as she answered.  “I may do that sir.  Cyrrik and I haven’t been on the best of terms for a while now.  I’m beginning to see I may have wrong in where I placed my loyalties all those years.”  She almost vomited the words up the repulsed her so much.  “And to think that our youngest brother is Ariana’s squire!”

                He clucked his tongue conosolingly and shook his head.  She was actually rather proud of herself for that last part, it would help the image she was trying for.  “I’m afraid he may already be dead.  We believe that the sisters here on the island have been in touch with their allies that left in pursuit of the supposed kidnapper.” 

                Ashlyn gripped the bench she was seated on hard and fought not to scream and yell at him, calling him a liar.  “I prefer to think there’s still a chance of saving him sir.  Convincing him that the Moonstones are our enemies now.”

                “Whatever keeps your spirits up Lieutenant.”  He said, then he leaned back and reached out to take her chin lightly in his hand.  He turned her pretty face to look at his and she had to fight to meet his gaze, hating him with all her being.  “You know… Captain… if you play your cards right, you could go very far with my people.”  She widened her eyes, trying to seem adequately surprised and touched by the sudden field promotion.  His eyes dropped, sliding over her slender form appreciatively and he smiled, “Very far indeed.”

                “I… I thank you for you confidence in me sir.”  She said, trying not to choke on the words.

                He nodded.  “What happened after you chased Falcon?”  He asked her and she blinked, retracing her thoughts back to the story she had been concocting.

                “He was faster than me, got well ahead and hid among the shadows.  Then he jumped out and ambushed me.  I lost my helm in the scuffle and he slammed my head against the wall.”  She winced, as though the memory of it were painful.  “He’s quite an accomplished warrior sir.”

                “I’ve heard the tales.” He said with a sage nod.  “As I’ve already said, you were very brave to go after him alone.”

                “I didn’t really think about it, I had a duty.”  She said softly.

                He smiled at her in what she was sure he thought was a fatherly sort of way.  She could easily see him having smiled at her brother and his friends like that, drawing them into his inner circle.  Was that what he was intending for her now?  Was he, perhaps, concerned that her brother might be drifting away, so he wanted another Eaglehart under his thumb?  “That’s a good quality in leaders Ashlyn.  That’s why the promotion.  I think you’ve earned it.”

                “Thank you sir.”  She said softly, sounding grateful.

                “Byers!” he barked suddenly, making her jump.

                “Sir!”  Byers snapped to attention nearby.

                “You and Captain Eaglehart here go search for Colonel Quint.  I have a feeling something bad has befallen him.  Commander Relic and Lance Crowe weren’t the only ones they would have wanted to help here today.  The Moonstones are tactical minded enough to have organized a two prong rescue mission.”  He leaned closer to Ashlyn, “You’ve spent a long time with these people.  You know how they think.  I think I’ll put you in charge of catching them Captain.  Can you handle that?”

                She swallowed.  This was better than she could possibly have hoped for!  “I’ll do the very best I can sir.”

                He smiled and nodded, the rose off the bench and strode form the courtyard.  She took a moment to think, processing everything that had just happened and how quickly it had happened.  She glanced up, saw Byers still standing stiffly at attention. Then she caught a sudden movement behind him and saw Reaper, Sasha, Krystel, Talia and another girl she didn’t know crouching around a corner from them, across the courtyard.  They were watching her expectantly and she realized she had to act before Byers saw them and they would have to kill him.  She would have a hell of a time explaining that away!  She stood up, “Byers.”

                The young guard, who she could see was a corporal, responded, “Ma’am?”

                “Let’s go see if we can find the colonel, okay?”  He nodded and as she motioned for him to precede her he headed out of the courtyard.  As Ashlyn turned to follow him she turned her head and met Reapers eyes very deliberately, then extended a hand out behind her and dropped something to grass as she walked away.

                Once they were gone, Reaper led the others out of their hiding place and into the courtyard.  As he walked over to where she had dropped whatever it had been she dropped, Krystel, who had been the closest of friends to Ashlyn for many years, said, “What in the bloody hell was that all about?  Ashlyn would sooner die than side with Falcone and his lot!”

