Darkness Rising, Pages 51-100

               Shadow Stalker heard the slight thrum of bowstrings a scant second before the first arrow struck the ground in front of him.  He threw himself to the side, into a shoulder roll, narrowly avoiding the second arrow and kept rolling for ten seconds as the third and fourth arrows zipped by where he had been standing a moment before.  Those few seconds was all it took for the remarkably quick Kirsten to catch up to him.  The assassin rolled to his feet facing her, the sound of her sword clearing its scabbard ringing in his ears.  Though he was loathe to kill her, he drew his own blade, uncertain of her skill with hers.  She came on fast, her face a mask of hate, rage and sorrow all mixed together.  She wasn’t striking with skill, she was striking in anger and thus she was striking in error.  He easily avoided her first slash, which was at face level, by simply leaning backward.  She followed that through with a thrust aimed between his collar bones and he twisted his shoulders, the flat of the blade scraping across his leathers.  She was quick, and if she had her wits about her she may well be formidable, but now she was a little girl wanting revenge, and Shadow Stalker couldn’t bring himself to kill her for that, after all, he deserved her enmity.

                On she came, relentlessly, her blade, which he realized was made of mithron, flashing in the light from the half moon that was straight above them in the sky.  Shadow Stalker made no offensive move against her, twisting, weaving and dodging, only raising his blade to parry a blow that he couldn’t otherwise avoid.  “Fight me damn you!” she shrieked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

                That was when he saw the other guards sprinting toward them from the castle entrance, and with them the elven knight, naked from the waist up but with sword in hand and Shadow Stalker realized he was out of time.  He began to give ground, retreating as he ducked and weaved, avoiding her slashes.  He knew the archers in the tower wouldn’t fire for fear of hitting her so he drew her ever closer to the wall, letting her anger fuel her actions.

                “Kirsten!”  The knight called suddenly, “Not so close to the….”  He didn’t have a chance to finish as they got within range of Shadow Stalkers plan working and he stepped into one of her wider swings, raising one arm and catching her forearm in one hand.  She gasped, the rogues grip was like iron and he suddenly stepped back, pulling her forward off balance and then spun her around, forcing her sword arm across her own chest and holding it there as he wrapped his other arm about her throat, pulling her back tight against him.  She struggled for a moment as he cut off the air to her brain, but as she faded to darkness she heard the assassin whisper in her ear, “I’m sorry.”

                Sir Tristan and the guards with him were within twenty feet when he released the girl, letting her slump to the ground then he turned, leaped ten feet straight into the air, pushed off the archers tower, using it to leap higher, planted a hand on top of the wall and vaulted himself over it, disappearing into the shadows beyond.  The assassin might have been surprised to see the elf follow him, mimicking the rogues movements almost exactly, but the knight halted at the top of the wall, looking out into the shadowy night of Valor and cursed.  Out there the rogue was in his element and the knight at a disadvantage.  “There will be another time murderer.”

                Shadow Stalker ran for several blocks before he allowed himself to stop and take a breather.   They would be after him, of course he knew that, and from what he had seen of these city guards he doubted it would take very long.  No sooner had he thought this than he heard a bell clamoring somewhere in the distance.  He had been bent with hands on knees, leaning against the wall of a shop in some back alley.  Now he straightened and turned his head in the direction of the bell, which seemed to have an urgency all its own just from the way in which it was ringing.  He heard the distant shouts of the city guards, the clumping of their boots as they trotted toward the center of town, where he was certain someone like that knight or the pretty brunette would meet them and give them orders.  The whole thing would likely take several minutes, which meant he had maybe ten minutes before the streets would be impassable.  He figured that was about nine minutes more than he needed as he turned and continued his journey through the back alleys of Valor, heading toward the city wall.

                He was still a few blocks from it when he came to the one main road he would have to cross before slipping back into the shadowy alleys of the city.  He glanced to his left and to his right, the street was vacant which was in itself odd since it wasn’t yet all that late and there should at least have been drunks staggering home from the taverns.  His latent danger sense buzzing in the back of his head, he made his way cautiously onto the street, but he hadn’t gone more than twenty feet before a voice in the night cried “Now!”

                He sensed rather than saw the movement and spun to his rear, then looked up to see a mesh net flying through the air toward him.  If he didn’t act it would entrap him beneath it, but Shadow Stalker had never been one to wait idly for a solution to find him… he made his own.  Almost without even thinking about it he drew his katana and twisted, his blade flashing upward and slicing a hole in the middle of the net so that when it settled to the ground around him he was standing at its center.  Movement from the alleys around him drew his eye and he saw half a dozen guardsmen advancing on him slowly, warily, weapons at the ready.  Four of them held spears the other two swords and shields, it was the spear wielders he was most concerned about.  ‘How did they find me?’ he wondered as he stood, frozen in the spot, watching the six men advance on him.  The spear wielders came from four directions, north, south, east and west as the compass points while the sword and board soldiers came at him from northwest and southeast, slightly behind the other four.  Shadow Stalker let them come, waiting for one of them to make the first move.

                “Take him!” called the same voice from the night.  So the leader wasn’t joining the fray… at least not yet.  North and south lunged at him simultaneously, thinking to run him through from front and back.  It was a sound tactic, difficult to counter, but Shadow Stalker was not a run of the mill opponent.  He pivoted on his right foot, making their target smaller and felt the spear to his rear slide along his lower back harmlessly while his katana flashed downward, knocking north’s spear point to the ground where he stepped on it, driving it deep.  As the guard wasted a precious moment struggling to free his weapon Shadow Stalker raised the same foot he had used to step on the spear, guiding it along the weapons shaft and slamming its wielder under the chin with his foot.  As the man staggered back, Shadow Stalker reached behind him and curled his fingers around the shaft of south’s spear, twisting violently and jerking the man forward by his weapon.  Had he just released it he might have survived and the weapon would only have been taken from him but as it was he staggered forward and was impaled through the throat by the assassin’s katana.  Blood spurted from the entry and exit wounds, and Shadow Stalker turned away, not even bothering to watch the man fall, sensing the other two spear wielders who hadn’t wanted their weapons in the way of the initial attack lunging toward him.

                The assassin spun, parrying one weapon with his blade while twisting, trying to avoid the other. He hissed as it scoured his side and he felt wet warmth oozing down his hip beneath his leathers.  The spear had scored a hit, but the man wielding it had been impaled by his partners spear, just as Shadow Stalker had intended.  As the one who had wounded him fell away, the other cursed and pulled his spear free, turning to face the assassin again.  To this mans side the second spear wielder had just managed to unstick his spear from the ground, though his breathing seemed ragged, telling Shadow Stalker he had damaged the mans airways with his kick to the throat.  Good, that would slow him down considerably.

                The assassin had expected the other two guards to get involved at this point and he wasn’t disappointed.  Northwest and southeast came on in a rush, their military issued long swords flashing in a identical opening salvo’s.  Shadow Stalker stepped toward northwest, putting more distance between himself and southeast, parried the first blade down and away, then stepped back toward the other guard, turning and coming up inside his reach, his sword thrusting toward the man’s torso.  He hadn’t meant it to cut, and it didn’t, the guard had caught it on his shield.  This had merely been a test of the men’s skills, and as he had thought, these guards were well trained.  Shadow Stalker wondered whether he was facing some of the Duke’s elite guards, who would no doubt be taking it personally that he had killed their charge.  He heard the heavy footfall behind him and knew the first guard was back, also seeing one of the spear wielders lunging forward, taking his chance.  Shadow Stalker exploded into motion, his katana whipping around, still standing inside the reach of the second sword and board guard, knocking the point of the spear toward northwest.  The guard was quick, bringing his shield around to parry away the spear, but this left him open for Shadow Stalker to move in, raising his left hand to parry the other mans sword arm away while he was distracted by the spear, then his katana flashed upward and with a spray of scarlet the guards head was separated from his shoulders.

                As the guards’ body fell one way and his head the other Shadow Stalker spun away, dropping into a crouch with his sword at the ready.  The three remaining guards froze for a heartbeat, stunned at the means of their comrades death.  The other sword and board gave a horrified shout, then turned his enraged expression on the assassin.  “That was my brother you fuck!”

                Shadow Stalker shrugged, “He should have been more selective in his choice of opponents.”

                With a roar of rage the second and sword and board came on, his eyes a mask of grief and anger.  He charged at Shadow Stalker, his shield up defensively, his sword swinging from behind it.  His position was effective defensively, but it made for sloppy offense and the assassin easily parried his every strike, though he was aware of the spear wielders moving around to flank him from either side.  These two were now the more dangerous as it hadn’t been their brother that he had killed, meaning they were calmer.

                Trying to keep an eye on them proved difficult, even with the ease with which he was parrying southeast’s attacks.  They seemed to be aware he couldn’t watch them all at once, and they kept moving till they were just outside the range of his peripheral vision.  Fortunately, Shadow Stalker had other senses than sight to rely upon and he heard the simultaneous footfalls from behind and to the left and right as they came at him together.  Shadow Stalker waited a heartbeat, taking the time to parry away one of southeast’s blows before he launched himself into the air, flipping backward over the heads of the spear wielders and landing lightly behind them.  They had followed his action instinctively, their heads tilting back as they watched his move and as such they were not paying attention to where they were charging.  Sword and board had been coming on strong, as had the two spears and so when Shadow Stalker landed behind them he gave each man a hard shove between the shoulders.  They staggered forward, one spear slamming into the shield of the third guard and knocking it to the side while the second spear stabbed deep into his chest.  The third guard, who had watched his brother beheaded, stood there dumbfounded, his eyes bugging out as the spear sank deep into his abdomen.  Blood bubbled up past his lips and he looked into the face of the spear wielder who was looking right back at him, horrified.  Southwest crumpled then, his expression one of disbelief, the point of the spear following him down.