                Reaper crouched and lifted a single black iron key from the crushed rock path and smiled slightly, silently thinking Ashlyn for her forethought.  To Lady Knight, as Krystel was sometimes called, he said, “She’s playing the role we set for her… and remarkably well I must say.”  He stood and showed them the key.  “She’s also given us our way out.”  The women all smiled and he led the way over to the door that led into the wall tunnel.

                Forty-five minutes later Reaper and the women he was leading pushed their way up out of a trapdoor that opened into the middle of a rather dense forest.  The assassin, who had shucked his disguise and reassumed his more shadowy persona, stuck his head up from the shaft and glanced around.  Verifying that the way was clear he hoisted himself out of the hole and then turned to help the others out.  Ember was the first one and as he lifted her from the hole and placed her on the ground she threw her arms wide and inhaled a deep breath, smiling for the first time in she couldn’t remember how long. 

                As she looked around the little clearing where they had emerged she saw a form separate itself from the tree line and move into the clearing.  She gave a startled little shriek and Reaper spun around, his hand diving for his sword until he recognized Falcon coming out of the shadows.  He scowled at Ember, then turned and helped Talia from the hole.  The ranger smiled and held up both hands toward the young barbarian girl.

                “Relax, I’m one of the good guys.”  He told her.  As he drew near she saw his vibrant blue eyes move with obvious interest over her young body.  “I don’t believe we’ve met.”  He extended a hand to her and she hesitantly shook it.  “They call me Falcon.”

                She swallowed, noting the way that Talia was rolling her eyes at the tall, handsome ranger.  “Ember, daughter of Sorn.”

                Falcon nodded and smiled.  “You must be the young woman from the Thunder Hammer tribe that they told me had stayed behind when Ariana went back to your homeland.”  She nodded.  “I’m glad you’re okay Ember.”  He turned to the others, all of whom were now out of the tunnel and Reaper was closing the hatch.  “Was she in the dungeons too then?”

                “She was.  She was lucky we happened upon her, we weren’t looking for her so she would have stayed there if the orcish jailer hadn’t gotten jittery.”  Reaper told him, straightening from his task.  “Where do we go from here?”

                Falcon motioned for them to follow him and turned to lead the way deeper into the forest.  The others fell in behind him, aware of the forest growing darker around them as they traveled.  The ranger led them more than a mile further into the forest and the deeper they went, the thicker the trees seemed to grow together.  After a while Ember, who was shivering as it grew cooler, asked the group in general, “Is all the forest on your island like this?”

                Falcon, at the head of the group, glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled.  “No. This grove has been specially cultivated.  Its home to an old friend of mine….”  He was cut off by a deep, base rumble that it took several seconds for those around him to recognize as a growl.  Falcon stopped, seeming unconcerned as a massive black wolf with a gray face, gray pause and the tip of his tail looking like he’d dipped it in a bucket of gray pain suddenly separated itself from the shadows, its eyes glowing in the dim lighting.  Ember gasped, a hand flying to her mouth in stunned surprise.  The wolf was huge, the largest she had ever seen, and having come from the mountains of Trey’Elden, she had seen some large wolves.  Falcon approached the great beast without a care, smiling as he did so.  “Oh stop it, we both know you’re all show.”  The massive beast swung its head toward the ranger and Ember saw their eyes meet, giving the impression that they were communicating.  This impression was confirmed a moment later when Falcon shook his head and said, “No, you don’t know all of them.  But you remember Talia, Krystel and Sasha I’m sure.”  The great beast swung its head to regard the three sisters, all of whom were smiling rather uncertainly at the canine.  His huge tail swished back and forth a few times in greeting.  Falcon turned to the other two, “These are Ember and Reaper.  They’re friends too.”  He turned then and motioned the young girl and the rogue forward.  “Come ahead slowly you two, and extend your hand so he can sniff it.”  Ember, who had spent her entire life around animals, some of whom were larger than the wolf, came forward confidently with her hand extended.  As the great wolf extended its snout to sniff her hand Falcon said, “Ember, this is Fang.  This grove is his… he is the protector of this preserve, which I have helped him to defend on occasion.  He’s a Dire Wolf and a great friend to me.”