                “Say hello to your brother for me.”  Shadow Stalker quipped, and this seemed to bring the two men out of their momentary trance.  The one of the right, who’s spear was still free wisely didn’t bother trying to bring the point around to bear on the assassin but simply thrust back with the blunt end toward Shadow Stalkers head.  The assassin, of course, was far to quick for this and simply leaned back, avoiding the blow, then almost casually raised his sword and knocked it aside.  The guard used the momentum of that move to whip his spear about and thrust it at the assassin.  Shadow Stalker twisted his shoulders to the side, avoiding that blow and brought his sword up again, knocking the spear high, then angled the blade to the side and followed the line of the spears shaft downward, the razor sharp edge of his katana slicing off four of the guards fingers on his leading hand.  He screamed, staggering back and dropping his spear, his good hand clutching his ravaged one.  He backed away, his expression registering his fright.  Shadow Stalker’s dark eyes bore into his, then he feinted, lunging at the man and the broke, turning and fleeing into the night.

                By this point the final guard had managed to free his spear from where it had wedged into the armor of the man he had inadvertently killed, now he turned to face the assassin.  “You were six, now it’s only you and me.”  Shadow Stalker told him, “You might want to reconsider this.”  He could feel the wound in his side still seeping blood and didn’t know how much longer he could maintain this pace before he would start to feel the effects of blood loss.

                “You should learn to count better.”  Said another voice, which the assassin recognized as the one that had been shouting orders from the darkness. 

                He turned to regard the newcomer, seeing a human who had to be in his fifties.  He was average height, which was actually a little taller than Shadow Stalker and squarely built though not large.  He was a ruggedly handsome man, with brown hair and beard all shot through with gray and somewhat in need of trim.  He wore a studded leather jerkin, broad leather belt and wool trousers tucked into the tops of heavy leather boots.  On his left arm he carried a rounded shield while his right hand was full of a bastard sword that he seemed to heft just fine one handed.  There were lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but Shadow Stalker didn’t judge him by his age.  He carried himself with the air of a man that had seen many a battle and the fact that he was still here marked him as a foe to be remembered.

                “Ah,” said Shadow Stalker, a little flippantly, “the voice in the night has joined the fight at last.”

                “You’re good assassin, I’ll give you that.”  The man said with a solemn nod.  “But this fight ends now.  I don’t want to kill you, I need you alive to tell me who hired you to kill the duke and why, but don’t think for a moment that I’ll hold back.  If I must kill you, I will… there are ways to question a corpse, after all.”

                As they talked the spear wielder had repositioned, thinking to move in behind the assassin and catch him unaware.  He lunged suddenly, driving his spear toward the small of the assassin’s back, but Shadow Stalker had been listening to the soft footfalls and when they suddenly got heavier he anticipated the attack.  He spun, knocking aside the point of the spear, then continued his spin along the length of the shaft.  He heard the old warrior shout “No!” as his katana flashed and the second man in a night lost his head to the assassins blade.  As the body fell, Shadow Stalker whirled back to face the warrior, thinking he would have taken advantage of the sudden activity to move in, but the old man was warier than that.

                “That’s the last man you’ll kill tonight assassin!”  said the bearded man, adjusting his grip on his bastard sword, his expression fierce.

                “Tell me your name warrior.  It will help me to know who it is I kill when I spread word of this fight.  I have a feeling I will know you when I hear it, and that alone will help word of my deeds spread.”  Shadow Stalker told him.

                “You face Galon Eaglehart, one of the original Dragons, and it will not be my death that is bragged of tonight!”  With that he came on, moving with a swiftness that belied his age.  Shadow Stalker was struck by how fluid his movements were and couldn’t help thinking that he would have liked to see this man in action during his prime.  Eaglehart led off with a shield bash which Shadow Stalker avoided by dancing to his right, noticing as he did that there were steel spikes lining the edge of the shield and crossing it down the center in a large X.  The rogue lashed out with his blade, aiming toward the wrist of the old man’s sword hand, but Galon Eaglehart had seen too many sword fights to fall for something so obvious.  Knowing that the assassin was quicker than he and that he likely couldn’t avoid the slash, he simply twisted his wrist, sparks flying as the blade glanced off the metal studs on his leather gloves, then he turned the attack to his advantage, bending that same wrist and whipping his sword toward the assassins face.

                Though had had tried for years to rid himself of the tendency, ever since the blade that had scarred his face Shadow Stalker had shied away from attacks in that area, and he did so now, dodging backward quickly and putting space between him and Eaglehart.  He saw the old man’s eyes narrow and realized he had just let slip a weakness, one he had to make up for quickly and he came on hard, feinting left with his word then reversing, pivoting his wrist and swiping back around to the right.  The savvy old warhorse raised both weapons, the shield cover the feint in case it was a real strike and then he caught the real strike on his sword.  Galon was a strong one, and the ringing that echoed through the night when their blades came together seemed to vibrate up Shadow Stalker’s arm as well.  Or it could simply have been that he was starting to feel the effects of the blood loss from his earlier wound.  Either way he realized suddenly that he was in danger of losing this encounter.  Perhaps it was time to cut his losses, for if there was one thing of which he was certain, it was that he was faster than the old man.  Should he decide to cut and run, he was confident that Eaglehart would not be able to catch him.  The thought of running from a fight was not something that he was comfortable with, and there was still the problem of how they had found him in the first place.  He couldn’t run until he was certain that they wouldn’t be able to find him again.

                “Who hired you to kill the duke?”  Eaglehart asked as he lunged in, slashing diagonally from shoulder to waist at the rogue.

                Shadow Stalker, who had already decided how best to play that angle, danced back away from the blade as he answered, “The lord should have been more careful who he dallied with, married women have husbands, and some of them have enough money to hire men like me.”  It was just vague enough, he hoped, that it would sound plausible.  After all, one an assassin’s first rules is that they never give the name of who hired them, but by all accounts the duke had had a great many lovers over the years so any one of them might have had a jealous husband.

                Galon stepped in again, striking with calm precision, his sword coming in overhand and Shadow Stalker raised his own to parry the blow.  Too lat e he realized how foolish that had been for Eagleharts shield suddenly slammed him in the chest, the spikes bruising through his leather jerkin.  The assassin staggered back, realized that the question had been only a means to distract him.  He never should have fallen for it, he was starting to slip and that could be dangerous.  It was time to go, but first he had to make certain he wasn’t followed too closely. 

                Letting himself roll with the shield bash to his chest, Shadow Stalker put some space between himself and Eaglehart.  As the old warrior came on the rogue flicked his wrist and a small ceramic ball fell into his gloved hand.  The experienced old warrior caught the movement and raised his shield just as the assassin flung the ball at him.  It shattered against the shield with a flash of light, which the rogue closed his eyes to protect his vision from. When he opened them again Galon was staggering back and coughing from a cloud of noxious black smoke that had started to billow around his shield.  Wasting no time, Shadow Stalker turned and disappeared down an alley. Now that the danger had passed for the moment and his adrenaline was lessening, he could really feel the wound in his side and feared it might be worse than he had originally thought.

                Once he had put a few blocks between himself and the old warrior Shadow Stalker ducked into the first deeply shadowed doorway he could find.  It looked to be the rear entrance of a tavern or something, he could hear the distant laughter of the patrons and the tinkle of glasses closer by.  Evidently word of their rulers death had not yet been spread, which was fine, it meant fewer people were looking for him.  He slumped into a corner, breathing hard, his hand pressed against the wound in his side given him by that spear.  He had to get a closer look at it and soon, or he may well bleed to death.  His escape from Valor was not going at all according to his plan, and in most cases he would have relished this challenge, but somehow his flight from danger had taken on a note of desperation. He could actually feel the specter of death lingering not far away, watching him.

                “Not tonight.”  He grunted, pushing himself away from the wall and staggering out into the alley.  He was growing weaker by the moment, he could feel his strength slipping away and he didn’t like it.  This situation was intolerable, so he decided to fix it, which meant his first order of business was first aid.  He thought of the tavern he had just heard and realized that there wouldn’t be many people in the rear because it was so busy.  All the employees, with the possible exception of a dishwasher and cook, would be in the front serving.  Minor injuries were common enough in such a place that they would likely have what he needed to dress his wound, and he might even find a place to hide and rest for a bit.  Staggering back into the shadowed doorway he made quick work of the lock with a set of picks he kept tucked into a belt pouch, then slipped through.  He found himself in a narrow hall lined on both sides with doors.  It was not a long hallway, and he could see through the arch at the end of the hall that it opened into the main tavern.  Thus he was fairly exposed here and needed to get out of the line of sight, fortunately there was another door to his immediate right and he ducked through it, not too surprised to find it unlocked.

                He was in an office, sparsely furnished with only a desk, a couple of cabinets and a small bar in one corner that seemed pretty well stocked… no surprise considering where it was.  Shadow Stalker paused a moment by the door, making certain the place was empty, then he moved further into the room.  From the bar he took a bottle of kobold fire whiskey, then he went to the rooms only window over which some threadbare curtains were hanging.  With a dagger from his belt he cut several strips off of this, then he perched on the edge of the desk and pulled up the side of his leather jerkin and the tunic underneath.  He winced at sight of the wound, which was obviously deep but was not bleeding profusely.  Instead it seemed to seep a dark blood, telling him that an artery or organ had been nicked, likely not life threatening but it would require him to be careful.  Pulling the cork from the bottle of whiskey with his teeth he took a swig to help cut through the pain, then he hissed as he poured it on the wound.  His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed slightly… but other than that there was nothing but the light hissing.  Once the burn had stopped, telling him that any infection had likely been killed he started to dress the wound with the strips of cloth he cut from the curtains.  He would have preferred magical healing, but at this point he would take what he could get.

                Having wrapped his makeshift bandages around himself a few times he tested his mobility and found that while it was tight he could still move freely.  Nodding, he pulled the tunic and jerkin back down and took another swallow of the liquor, which burned nicely as it went down.  He wasn’t much of a drinker usually, but right now he thought he could use it and it took more than a couple of swallows to affect his reaction times.  He was just lowering the bottle when he heard voices coming from the hallway.

                “I’m telling you there’s no one here, the door is still….”  The voice trailed off and Shadow Stalker realized they must have just seen that the door had been opened.  He had closed it again, but he hadn’t locked it so that he could leave easily.  Now he regretted that decision slightly.