                Fang sniffed her palm, then took a single step forward and raised his head to be level with hers.  To her credit, Ember did not shy away from him, looking him in the eye and smiling.  “It’s very nice to meet you Fang.”  The wolf’s tail slashed the air again and his massive tongue suddenly slid up the side of her face, covering nearly half of it in one swipe.  Ember laughed.

                “He likes you.”  Falcon smiled then watched as the Dire Wolf turned to Reaper. The rogue seemed tense but didn’t back away as the canine moved to sniff his hand.  Falcon scowled slightly and Reaper noticed it.

                “What?” the assassin asked him.

                Falcon looked up, met the assassin’s eyes and said, “He doesn’t like that he can smell so much death on you.  He wants me to tell you that he is Alpha here.”

                Reaper lowered his gaze to find the wolf staring up at him.  He met the great beasts eyes and felt a shudder run up his spine.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt genuine fear and he found he had a great deal of respect for this wolf suddenly.  “I’m fine with that.”  With those words Fang turned his head away, as though dismissing the assassin from his thoughts and trotted over to visit with the Moonstone sisters. 

                Talia immediately dropped to her knees and buried her face in his furry neck, laughing and tugging at his soft coat.  “I’ve missed you old friend!”

                Ember frowned, confused, and glanced to Falcon.  The ranger, happy for an excuse to get closer to the gorgeous barbarian, stepped up and said in a low voice.  “Talia is a former of apprentice of mine, as such she and Fang know each other pretty well.  He used to travel with me, once upon a time until he and his mate decided enough was enough.  That was when I arranged for this property for them. They allow me to live here with them and I help them to protect it.”

                “They allow you to live here?” she repeated.

                “The great forests of the world belong to animals that hunt in it.  The rest of us are either intruders or guests.  I prefer to be a guest.”  He smiled as he watched his friend make the rounds of the three sisters, then Fang turned and trotted off toward the thicker trees of the glen.  Falcon motioned them all to follow and they did so.  The dire wolf led them to a small clearing in which a camp fire burned brightly and around that fire sat Aribeth Moonstone, Lance Crowe and Commander Relic.  All three of them stood as the group came into the clearing and Aribeth rushed to embrace her sisters, happy to see them alive.  Falcon, Reaper, Relic and Lance all converged around the fire.  Relic had been brewing coffee and now he started to pour for everyone into a series of hand carved wooden mugs.  Ember, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with all these people who were basically strangers to her, stood a short ways off, watching them all.  Falcon saw her and smiled, then motioned her over.  She hesitated, then came over and sat next to him on a fallen log.  He handed her a cup and she took it with a smile, wrapping her hands around it for warmth.  Falcon noticed that she was still only wearing the nightgown she had been imprisoned in and took his own cloak off to drape over her shoulders.  “I would think that a lady of the mountain tribes would be used to the cold.”

                She pulled his cloak a little tighter around herself.  “It’s not just the cold it’s…” she shrugged, “…everything.”  He nodded, understanding that she had been through a lot.  He could well imagine that she as worried about her people back home as well.  He had to remind himself that she was spoken for, she was very pretty and very young… but not so young that she wasn’t appealing.  He decided to make an attempt to distance himself from her mentally before he did something he would regret.  It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

                Within a few minutes everyone was seated around the fire with mugs of hot coffee.  They were silent for a time, then Krystel broke it with, “Thank you all for coming to get us.”

                Relic looked up at Reaper, his glowing green eyes standing out sharply in the gloom.  “Was there any sign of Blaze down in the dungeons?”

                The assassin exchanged a look with Falcon, who nodded imperceptibly.  Lance Crowe saw this and tensed, sensing bad news.  “What?”

                Reaper decided to be the one to tell them.  “We knew that Blaze wasn’t in the palace.  During the few days we took to plan the rescue we learned that Huntyr Shroude had sent her as a… well, I guess down payment is the best way to put it.”

                Relic scowled darkly.  “Down payment?”  He looked from the ranger to the assassin.  “To whom?  For what?”

                Falcon took a deep breath, then said, “They sent her to Shadowveil for them to hold as a prisoner in exchange for the vampires support in keeping their hold on Peacehope secure.”  Lance and Relic’s eyes grew wide in horror.  “It was done secretly, but we suspect it was Demona’s idea.  She no doubt felt threatened with her niece so close by and securing the help of the vampires would be a very good idea from her perspective.”