                “Stay back sir.”  Said a commanding voice and Shadow Stalker could almost picture the guard in his head… he would be tall and strong, likely very young and probably armed with a sword, shield and spear, the latter actually being in hand as he reached toward the office door.  Sure enough it opened on silent hinges and the guard stepped across the threshold.  Even though he had known someone had come in, the young guard, who was tall, strong and quite young, still looked surprised to see Shadow Stalker standing by the desk.    Taking full advantage of that momentary relapse, the assassin flung the bottle of whiskey at him.  The guard made to duck it, but the dark glass shattered over the top of his helm, the alcohol splashing down over his head and shoulders.  He staggered and started to groan in pain as the alcohol seeped into his eyes.  The manager of the tavern stood behind him, white as a sheet, looking in at the assassin.

                As if in shock, the man said, “That was my best bottle.”

                Ignoring the diminutive tavern manager Shadow Stalker stepped quickly across the room and drove his foot into the side of the guards knee, forcing him to kneel.  That same foot knocked the spear away with a quick forward crescent kick, then he brought it back around to the guards chest and slammed the man to the floor, pinning him there with his foot.  “How are they tracking me so easily?”

                The guard was trying to wipe the alcohol from his eyes with one hand while struggling to remove the assassins foot from his chest with the other.  “Go to Hell!”  he growled.

                The assassin suddenly dropped, putting all his weight behind the knee that planted in the mans chest. The guard grunted in pain and his skin paled as the air was driven from his lungs.  Shadow Stalker leaned forward and wrapped his fingers around the man’s larynx, without squeezing enough to kill him, and growled again, “How are they tracking me so easily?”

                Evidently the guard didn’t think the information was worth his life, and this assassin had obviously already killed several times tonight.  He struggled to speak and the assassin loosened his grip just enough to let him.  “You’re b-be-being s-scryed!”

                ‘Magic.’  Shadow Stalker thought.  ‘Of course they would have a mage on their staff, I should have covered that eventuality!’  With a quick left jab he knocked the guard unconscious, then he looked up to see that, astonishingly, the tavern manager was still standing in the hall.  “Do you want to live?”  The man squeaked slightly in terror as he nodded.  “Then tell me where I can find the closest alchemist shop.”

                The manager’s eyes widened slightly, but he thought hard, realizing his life might well depend on the answer he gave.  “Uh… there… there’s Alfron’s Mystical Supplies, about a block away… to the north!”

                Shadow Stalker really had no desire to kill the manager, so he stood and looked down at the guard.  “I don’t think the guard will die, but stay with him till he wakes.  He will tell you what to do from there, and by then I should be long gone… do you understand?  If I hear that you’ve helped them find me… well, obviously I know where to find you, don’t I?”  The manager nodded his head rapidly, to the point that Shadow Stalker thought he might make himself dizzy.  Shaking his head inwardly, the assassin motioned the manager into the office, then slipped out himself and closed the door.  With a glance toward the tavern, wondering whether there were any more guards in there waiting for the one who had come back here, he slipped back out the back door and locked it with his picks, thinking it would stump them for a few seconds at least.  Turning into the alley he took a moment to get his bearings, then headed north toward Alfron’s Mystical Supplies, hoping that whoever Alfron was, he would have what he needed.

                Alfron’s Mystical Supplies was a small, dingy little shop about two blocks north of the tavern where Shadow Stalker had had his last encounter with the guards.  The size of the shop was both good and bad for the assassin, it was good because it meant that this alchemist might not be particularly successful and so may not have protected his shop as well as most of the bigger stores do, it was actually bad for the same reasons, because so small a shop might not have what he required right now.  From the look of things the little shop had an apartment over it on the second floor which was likely where the alchemist lived, and since they were almost always magically powerful, he knew to tread lightly here.

                Though not a thief, Shadow Stalker had dabbled a bit in the arts of breaking and entering and so he circled the building twice, looking for alternative entrances.  On the first floor there was only the main shop entrance and two large windows to either side of it, while on the second floor, at the rear of the shop was another smaller window and door, though there didn’t appear to be any stairs or landing leading up to the door.  Seeing this, the assassin frowned, wondering how in the world the alchemist might utilize the door… or even if he did.  Perhaps there had been stairs there once but the building was so old the stairs had rotted away?  But no, there was no sign of there having been anything added to the structure once.  Still scowling, Shadow Stalker was trying to figure out how to gain entry to the building when he heard someone whistling a jaunty tune from further down the alley behind the store. Stepping back into the shadows to conceal his presence he watched as an elven man still apparently in the prime of his youth approached the back of the store.  Of course, with High Elves it was difficult to judge age for they could look to be the human equivalent of twenty-something and actually be several hundred years old!  As he walked toward the back of the shop, however, the assassin saw the elf suddenly rise into the air as though striding upon air currents, his route obviously leading him toward the door on the second floor.

                Seeing the alchemist show up like this, apparently wide awake and probably returning from a night out somewhat changed Shadow Stalker’s perception of the situation.  It was one thing to try and sneak into the place while the owner slept, quite another to do it while he was awake and the assassin didn’t have the time to wait for him to fall asleep.  Coming to a spur of the moment decision, Shadow Stalker stepped forward, revealing himself to the mage and cleared his throat.

                The elf, probably Alfron himself, turned quizzically at the sound. He was standing, evidently on mid-air in front of the door with an old looking key in hand, ready to unlock it.  “Can I help you?”  He asked, one brow raised questioningly.  The assassin noted that the man looked unperturbed by the obvious roguishness of his attire and decided that he had chosen wisely in not attempting to break in to the mans shop.  This alchemist and his shop were likely more than they seemed.

                “I need some help… of the magical variety.”  Shadow Stalker told him, speaking softly as he could hear a guard patrol moving about nearby.  Had he been scryed again and they were zeroing in on his location?

                The alchemist too had heard the guards and glanced in their direction, then he looked back at Shadow Stalker.  “I want no part of the kind of trouble men like you bring.”  He turned back to the door and inserted the key.

                Thinking quickly, Shadow Stalker took a step toward the man and said, “I can pay you for your help… and I’ll owe you a favor.  From someone like me that can be a very valuable marker to have.”

                The look in the elf’s eyes was shrewd as he turned his gaze back upon the rogue.  The assassin could almost hear him thinking to himself, then he nodded imperceptibly and silently lowered himself to the ground.  “Come with me.”  He reached over to the bare wall at the rear of the ground floor of his shop and knocked three times, once then a pause, then twice in quick succession.  “That pattern changes every time.”  He said to the rogue, as though afraid the man might try to memorize his security features.  To Shadow Stalkers astonishment the door in the wall on the second floor suddenly slid downward soundlessly and then clicked open to reveal a long, narrow hallway. The elf motioned him through and the assassin, hearing the guards getting closer, wasted no time in complying.  The elf followed him and closed the door, then as Shadow Stalker watched the door vanished from sight.  The mage turned his back to the wall and regarded the assassin shrewdly.  “I’m Alfron, and this is my place.”  He said, his tone one of stiff formality, but also with a tone of a man that was not to be trifled with.  “Before I offer you anything, I want the terms of our agreement understood fully.  I will supply you with what you need, provided it is within my power to do so and in exchange you will pay my price… either in gold or deed, is that correct?”

                Shadow Stalker could see several traps that that might be leading him to, but he had little choice, he needed the mans help, as much as it galled him to admit it.  “Agreed, provided you can wait to collect the fee till I have finished with my current assignment.”

                The mage waved this off.  “I have no need for your services at the moment, but I may at some point in the future and you were not wrong when you said it could be a good thing to have someone of your skill set beholden to me.”  They stared at each other for a moment, then finally the alchemist said, “Very well, what is it you need?”

                Shadow Stalker hesitated, wondering how much he should tell the man.  “I’ve just killed a man of rather great import here in the city and the guard are tracking me through magical means.”  The mage nodded, his expression saying that he had garnered as much.  He glanced up, almost as though he expected to see someone watching them through the roof.  “I need a way to keep them from scrying my location.  Can you do that?”

                Alfron nodded, but held up a hand.  “Just so you are aware, this building has been enchanted in such a way that it cannot be spied upon.  Anyone trying to scry you here will just see the outside of the building, they will not be able to tell where in the building you are.  However, they will be able to tell you are here which means we must hide you effectively.  I can do what you ask, but it will require that I work a rather difficult enchantment, so come with me and I will give you a place to rest while I work.”  The assassin realized he had little choice, so he followed the mage down the hall, wondering to himself at the length of the corridor.  The building didn’t look that big to him from the outside… damn mages and their tricks!  Alfron stopped at a particularly long stretch of blank wall and knocked upon it three times, twice in quick succession then a pause, then once.  A door sprang into view and the mage opened it, motioning the assassin to follow him through.  Shadow Stalker paused, wondering if it was some kind of trap, but realized that if the mage had intended him harm he hardly need do it so convoluted a fashion.  He followed the man through the door and found himself in a small room, about twenty by twenty feet.  There was a narrow cot, a table and chair and a bookcase with several books.  “This is a dimensional pocket room, meaning that it exists in a dimension not our own.  Which dimension you are currently standing in is unimportant, suffice to say that no one scrying you from our own dimension will be able to find you here.” He pointed at the cot.  “Rest up, I will return when I have finished my work and when the guards have called off their search of the city.  Likely that will take several hours.”

                “I appreciate this Alfron.”  Shadow Stalker told him.

                The mage, a pale man with long white hair and smooth skin smiled ever so slightly and Shadow Stalker realized that the skin on the sides of his mouth didn’t wrinkle when he did so.  Was he wearing some kind of mask?  “Rest assured assassin, it will cost you at some point in the future.”  With that he turned and left the dimensional pocket room, closing the door behind him.  Shadow Stalker, who had half expected the door to disappear and trap him within was relieved when it did not.  Curious, he moved forward and opened the door and his eyes widened slightly to see a vast, desert like landscape beyond with an erupting volcano in the distance.  He closed the door again quickly and shook his head, wondering at the powers held by mages and their ilk.  His head full of some rather troubling thoughts, he moved to the cot and laid down.

                Though it had been his intent, Shadow Stalker didn’t remember falling asleep after he laid down, but before he knew it he woke to a light touch on his shoulder.  He had his dagger half way to Alfron’s throat before he remembered who the elf was and where he was, then he lowered the knife and sat up.  “Sorry, force of habit.”  The assassin said.

                The alchemist, seeming unfazed, nodded and straightened.  “Perfectly acceptable under the circumstances.”  He held up a hand then, displaying something that glittered gold, held between his thumb and index finger.  “I have what you wanted.”

                Shadow Stalker sat up, wincing slightly at the way the movement called his blood stained bandages to pull at his wound.  The blood had dried so they were especially painful.  “That’s it then?”  He asked the mage.

                Alfron nodded.  “It’s called a ring of non-location, basically it means no one can use any means of magical detection to find you, and believe me, there are a lot more of them available to mages than just scrying.”  From his cloak he pulled a phial with some sort of violet liquid inside, “This is on the house.”

                Shadow Stalker took the phial, “What is it?” He asked in a suspicious voice.  As a rule he didn’t trust mages… they had more tricks than… well, a rogue.

                “Healing potion.  If you are to live long enough to make good on our deal then it behooves me to help you to survive.”  Shadow Stalker saw the logic in that, so he pulled the cork, turned his face away as he pulled down his mask so that the mage wouldn’t see him and tossed back the phials contents.  A warmth, like that experienced when sipping a particularly good alcohol seeped through his system and he noticed the pain in his side, where the spear had pierced him was fading quickly.  “How long will it take it to heal my wound fully?”

                “Moments only.  Here, put the ring on.  Morning has come and the guards have ceased looking for you, but the number of them patrolling the streets and walls have tripled.  They aren’t certain if you’re still in the city, but they are determined to catch you if you are.”  The mage paused a moment, “Also, word of your deed has spread.  The whole city is aware that the Duke was assassinated last night and it is believed the assassin was hired by an angry husband.  Easily believed if one knew the Duke even slightly, and I confess I have supplied the man with a few potions to help him in his conquests.”  Shadow Stalker didn’t like that one bit, but it was bad form to kill a man so soon after he had helped him, besides, he still owed the mage a favor.  “Anyway, I couldn’t care less about his death, his wife was always the real power in Valor.  But the sooner you’re away from my shop the better I’ll like it.”

                Shadow Stalker nodded, took the ring from Alfron’s hand and then removed a glove before slipping it onto one of his fingers.  “Will you know how to get hold of me when you want to cash in your favor?”

                Alfron smiled.  “I can always find my work when I need to.  Just keep the ring… I’ll find you.”

                Shadow Stalker glanced down at the ring on his hand with a frown, then he covered it with the glove.  He didn’t feel any different, but he hadn’t really expected to.  He trusted that it would do its job adequately.  “Is there a place I can change?  It will be easier to slip out of the city if I don’t look like this when I do it.”

                “You may change in here.  When you are ready to leave simply open the door and exit.”  The mage turned away, but before he exited he turned back.  “I will not see you off, I hope you understand.  It is better for us both if I do not.”  Shadow Stalker nodded, and almost asked about the door, but decided not to.  Just because it had showed him a hellish dimension the first time he opened it didn’t mean it would again.  He knew enough about magic to know that.  When the mage had gone Shadow Stalker took his time applying his favored disguise, that of a wealthy merchant, or perhaps lesser noble he had come to refer to as N. Trigue.  What the N stood for no one had yet asked, and he wasn’t sure what he would say if they did, but the disguise had served him well in the past.  When it was in place he turned to the door and opened it, not surprised to find himself facing the alley behind the alchemist shop.  Smiling slightly, he stepped out and closed the door, watching it disappear behind him.  Then, whistling slightly as he moved away, he headed for the city gate.

CHAPTER TWO

                It was a day of celebration for the citizens of Peacehope, indeed much of Algeron celebrated it as well.  As luck would have it, the day fell at the peak of the spring season and flowers were starting to bloom, trees had regained their greenery and the birds were once again occupying the trees.  Their song serenaded the lone occupant of the carriage that rolled along the wide, well traveled road south from Peacehope and he leaned back on the plush interior seat, smiling to himself as he listened.  Life was good for Sir Avalon Charm, eldest son of Lars Charm who was currently serving as Inveigle’s ambassador to Peacehope.  It was a position the patriarch of the family had been filling almost since the cities inception some twenty years earlier.  Avalon, though a native of Inveigle, had been raised here on this beautiful island and had been fortunate enough in his young teens to find himself apprenticed to one of the greatest knights Kyzanthia had ever known, Sir Donovan Moonstone, then First Knight of Peacehope.  In fact, it was in honor of Donovan’s birthday that the small city-state celebrated, for the ruler of Peacehope, Countess Penelope Shroude had declared that the day of his birth was to be a holiday.  Sir Donovan had died nearly ten years ago and it had taken two years for the holiday to be declared, but the man was so well loved that people had been placing flowers around his marble tomb in the cities cemetery every year on his birthday since he had died.  Avalon, who had become First Knight after winning a tournament to determine the position, thought that it had been her witnessing this act that had lead to the countess making the declaration.

                Avalon’s driver, Carson, reined the team pulling the carriage to a halt in front of a gate that was built into a waist high fence and encircled a sprawling manor house which in turn sat in the middle of several acres of land.  Avalon leaned over and opened the door to the carriage, stepping out and taking a deep breath of the fresh island air.  He smiled as he closed the door, seeing his families standard of a crossed sword and lance behind a tower shield emblazoned upon it.  Glancing up at Carson, who was looking down at him expectantly he said, “Stay here and wait.  I have no idea how long this will take.  Feel free to stretch your legs if necessary.”

                The elderly human who had been a paid servant of his family for as long as Avalon could remember nodded his head and tied the reins off to a small hook in the railing in front of him.  “Don’t mind if I do milord.”  Avalon nodded, then turned and opened the gate, stepping through it and starting up the narrow path that led to the wide patio, the raised boards stretching the length of the front of the three story house.  He mounted those stairs and approached the stout oak double doors, but as he raised a hand to knock it was pulled open.  He found himself facing a young man of slight build with collar length brown hair.  He had bad acne across the bridge of his nose and on his cheeks, his blue eyes were concerned and his mouth firmly set.  He was nicely dressed though, as befitted a squire in the home of a Lady. 

                “Rylan.”  Avalon said by way of greeting. Rylan Eaglehart was the youngest of Galon Eagleharts three children.  Galon had been Donovan’s closest friend since childhood and his three children had all been pretty close to Donovan’s as well, though Rylan was a little young to actually be friends with any of Donovan’s five girls.  Instead he served as a squire to the eldest Moonstone daughter, Ariana.

                “I’ve been hoping you’d show up soon.”  Rylan said in a low voice to the knight, as though afraid of being overheard.  “She’s in the back… blowing off some steam.”

                Avalon felt his heart sink a little, that was never a good sign.  “I’ll deal with it, thanks.”  Rylan seemed relieved to let the knight handle the situation and stepped aside, motioning the man through.  Avalon crossed the threshold and removed the cape that hung from his shoulders, hanging it from a hook next to the door.  Glancing again at the squire he offered the youth an encouraging smile then he turned and made his way toward a door in the back of the plushly appointed sitting room in which he had found himself after entering.  As was always the case, Rylan had a nice fire crackling in the hearth of the sitting room and the whole house was pleasantly warm.  The boy had a flair for such things, though according to Ariana he was somewhat lacking in knightly skills.

                Sir Avalon made his way through the door at the back of the sitting room and entered the dining hall, which had been used over the years to host meals for visiting dignitaries and such.  There was a much smaller, more intimate dining room in another part of the house that the family used when it was just them eating.  On the far side of the dining room was an exit that the knight headed for, having visited the area many times in the past he knew his way already.  The hall beyond was narrow and lined on both sides with doors, ending in a spiral staircase that both ascended and descended, though Avalon wanted neither. The room he sought was accessed by a door to the right of the stairs and he stepped into it, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame as he watched her.

                To call Ariana Moonstone a beautiful woman was doing her an injustice in Avalon’s mind, for the word simply wasn’t grand enough to describe her.  He doubted that any one word was, though the closest he had ever come to finding the right one was exquisite.  Standing an even six feet tall the warrior had long, flowing hair like fire and green eyes that sparkled like emeralds.  Her lips were full and red without the need of makeup to make them so and her high cheekbones seemed always flushed and pink, she was a woman who needed little in the way of makeup and even without it was akin to a goddess in the eyes of most men.  Avalon watched as she worked her way through the final moments of a sword fighting exercise, her strong, lithe frame moving slowly and exactly through the demanding form.  She had her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and wore a pair of loose fitting cotton pants and a sleeveless tunic that was held closed by a belt tied about her waspish waist, her high, full breasts pushing against the tunic and parting its folds at the top so that her cleavage, gleaming with perspiration, was very visible.  She was holding a greatsword elevated above her head, as though poised to strike at the head of an opponent, and while she moved with the grace of a hunting cat it was at the pace of sloth, her slender but strong arms quivering slightly as she brought the blade down.  Her long, svelte legs moved in unison with the rest of her, the warrior poised on the balls of her feet, he steps level so that there was no up and down movement as she finished the sweeping slice of the sword and then she suddenly whipped around in a lightning fast motion, almost too quick for him to follow, the blade glinting in the rooms dim light as she swept it across at waist level.  He saw her eyes fall momentarily on him and he smiled, though she didn’t let his presence distract her from finishing the final move of the kata.  The sword, which Avalon knew had once belonged to her father and was called Vindicator, arced upward as though slicing open an opponent from groin to collar, then she reversed its angle so the point was down and drove the sword into the hard ground, its magically sharpened blade sinking several inches before it stopped, the entire six foot length of sword wobbling slightly as she removed her hand from the long hilt and stepped back.  She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath which made Avalon’s eyes light up when her breasts rose and parted the material of her tunic even further, then she opened her eyes and gave him a slightly self-deprecating smile.

                “I’m not ready to go yet.”  She said lamely, motioning at her workout attire.

                The knight shrugged, moving fully into the room.  “I see absolutely nothing wrong with what you’re wearing.  You would still turn every head in the room when you entered.”