                “Shadowveil means Vonderlicht.”  Lance said softly, his voice shaking slightly.

                Relic continued, “And Vonderlicht means….”  It seemed as though he couldn’t continue the line of thought. 

Ember was looking more confused than ever.  “What is Shadowveil?”

Krystel, who among those gathered was probably the best suited to explaining, did so.  “Being from Trey’Elden, you may not get all the worldly news in a timely manner Ember.”  She said, leaning forward both for the warmth of the fire and to get the girls attention.  “Did you hear of the ruling by the World Council about five years ago involving the vampires?”  The young girl shook her head, shivering now for reasons that had nothing to do with cold.  “Well, the world council was approached about six years ago by three of the most powerful vampires on all Kyzanthia.  These three individuals, Baron Viktor Vonderlicht and his wife Lustra and Keldrian Tolivar asked that the council consider making the vampires into a bonafide race of the world, with their own kingdoms and their own laws.  This would, they claimed, also make the vampires susceptible to the laws and rulings of the world council.”  Krystel paused to take a sip of coffee.  “It’s no secret that vampires have been a menace for hundreds of thousands of years, perhaps millions but no records go back that far.  The world council saw the wisdom in bringing the vampires into the fold so to speak, making the vampires susceptible to the laws of the mortal realms, thus attempting to keep them under control.  Despite this, it still took them a year to come to a decision, and when they did finally decide to accept vampires as a sentient race they named Shadowveil, the kingdom ruled by the Vonderlichts as the recognized homeland of the race.  Tolivar, who is actually a brother to Lustra Vonderlicht, faded from public life soon after that and the Vonderlichts now rule the vampires as a people from their castle on Shadowveil, an Island half a world away from us here on Algeron.”

“So,” Ember spoke thoughtfully now, “does that mean that vampires are no longer monsters if they have all the rights of other races when they travel to new lands?”

                Relic spoke then, his voice full of barely suppressed rage.  “They may have all the rights of us mortals, but make no mistake young lady,” he turned his glowing emerald eyes on her and she shivered, “they are still monsters.”

                Reaper spoke, his tones soft but still carrying around the fire.  “That orc in the dungeon back at the palace is a member of a race recognized by the world council, do you think he wasn’t a monster?” 

                Ember shivered again and Falcon thought perhaps the girl was learning a lot more than she had counted on in a short time tonight.  “Point taken.”  Ember said and sipped her coffee, wincing slightly at its bitterness.

                “Has any thought been given to rescuing her?”  Lance Crowe asked, referring to his friend and employer.

                Falcon waited a moment to make sure no one else would answer before he did.  “Of course we’ve considered it.  But we don’t have the resources.  We were lucky to get you lot out, to be honest.”

                “We can’t just leave her there!”  Lance said, looking around at the others.  “When I think of what those people will do to her, especially….”

                “Especially who?”  Ember asked.

                Everyone turned to look at her, remembering that she was the stranger among them, the one that didn’t know the things they all knew.  It was Sasha who answered, and this was fitting as she was the most neutral among them when it came to vampire rights.  “Lustra Vonderlicht is believed to be the vampire that killed Blaze’s father.  Once before, when Tanya went after her, she was taken prisoner by the Baron and his wife.  They held her for something like five years and tortured her mercilessly.  It was then she got the mark.”  A confused look crossed the girls face and Sasha clarified, “The necromark.”  Again Ember looked confused and this time the gypsy said softly, “Don’t ask… you really don’t want to know.”  Ember took her at her word and went silent.

                Relic spoke again, sounding like he had his emotions mostly held in check now.  “They’re right Lance.”  The demon hunter looked at him in surprise.  “Of course we don’t want to leave her there, but we don’t want to go racing off to rescue her unprepared either.  We don’t have the means right now.  And the best way to do that is to help them get the city back, which will put us at odds with the vampires anyway from the sound of things.”

                Falcon nodded.  “We believe they’re already sending support, we don’t know how much.  We could definitely use you two.”