                Ariana laughed, “Only because they would be trying to figure out what I was wearing and why I was wearing it!”  She stepped into his arms, sliding her hands up his chest and snaking her arms about his neck, molding her lush body to his.  He felt his pulse quicken and when her soft, moist red lips found his he returned the kiss with all the fire she ignited within him, which was considerable.  The kiss lingered for a long while and for a moment Avalon thought it might go further, but she stepped back and sighed, obviously regretting that she had done so.  “In truth, I don’t even want to go!  But it’s expected of me… so I suppose I should go and get dressed.”

                Avalon knew what her getting dressed would entail and figured he had better settle in for a long wait.  Though she was one of the deadliest warriors he had ever known, in some ways Ariana Moonstone was still very much a woman, and one of those ways was that it always took her forever to get ready to go anywhere!  As he turned and escorted her from the room he asked, “Why wouldn’t you want to attend your fathers celebration?”  He already knew the answer, but he correctly guessed that it might help her to talk it out.

                “To everyone in the city it’s a celebration of the day he was born,” Ariana said sadly, “but to my sisters and me it’s also a reminder of how he died.”  Avalon nodded sagely, having guessed that.  He hadn’t been in Peacehope at the time, having gone to Inveigle on business for his father, but he knew that Donovan Moonstone had been killed at a birthday celebration his daughters had put together for him.  It had been pretty horrible by all accounts he had heard, but none of the five Moonstone girls liked to talk about it.  He and Ariana were betrothed now, he hoped to one day coax the story out of her somehow, but if there was one thing he had learned about her in the five years they had been dating, it was that this paladin came to things in her won time and in her own way.

                “I’ll wait for you in the sitting room, shall I?” he asked.

                She smiled at him coyly, “What, you don’t want to scrub my back?”

                He laughed, leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips and then answered, “Want to?  Definitely.  But should I?  We both know where that would lead, and then we’d never get to the party!”

                “Is that supposed to convince me it’s a bad idea?”  She asked him, still smiling seductively at him.

                “Yes.  You know very well that the Countess would never forgive you for ditching your own fathers party.  Besides, I’ll bet your sisters are already there.  Sasha is for sure.”  Avalon said pointedly.

                Ariana rolled her eyes.  “Only because she’s hosting the thing!  She owns the building!”

                “Totally beside the point.”  Avalon told her, placing a hand gently on the small of her back and propelling toward he stairs that led up toward the rooms she kept on the third floor.  Her sisters used to live here with her, but since coming of age they had found their own places.  “I’ll wait here.”

                “You don’t know what your missing knight!”  She called to him as she started up the stairs.

                ‘Oh, yes I do!’  He thought sadly as he made his way to the sitting room where he was soon in a game of chess with Rylan.

                Ariana Moonstone moved through the big, nearly empty house, her gaze casting about at all the familiar sights.  She let her fingers trail along the polished wood surface of a table in the second floor hall where her youngest sister Talia had once cracked her head open after tripping while running through the house.  She had been so tough, even then, refusing to cry till she actually saw the tears in their fathers eyes.  He had been more scared than she was, Ariana remembered.  The paladin had been fifteen when that happened, sixteen years ago now.  As she made her way down the hall toward the private stair that ascended to the room she used but had once been her fathers, her eyes played over the portraits on her walls.  She and her sisters were all there, as was her father and his father.  Also there were some of the other people who had lived in the house over the years… Sasha’s mother, Giselle, who had originally been hired as a nanny for Ariana.  It turned out that she was a gypsy witch who had cast a spell upon Donovan, making him fall in love with her.  His friends Galon and Gar had figured it out after a long while and killed the witch, but not before she had given birth to Sasha.  Also present were portraits of the original Dragons, the adventuring party Donovan had founded that was sanctioned by Peacehope and which she now carried on with a new team.  Wolfgar Graybeard, the dwarven prince of the mithron mines, Galon Eaglehart the High General of Peacehopes military forces, Nastasha Kildare, called Archress because of her unerring accuracy with a bow and her uncle, Rolin Moonstone, a ranger who had been married for years to Archress.  Also present in the portraits were Gideon Tyrell, then an up and coming mage and now the headmaster of the magical school here in Peacehope.  Ishara Wodan, the Countess’s younger sister was represented too, for she had been a Dragon once, all be it briefly. 

                Ariana paused in front of the portrait of a rather striking blond woman, Aribeth Case, she had been a Templar of Ra and spent several years as a member of the team.  She had been beautiful with long blonde hair and green eyes, Ariana had always thought that there had been something between Aribeth and her father.  And then, when she had died in childbirth Donovan had taken the baby girl in and adopted her, named her Aribeth for her mother.  Ariana had never known for certain if Aribeth was her half sister, but she suspected as much and had never questioned that the beautiful woman who was now an accomplished mage with the Peacehope Mages guild was family.  Smiling, the paladin mounted the stairs that led up to the private half of the third floor where only she and a few others ever went.  As she moved across her bedroom she stripped out of her workout clothes, all the while moving toward a claw footed porcelain tub in one corner.  As she stepped from the cotton pants that had pooled around her naked legs on the floor she spoke a command word in a strange tongue and the tub magically filled from the bottom up with piping hot water.  She smiled, remembering that the tub had been a gift from a former lover… long before she had taken up with Avalon.  She hissed happily as she slipped into the water, feeling the water, which was itself magically enchanted, soothing the aches and pains of her workout.  As she started to soap herself off she leaned her head back against the rim of the tub and thought back to how all this had started.  How this day had become both a blessing and a curse for her and her sisters….

                Spring days in Peacehope were beautiful to behold, and this one was no different.  The sun was shining, the birds were singing and many of the flowers of summer were already in bloom.  Ariana and her sisters had been working all day to decorate for the party that they had taken great pains to ensure their father didn’t know about.  It was his fifty-first birthday and they had invited all of his closest friends, which had meant preparing for this party weeks ago since some of those friends lived across an ocean and had to travel a long ways to get here.  But now the moment of truth had arrived, any second now the man of the hour would arrive with his friends Galon and Gar, who were in on the surprise and had promised to deliver him at the designated time. 

                Ariana stood by the large window in the sitting room of their manor house, her back to the wall, smiling as she pulled the drapes back slightly with a finger, watching for their arrival.  Twenty-one years old, Ariana was already a full figured woman with a growing reputation as a warrior.  Her sisters were scattered about the room, prepared to duck behind the furniture with the other guests when she gave them the signal.  Almost as if on cue she heard the sound of hooves on the gravel of the road leading from the city and she let the curtain drop, waving everyone to their hiding places.  She ducked behind the door herself, so that it would conceal her as it opened.  Moments passed and finally they all heard the heavy footfalls of the two humans and the dwarf mounting the stairs. 

                “It’s awfully dark in there.”  She heard her father say, “You sure the girls are home?”

                She smiled slightly, then she heard the gruff tones of Wolfgar Graybeard respond, “Ariana told us to have you home in time for dinner, and you know as well as we do that you don’t go back on yer word to that girl o’ yours.” 

                Her father said nothing as she heard the doorknob rattle, then watched it turn and the door was pushed open.  As the knight stepped through the door light filled the room and everyone who had been hidden within jumped up and shouted “Surprise!”  Donovan staggered slightly, surprised by the sudden light and the shout, then suddenly he was beaming around the room as people came forward and pounded him on the back, congratulated him on making it fifty-one years and wished him a happy birthday.  Ariana stood next to the open door, smiling and watching as men and women her father hadn’t seen in years came up to pay their respects. 

                At one point, when there was a break in the flow of people he glanced over at her, his green eyes sparkling just as hers did, “Did you put this together?”

                She shrugged, “I had help.”  Twenty minutes later a band that had set up in a corner of the room started to play and people were dancing.  Donovan was lead onto the makeshift dance floor by the Countess herself to much hooting and hollering.  It was a complete secret that the two of them were lovers, so naturally the whole city knew about it.  Before long Galon too was lead out onto the floor by Duchess Rethbourne from Valor, attending the party on her own, her husband having opted to stay home.  No doubt he was warming some woman’s bed tonight, taking advantage of his wife’s absence.  Ariana didn’t feel too bad for her, she was fairly certain she would be warming Galon’s bed tonight.  That particular relationship was a secret and only a very few people knew about it, including Ariana.  Galon and the Duchess were both still married and neither of them could afford the scandal that their relationship going public would ignite.  Ariana watched the dance floor fill up, smiling and exchanging pleasantries with people as they passed.  Her father seemed to having a fine time and kept smiling around at everyone.  She saw her sister Sasha on the dance floor as well, though that was no surprise, the gypsy didn’t need a partner to dance and was often the center of attention when she did.  Also on the floor was her adopted sister Aribeth, dancing with Huntyr Shroude, the Countess’s stepson who Ariana was certain had only come to the party in the hopes of hooking up with one of her sisters.  The Gods knew he had tried often enough over the years.  He had succeeded with Sasha, she suspected, which had only whet his appetite for the other Moonstone women.  She hoped that Aribeth wasn’t foolish enough to sleep with him, for Huntyr was fine to look at but he had a reputation as an abusive boyfriend.  Only seventeen, Aribeth hadn’t yet had a lot of experience with men, not that Ariana had either, her steady boyfriend was the only man she had so far been with.  Sasha, on the other hand, was a different story.  Ariana wasn’t certain if their father had yet heard some of the rumors floating around about her eighteen year old sister, but she hoped he had not.  Evidently the gypsy was becoming rather promiscuous.

                “Hey red,” said a deep male voice that had suddenly appeared at her side, “want to dance?”  She arched an eyebrow at her step-brother Rellik, tall and broad of shoulder with a squared jaw and ruggedly handsome features.  He had come to live with them when her father had hired his mother Gwenyth as a nanny for his girls, then they had fallen in love and gotten married.  That had made Rellik step-brother to her, Sasha and Aribeth.  Not long after that wedding Krystel had been born, and then a couple of years later Talia.  The problem was, Rellik didn’t act much like a step-brother, he had made it clear right from the start that he desired all three of his step siblings, though he didn’t pursue Sasha and Aribeth with even half the ardor that he displayed toward Ariana.  She opened her mouth to say something rather scathing, but he cut her off before she could start, taking her hand and jerking her forward into his arms. “Come on, it’s just a dance!”  Ariana gasped in surprise and suddenly found herself sweeping around the dance floor, pressed uncomfortably close to Rellik’s admittedly well-muscled frame.  Not wanting to make a scene at her fathers party, she smiled and pretended to enjoy herself, gritting her teeth even as he slid a hand down to her firm, round buttocks and squeezed.  “Damn you feel good.”  He groaned into her ear, pulling her tighter against him, feeling her firm breasts press against his chest.

                Suddenly another male voice spoke up, “I think it’s time I cut in there Vashόn.”  That was Rellik’s last name, for he had never taken the name Moonstone after his mother married.  Ariana felt a surge of relief to see her boyfriend, Vance Falcone standing behind her step-brother, looking rather stern but not making a scene of it.     

                To his credit, Rellik didn’t argue, but he leaned in and whispered into her ear, “One day, you and I will tumble, you wait and see.”  Then he stepped back and motioned Vance forward, leaving a chill of revulsion racing down Ariana’s spine.  Rellik turned stiffly away and made a bee line for the door, disappearing out it, much to her relief.

                “That guy is a real….”  Vance trailed off, either unable to find a word to describe Rellik or unwilling to speak it in her presence.  She suspected the latter.

                “…freak.”  She supplied for him and he laughed, slipping his arm about her waist and pulling her snugly against him.  Unlike with Rellik, she felt good pressed up against Vance.  He wasn’t as physically imposing as her step-brother, but he was every bit as hard from shoulders to toes.  He was more trim, his build more athletic.  He had short cropped blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes, a gentle touch and lips that set her skin on fire when they brushed it.

                “This is a good party, you and your sisters did good.”  He told her as she leaned into him, resting her head on his chest.  The colored lanterns hanging from the ceiling were doing dazzling things to the clothing of the partiers, especially the dresses worn by the women, many of which were rather revealing.  Ariana knew that her father had a well deserved reputation as a ladies man and she couldn’t help wondering how many of these women he had taken to his bed.  If the rumors were true, a great many of them was the likely answer.  “You look stunning by the way.”  He said into her ear. 

                She smiled broader, happy he had noticed that she wore a dress she had chosen specifically for him.  It was light blue with off the shoulder straps and low cut, revealing the upper slopes of her generous breasts.  Ariana had always thought her best feature was her legs, though she knew most men preferred her D cups, so she had selected a dress with a skirt that had a slit in the side that came up to mid-thigh, revealing a flash of well turned calf whenever she took a step.  Her scarlet hair was piled atop her head in the latest fashion and she wore a necklace of emeralds and sapphires, though also present was the medallion that every member of her family wore, shaped like a crescent moon, the points of hers pointing up at her throat.  That was the only difference between them, each medallion hung differently from the others. “I’m glad you noticed.”  She picked her head up and smiled at him, their eyes locked and their heads drifted together.  His lips brushed hers ever so slightly and she felt a thrill course through her, then they came together more firmly and she parted her lips for him, accepting his questing tongue into her mouth. 

                “Hey now,” said her fathers voice suddenly from right beside them, “I thought this was my party.  Don’t go having more fun than me!”  Ariana and Vance broke their kiss and the young man had the decency to look abashed at having been caught making out with the first knights daughter.  Both of them were well past the age of consent, but that didn’t make it easy to face the parent of your lover.  Ariana just smiled at her father, seeing the way his eyes sparkled, knowing he had only intended to tease Vance.  The elder Moonstone still had his arms around the Countess and the beautiful elf with the raven hair and violet eyes smiled at her as she let the knight guide her away.

                “That was embarrassing!”  Vance said, pulling her back into his arms and dancing her in the opposite direction from her father.

                Ariana laughed, “That’s exactly why he did it!  He likes you Vance, he approves… really!”  She laughed harder at the skeptical expression on her lovers face.  “Oh fine, be all self-conscious if you want to, but do it while your getting me a glass of wine, won’t you?”  They had stepped off the dance floor now and he nodded, smiling slightly as he moved off toward the bar that had been set up in a corner.  While she waited for him to return she went back to watching the partiers, making certain that everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, playing the good hostess as her mother had taught her.  Well, Gwenyth hadn’t really been her mother, but she had been as good as, teaching the older girls all the necessary skills to being a proper lady.  Though Ariana had taken better to her fathers fighting training, she had been a good student to her step-mother as well, and had loved her as a mother.  Donovan hadn’t taken up with the Countess till after Gwenyth succumbed to a wasting disease the healers had called cancer.  Ariana didn’t understand it, but she had hated watching it claim her step-mother like it had.

                As her gaze swept the party she spotted a couple of people that didn’t look to be enjoying themselves as much as the others.  Her fifteen year old sister, Krystel was standing alone in a corner, nursing a glass of wine and watching the affair with a wistful kind of look.  Krys was every bit the beauty that her sisters were, though she had yet to grow into her looks as well. She had steel gray eyes and long, burly brown hair, a pert nose and lips that were not so full as Ariana’s but still, according to the boys she’d overheard talking about her sister, begged to be kissed.  The only thing that set Krystel apart from her sisters was that she had bad eyesight, requiring that she wear a pair of oculars that had been set up for her by one of the cities healers.  Krystel thought they made her look ugly, but Ariana found them distinguished and knew that several young men around the city found her quite appealing as well.  The other partygoer that didn’t seem to be feeling the festivities as much was a young man, a couple of years her junior that had been apprenticed to her uncle Rolin as a ranger in training a year before.  She had been introduced to him as Falcon, but she knew his real name was Kestrel Cortal and he came from the forests that bordered the human empire of Errgaunt and the mountainous Trey’Elden.  He was tall and slender with shaggy brown hair and a narrow face that was rather well put together she thought.  He was a handsome young man and she felt that in a few years time he would be a real heartbreaker, she also knew he had the hots for her, she had seen him casting covetous glances in her direction from time to time.  As Vance reappeared at her side with a glass of wine for each of them, she suddenly thought that it might be time to give the young rangers apprentice a bit of a thrill.

                Taking the glass of wine from Vance she turned to her blonde haired, blue eyed lover and said, “Would you do me a favor?”  He smiled and nodded, which she knew he would.  Vance Falcone had proven often enough that he would do just about anything she asked him to.  “Would you go and ask my sister to dance?”  She nodded toward Krystel and Vance looked in that direction.  “I’m needed elsewhere.” She nodded toward Falcon and the young man, who was training at the temple to be a Templar, smiled and nodded.  Without a word he moved off toward Krystel who colored prettily when she saw him coming.  Wine glass in hand, Ariana headed toward the young ranger to be.  He saw her coming and his thick eyebrows shot up, his blue eyes playing appreciatively over her gown, obviously liking how she filled it out.  ‘This one is rather bold.’  She decided, realizing for the first time that her contact with her uncles apprentice had been rather limited to date.  ‘I like that.’  She stopped in front of him, placing her wine glass untouched on a table nearby.  “Enjoying the party?”

                He shrugged, his expression saying plainly that he hadn’t been till she walked over.  “Not particularly, no.  I’m not much for parties.  Too many people.”

                “Let me guess, you’d rather be out in the woods building a shelter, hunting for game or fishing in the Starlight?”  The Starlight was the river that ran through the middle of Algeron, a good stretch of it through the property on which Moonstone Manor stood.  It ran through Peacehope as well, forking halfway through and making an island on which the Countess’s palace now stood.

                Falcon shrugged again, “I can think of a few even more enjoyable things to do in the wilderness with the right company.”  Again his eyes traveled boldly over her and she had to laugh.  “You think I’m funny?”  He asked, his eyebrows going up again.

                “What I think is that you are going to be very difficult to resist someday Falcon.”  She told him honestly.  “And if I didn’t already have a boyfriend,” she nodded toward where Vance was now dancing with a still embarrassed looking Krystel, “I might have taken you up on that offer.”

                He shrugged again.  “Your loss red.”  She smiled even more, liking this brash young man in spite of herself.  “And by the way, call me Kestrel.”

                “All right Kestrel… do you dance?”  She asked, nodding toward the dance floor which had been made simply by removing all the furniture from their sitting room.

                He shook his head.  “Never learned.  My mother wanted me and my siblings to, but there always seemed to be something more important to do.”

                She reached out and took his hand, “You’re about to learn.”  He started to protest as she led him toward the floor, so she turned back to him and smiled challengingly.  “I’m offering you a chance to put your arms around me and you’re resisting?”

                He blinked, surprised at her openness and then he smiled slyly and let her lead him onto the floor.  She stepped into his arms, surprised to find that she had to look up to meet his eyes for she hadn’t realized until he had her pressed up against him (which she noted he wasted no time in doing) that he was at least a full six inches taller than her.  His eyes were rather striking as well, light blue with hints of green and one had a fleck of brown in it.  She found it rather difficult to look away from those eyes, but she managed and spent a surprisingly pleasant forty-five minutes teaching him to dance.  It wasn’t until Vance tapped the young man on the shoulder that she relinquished her young student, and she smiled at her man as she saw him slyly push Krystel toward the young ranger.  As she and her blonde boyfriend danced away she saw over his shoulder that Krystel had picked up the lessons where she left off.  That was something her sister had always been good at, teaching.  “That was rather artfully done sir.”  She complimented Vance.

                “Yeah well… it looked like young Falcon was having entirely too much fun for my taste.”  He said and she couldn’t tell if he was joking.  For good measure she kissed him soundly on the mouth, distracting him from any jealous thoughts.  “Say,” he said after a moment, “I thought this was a birthday party.   Isn’t there a cake?”

                Her eyes widened suddenly and she stepped away from him, “The cake!  Damn!”  She turned and raced for the kitchen.

                Vance, a little dumbfounded, standing abandoned on the dance floor called after her, “Was it something I said?”

                Ariana raced through the dining hall and toward the kitchen, hoping that she hadn’t ruined everything by forgetting about the cake.  Cooking had never exactly been her strong suit, but she had been determined to do her fathers cake for herself.  She wasn’t even halfway across the dining hall, which was really a rather vast room, when she could smell it.  Near as her nose could tell it wasn’t burnt, and that gave her hope.  Pushing through the heavy swinging door that blocked the kitchen off from the rest of the room Ariana stepped into the spacious area and stopped, her smooth brow wrinkling in a frown.  The back door, which lead out into the yard toward the various outbuildings, was wide open and she was certain she had closed it.  The cake was out of the oven, sitting on the countertop and apparently still cooling.  Had one of her sisters remembered it and come to take it out, then needed to get some air?