                Lance fell silent, brooding thoughtfully.  His feelings for Blaze were no secret, though he didn’t wear them on his sleeve.  Finally he nodded, and once he had reached his decision he was behind it fully.  “So it’s to be rebellion then?  Fighting against Huntyr and Daemonaya from the background?  Underground and guerilla tactics?”

                “We still have some friends in the city, and others who might be swayed to our side.”  This from Krystel.  “We’ll see what we can do to win them over.”

                “There’s the Dragons too, don’t forget.”  Falcon said.  “They’ll be back, and we’ll have to intercept them when they arrive, fill them in one what’s happening.  But they’ll be a big help as well.  Some of them have contacts outside of the island, like Tasha.  Her family has pull in Aldonia.”

                “By the standards of the rest of the world,” said Sasha, who had seen more of it in her travels than any of the others, “Peacehope is relatively small.  Taking it back is not an insurmountable task, not for people as resourceful as us.  And when Ariana returns… she’ll lead us.”

                “There’s a lot of work to be done to prepare before they return though.”  Falcon said, tilting his head back and looking up at the canopy spread above them.  “I’d say we need to get to work.”

                “Gods damn them all!”  Huntyr Shroude bellowed, clearing a shelf of valuable crystalline statuary with one sweep of his arm.  Daemonaya, lounging on her sisters favorite divan behind him, didn’t so much as flinch as the crystal shattered all over the tile floor.  They had been her sisters trinkets, not hers, what did she care if he destroyed them?  Now she had room to put some of her own things up!  He rounded on her, his eyes wide with his rage and she merely continued to lounge, as though unconcerned.  “Not only did we lose Relic and that Demon Hunter, but while they were being rescued from the gallows someone snuck into the palace and rescued both Moonstone sisters and that barbarian girl!”

                “Some of the guards found a death card from a tarot deck near a couple of the bodies in the dungeon.  That would lead one to conclude that the assassin known as Reaper had something to do with all this.”  She told him, her voice its usually sensual tones. 

                “Not alone he didn’t!  If Falcon was involved in the rescue out in the square, then I can guarantee you those two were in cahoots.”  Huntyr seemed to be calming now.

                “Then wouldn’t that be another nail in the Dragons coffin my love?” she asked him softly.  He had begun to pace, now he turned his head to her with a thoughtful frown, continuing to wear a hole in the rug.  “We have conclusive evidence that at least one of the Dragons members has consorted with a wanted killer.  It seems that the people of Peacehope wouldn’t want their greatest heroes to be connected with people like that.”

                Huntyr waved her off. “Everyone knows that Reaper was once a Dragon himself, back when Sir Donovan led the team.”

                She shook her head.  “Everyone knew that then.  And we don’t, under any circumstances, have to say which assassin they were seen with.  We can use this against them.”

                “All the while they’ll be working against us, I guarantee that.  Our grip on this city grows ever more tenuous.”  Huntyr said, holding up his hands as though watching Peacehope drain through his fingers like grains of sand.

                “Our new allies will be certain to help us with that, and I’ve already taken steps to assure that the islands other two main powers won’t help them.”  She assured him, and when he turned to her with a questioning look she went on.  “I sent emissaries to Valor and to Clan Graybeard stating quite simply that if we learned they were in any way assisting these fugitives, Peacehope would consider that an act of war.”  Huntyr seemed dubious of this plan.  “They won’t want to risk open warfare, Algeron is not big enough for civil war.  And with the added weight of Shadowveil on our side… they will be sufficiently cowed.”

                “You don’t know Graybeard like I do.  If Wolfgar comes back from Trey’Elden his people won’t turn their back on him… and he won’t turn his back on the Dragons.”  Huntyr assured her.

                “If he comes back.  We don’t know that he will, and even if he does, so what?  How strong are the dwarves really?  When compared with the combined might of Peacehope of Shadowveil?  Valor will remain neutral, you know that.  We have nothing to fear from them.”  She had gotten up now and when he walked by she caught his arm, stopping his pacing.  He turned toward her and she smiled at him, then turned so that his back was to her and she began to massage his shoulders with strong fingers.  He moaned slightly, much of the tension draining from his muscles almost instantly.  “Whoever returns from their missions abroad, the Dragons will be minimized.  Their numbers lessened.  They are, at most, a minor nuisance.”