                “Sasha?” she called toward the door, thinking it most likely that the oldest of her four younger sisters had been the one to remember the cake for her. 

                “Afraid not.”  Said a soft male voice and she whirled, her hand instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn’t there.  A man stood against the wall where he would have been blocked from her view by the door as she entered, just as she had done to her father.  She caught only the briefest glimpse of ebony skin and white hair before he raised his hand and blew some powder into her face.

                “Who the fu….?”  She never finished the question as the powder did its work very quickly.  The young paladin slumped toward the ground, her eyes rolling up in her head as she went.

                The paladin sat up in the tub, realizing she had been daydreaming for a while and wondering if Avalon was getting impatient.  That wasn’t likely knowing her fiancé, but she saw no reason to prolong this any further.  She clambered from the tub and took a fluffy green towel from where it sat on a nearby counter and rubbed herself dry till her skin tingled.  As she did what little makeup she allowed herself and piled her hair atop her head she thought back to the rest of that day.  It had been horrible, she had awakened from the powder to find her hands tied behind her back, lying on the floor of the sitting room.  The man who had drugged her, who she had later learned was named Scarab, was standing in the center of the room with a sword raised high, her father kneeling at his feet.  She had come to just in time to see the shadow elf behead her father.  She thought she had screamed, but she couldn’t remember.  Anyway, it had led to them realizing that she was awake which in turn had led to one of the attackers, a half-ogre named Klaw dragging her upstairs and raping her on her fathers bed.  The very bed she slept on now and often took Avalon into with her.  It was her way of refusing to let them beat her, even though the memories always haunted her, like now.  She had escaped from the lust crazed half-ogre and disappeared into the woods behind the house with her fathers sword.  Klaw had gone after her and they had fought, eventually winding up knee deep in the Starlight.  Ariana had taken Klaw’s hand then wound up jumping off a high waterfall to escape him.  The attackers had taken her sisters, the Countess, the Duchess and several other attractive women they had thought worth something on the slave auctions.  It had taken a couple of years, but Ariana had gotten them all back with the help of her fathers former allies.  Not long after that she had formed her own team of Dragons, and she still searches to this day for a couple of the men that had been there.  Scarab was good at hiding, he hadn’t resurfaced since he had killed her father.  And Klaw, she had run across him a few times, but he kept escaping her.  He had turned the handicap she had given him into an advantage, having several detachable weapons crafted for the stump where his hand had been.  He had become a leader in his own right of a very bad group of people that called themselves the Reavers.  The Dragons and the Reavers had crossed swords on multiple occasions, but still she hadn’t managed to kill the half-ogre.

                Knowing such unpleasant thoughts would do her no good in the celebration to come, especially since she didn’t want to be there in the first place, Ariana forced them from her mind and finished getting dressed, then she went down to meet up with Avalon and Rylan.  She had told her squire that he could attend this party, thinking it good practice for him to hobnob with nobles and test out the courtesies she had been teaching him all this time.  As she stepped into the sitting room Avalon and Rylan both stood up from their chess board and turned to face her.  Both of them stared, slack jawed and speechless.

                Ariana looked from her knight to her squire and raised her delicately arched brows, “What?”

                “Breathtaking.”  Avalon said softly and Rylan, who still couldn’t find his voice, just nodded.  The young squire was a little in love with her, she knew, and that had posed something of a problem in the past when she was trying to teach him something.  Still, she had promised his father she would take him on and she intended to see it through.

                The dress she was wearing, that both men found so appealing, she had had custom made for the occasion.  All of her sisters and a few others she knew of had had dresses made for the day, and even though she wasn’t looking forward to the party Ariana knew that she would cause quite a stir.  The dress was made of spider silk, which was currently the rage in high fashion, spun from the webs of a particularly ugly and poisonous spider in the goblin homeland of Blackguard.  The lightweight material billowed nicely where it counted and clung provocatively everywhere else.  The dress was strapless, leaving her shoulders bare and the upper slopes of her breasts as well with its daringly low cut, though it plunged even further down her back, leaving the entire expanse bare to the waist.  The skirt was unique too, hiding her left leg from view, hugging the lines of her ass and hips and then flaring open down the right, leaving the full length of her svelte right leg bare.  She wore high heeled sandals as well, with straps that wrapped about her calf all the way to the knee.  With her hair piled up in the latest fashion and a sparkling sapphire necklace to match the gems in her ears she looked for all the world like a queen arriving for the ball.

                Avalon swallowed audibly, then stepped forward and offered her his arm.  She smiled at him and took it, then allowed him to guide her to the door, Rylan rushing forward to open it for them both.  They walked out onto the patio and Carson, who had been lounging on a bench on the porch hopped up to precede them to the carriage.  When he caught sight of Ariana he froze, his eyes wandering slowly and openly up and down the sexy paladin.  “Hey, watch those eyes mister, they might be writing checks your body can’t cash.”  Avalon warned him.

                The old servant smiled meekly and nodded, “Apologies milady, but you look… well, you know how you look.”  With that he turned and scampered down the stairs and across the yard toward the carriage.  Ariana smiled, trying hard not to laugh.  She wasn’t always a woman who enjoyed the effect she had on men, but tonight for some reason she was enjoying it immensely.  By the time they had reached the carriage Carson was up on the drivers seat.  Rylan moved forward and opened the door on the side, allowing Avalon to assist his date up into the carriage.  Before the knight entered he turned to the boy and said, “You… up top.”  Rylan’s face fell but he nodded and closed the door behind the knight.

                As the knight settled into the seat beside Ariana she looked at him and said, “Why did you send him up top?  That wasn’t very nice!”

                Avalon’s hand came to rest on her bare thigh where it showed through the opening in the skirt, her skin was warm and smooth beneath his palm.  “He’ll survive… I’m not sure if I will!”  Then his lips were on hers and she was responding, her lips parting for his questing tongue, meeting it with her own.  She snaked her arms up around his neck and his slipped about her waist and she gasped slightly as he pulled her onto his lap, the Junoesque paladin maneuvering so she straddled his waist.  As she broke the kiss and leaned back away from him Avalon trailed his lips down the long, slender column of her throat, burying his face in her cleavage.  He was very glad that it was going to take the better part of an hour to get to her sisters place the Gypsy Fortune, because he was going to need every second….

                By the time Ariana and Avalon were climbing from the carriage in front of the Gypsy Fortune not a thread nor hair was out of place, there was nothing to give away what had happened between them in the carriage.  But as they moved toward the entrance Avalon caught the smirk on Rylan’s face and couldn’t help noticing that all the tension that Ariana had been holding between her shoulders at the prospect of facing this party seemed to be gone.  He took some pride in that, for Ariana Moonstone was every bit as skilled a lover as she was a fighter and it was a rare thing indeed for a man to match her in either one.  More often then not, Avalon was left feeling somewhat guilty for fear of having not pleased her much.  This afternoon that wasn’t an issue, and he felt that the dress she wore had been what inspired him to a new level of performance. 

                Carson took the carriage to park it with the others down the street and Avalon knew it wouldn’t be long before the old man would have a card game cooking between the drivers.  Carson was a bit of a shark, or so he had heard.  As the carriage rattled off down the road the three passengers crossed into the Gypsy Fortune.  About five years past Sasha Moonstone had turned some of the fortune she had made as a dancer into this establishment.  Calling herself Kizmet, the gypsy had become rather famous all over the world for her performances and amassed a great deal of wealth on top of what was left her by her father.  Ariana was proud of her sister’s accomplishments and as they walked into the building she glanced around in awe of what Sasha had put together.  There were hanging lanterns of multiple colors everywhere, and Avalon noted with delight that her spider silk dress seemed to reflect them all beautifully.  A band played on the raised stage where Sasha herself was known to perform at least once a night to a packed house and people were crowding the dance floor that took up the center of the room.  Scattered about the floor were a number of tables and chairs and there was a long bar across the room that was also crowded with revelers.  Streamers hung from the rafters and torches flickered with multi-colored lights in wall sconces.  Ariana could sense the hand of their friend Gnort the Alchemist involved in some of these decorations, but she couldn’t fault him.  They looked wonderful.

                “Ana!”  Called a female voice and the paladin turned to see her sister Krystel waving at her from across the room.

                Smiling, the redhead returned the wave, seeing that Aribeth and Talia were there as well.  The only one missing was Sasha, but she was likely behind the scenes somewhere, seeing to a detail of some kind.  This was the sort of thing her sister was made for, excelled at even.  “I should go and say hi to my siblings.”  The paladin said to her date.

                “I’ll get us drinks, shall I?” Avalon offered and she nodded, moving toward where her sisters stood.  As she neared them Talia, the youngest of their group rushed forward and threw her arms around Ariana.  The paladin was aware of the heads that this turned and she could well imagine the thoughts going through the minds of some of the men around them as they watched the sisters embrace. 

                “It’s about time you showed up!”  Krystel said with mock severity, then smiling as she too hugged her sister.  Aribeth said nothing, but stepped up and hugged her too.  It looked to Ariana like the mage had been crying, but she didn’t comment on it. She had expected her sisters to be as mixed up about this celebration as she was.  As she greeted them, she took in their dresses, each one custom made for the occasion.  Of the Moonstone girls Krystel was always the most repressed, and her dress showed it, though Ariana could sense that one of the other girls had taken a hand in it as well, for it was a little sexier than Krys usually liked.  Her gown looked to be made of satin and shimmered nicely, reflecting the lights from the lanterns.  It fit like a second skin, molding to her sisters athletic but still curvy frame.  Krystel was not so well endowed as Ariana, and had a more slender shape but it was still pleasing and was well accentuated by the dress.  The part that Ariana thought must have had to do with one of the other sisters was the strategically placed upside down triangle cut out of the bodice, revealing the cleavage that most of Krystel’s clothing went a long way to try and hide.  Her sister had also done something different with her hair, which Ariana thought might have been one of the other girls doing as well.  It was piled atop her head in part, but there was also a lot of it tumbling down her back to just below her shoulders.  Even her oculars seemed to shine, their lenses reflecting the light just enough to hide the fact that she too looked to have been crying.  Ariana had to look pretty close to see the red rims around her eyes.

                Next to Krys, Aribeth looked positively radiant in a gown that looked like it might have been crushed velvet.  The adopted Moonstone had a longer face than her sisters, but her blue eyes, which today matched her earrings, sparkled like amethysts.  One of the things that always stood out the most about Beth was that her hair was a shiny, almost metallic silver in color.  Her dress, which did indeed look like crushed velvet on closer inspection, was a muted shade of pink and fit snugly over shapely frame, the paladin noticing that it was drawing a good deal of attention from the men in the room.  Several big gems sparkled on her fingers but like Krystel, the only necklace she wore was her Moonstone medallion.

                In stark contrast to all her sisters, as was common with her, Talia had opted more for the wow factor than style.  Her dress, if it could actually qualify for that, was a two piece affair consisting of a skirt that hugged her full buttocks and well rounded hips nicely, dropping to mid-calf to show of the fact that her feet were bare.  Her top was loose fitting but her breasts, which were the largest of all the sisters, thrust firmly against it, causing the rest of the shirt to hang provocatively from them, her large nipples rather plainly outlined beneath the silk of the shirt.  Her navel was also visible as the size of her breasts didn’t let the shirt come down far enough to cover it.  Her long, platinum blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail that descended from the top of her head down her back.  On most women the outfit would have looked trashy, but for some reason on Talia it just worked… it seemed to fit her personality as well as it fit her shapely body.

                “Where’s our fifth?”  Ariana asked, glancing around for Sasha.

                “Oh, she’s here somewhere.  Likely dancing with the twentieth partner of the day… or is it the thirtieth by now?”  Aribeth asked and Ariana realized suddenly that her sister was a little drunk.  Of the five girls, Aribeth and Sasha got along the least which was odd considering they both had ties to magic, though they took different stances where it was concerned.

                “That’s just how she copes with the stress of the day.”  Krystel said in her pragmatic “teacher” tone.  Ariana had always noticed how Krystel tended to sound like a teacher when she was trying to explain something.  “We all have our own ways.”  She looked across at Ariana, “Get your workout in did you?” 

                The paladin thought briefly of the carriage ride over, and smiled as she said, “Yes I did as a matter of fact.”  She knew that Krys meant her home workout, but she enjoyed her inside joke anyway.

                “Here you go.”  Avalon said, suddenly appearing by her side and passing her a glass of wine.  She took it with a smile and then smiled wider as she realized he had brought glasses for her sisters too.  He handed them around, then raised his.  “To Donovan Moonstone, whose memory will last forever though he himself could not.”  Touched, all the girls raised their glasses and then drank, Aribeth a little deeper than the others.  Evidently she dealt with stress in the worst possible way, by trying to drown it.  Ariana decided she would have to keep an eye on her sister.  A drunk mage could be a dangerous thing if provoked, and Beth tended to have a temper.  “Come on, dance with me.”  With that Ariana felt herself dragged onto the dance floor by her knight and spent an enjoyable hour dancing with him.  She caught occasional glimpses of her sisters dancing with various men as they worked up the courage to ask the girls.  That was one of the problems with being a Moonstone Ariana had always thought.  Most men considered you unapproachable because of who you were and how you looked.  It was intimidating to a lot of men… but not all.  She nestled in closer to Avalon as she thought this and he held her a little tighter.

                After they had burned up the dance floor for a long while Avalon led her off it toward a table where several faces she recognized sat.  It was her team… her Dragons, named for the very team her father had founded years before.  They were all watching her, their expressions varied.  Tasha was smiling, her seafoam green eyes dancing with delight at seeing Ariana and Avalon together, to her right Strut looked like he was brooding, though she knew the barbarian could be as happy as can be and still look like he was brooding. He had an ale in front of him, so he couldn’t be too bad off.  To his right sat Falcon, the very man she had taught to dance the day her father had died, ten years older now and good deal more experienced… he had become like a brother to her over the last decade.  Across the table from Kestrel, to Tasha’s left, sat Shadow Walker who watched the crowd around him with furtive eyes, seeming to miss nothing.  He was the youngest of them, and pound for pound possibly the most dangerous.  At eighteen years old he had already been with the team for two years and had proven himself one of the most skilled rogues she had ever known.  To his left sat the likely reason for his unease, the teams resident healer, who also happened to be a priest to Rachnos, the Spider God.  She knew that Shadow Walker was deathly afraid of spiders, though he fought hard to hide that fact, and having Rachnid the goblin priest seated right next to him was not an arrangement the young rogue could be comfortable with.  To the priests left sat Magnus Jorvel, the groups mage who, for such a young man had the most all encompassing grasp of magic and how it worked of any man she had ever known.  His hunger for magical knowledge bordered on an obsession, in fact she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that it actually was an obsession for him, no more surprised than she was to find him perusing an old leather bound tome as they approached the table.

                “Uh oh.”  Avalon said softly.

                Ariana turned sharply to look at him, her eyes narrowing.  “Uh oh?  What uh oh?  There are no uh oh’s allowed today.”  She turned to look in the same direction as he and her face fell slightly when she saw her step-brother Rellik moving toward them, a woman on his arm with long black hair and a slinky black dress that clung to her in what Ariana could only think of as an inappropriate way, though in truth it was no different than most of the other dresses in the room.  Maybe it was the way she wore it, or maybe it was just who she was.  “Uh oh.”

                “Hey sis,” Rellik said as he and his date stopped in front of her and hers, “nice dress.”  He didn’t bother to hide the obvious lust in his gaze as it traveled over her new garment.  “You know Rachel?”

                Ariana turned a flinty smile on the brunette.  “Of course I know her, I dated her brother for a good long while, remember?”  It had been no secret while she dated Vance that she and his younger sister Rachel had pretty much hated each other.  As far as Ariana was concerned, there was no reason for that relationship to change.  Vance was a rarity in his family as it turned out, for his father, Major Ravishe Falcone was about as corrupt as they came, which was unfortunate considering her led the city guard, known as the Centurions.  Since coming of age Rellik had joined the Centurions and found a home with them.  She had heard that he had even been promoted to the rank of commander recently, and had seen the man around town with this floozy several times.  “How are you Rellik?”  She turned her icy gaze back on her step-brother.  She had never quite forgotten how he had left the party just prior to the attack that had killed her father. She didn’t believe he had had anything to do with it, not really, but it felt good to doubt him.  Rellik and her father had never gotten along nor agreed about anything, except their mutual love for Rellik’s mother.

                “Newly promoted,” he said with a gesture at the rank insignia on his collar, Ariana hadn’t even noticed till that moment that he was in the Centurion Officer’s Dress Uniform, “and betrothed.”  With that Rachel, who seemed to have been waiting for the moment, lifted her left hand and displayed the ring that was sparkling gaily upon its ring finger.

                Ariana spared it a passing glance, then nodded, “Congratulations, on both counts.”

                “Baby, I’m thirsty.”  Rachel suddenly whined, pressing herself wantonly against Rellik’s side.

                Her step-brother grinned at her, “Duty calls.  Save me a dance, won’t you Red?”

                “Not likely.”  Avalon said, speaking for the first time since Rellik’s approach.  The soldier, who had a couple of inches and a good fifty pounds on the knight shot him a glare.  “Her dance card is pretty full.”

                “Yes it is.”  Ariana jumped slightly, for she hadn’t even heard Falcon and Strut come up behind them.  She smiled inwardly, knowing of all the men in her life these were the three she could most rely upon to watch her back.  One her lover, the other two like brothers to her.  She was a lucky girl.

                Relliks glare swept over the four of them, then he gave a curt nod and led Rachel away.  Ariana didn’t waste a moment watching him go but instead turned to her erstwhile protectors.  “Gentlemen, it’s good to see you here tonight.”  She said to them, her eyes playing over both men appreciatively.  Like brothers they may be, but Ariana Moonstone was woman enough to appreciate that these two men cut impressive figures.  She turned to Falcon, who wasn’t one for getting all dressed up, having opted for his nicest pair of pants a clean tunic.  At least he’d left his quarterstaff, sword, bow and quiver at home.  “You clean up pretty good ranger.”

                His blue eyes swept over her dress boldly, “You’re not so bad yourself paladin.”

                She then turned to Strut, “You know,” she said, her eyes playing over the suit that was admittedly not well cut to his bulky form, “for a barbarian, you wear that suit well.”  It was true, for while it wasn’t exactly cut to his physique, Strut had a presence about him that made him noticeable no matter what he wore.

                “Yeah, well it doesn’t matter what you wear, you always wear it well.”  He told her, his gaze less bold but no less appreciative as it swept over dress.

                Avalon, who had endured the flirting good naturedly for he knew these men were not threat to him with Ariana, stepped forward then and shook hands with both men, though Strut grasped forearms in the way of his people.  Though he hadn’t been raised in Trey’Elden Ariana had often noticed how many of his mannerisms still held their roots there.  “We saved you seats.”  Falcon told them, motioning toward the table. 

                The knight and paladin followed the ranger and fighter to the table and Avalon held out her chair for her.  He nodded around at the others, his gaze lingering a bit longer on Tasha then might have been appropriate if he didn’t know all these people so well.  Though he was betrothed to Ariana Moonstone, Avalon had always had an eye for females, and Natashiana Grasamere was the only woman in the room who might have been called prettier than Ariana and her sisters.  She was as tall as the paladin, all of six feet, with long, flowing hair the color of mahogany.  She had a straight nose, full pink lips and delicately tapered ears, the points of which were just visible above her temples through the hair that nearly covered them.  Her lithe but statuesque body was clad in a dress that was, like the Moonstone’s, tailor made for the party.  The straps of her dress encircled her upper arms, leaving her shoulders bare, the bodice cut low enough to reveal only a hint of cleavage, a tantalizing glimpse of the high, firm mounds that so nicely filled it out.  From the straps of the gown hung wide expanses of the same fabric as the dress was made of, trailing down her arms and her back, partially concealing the low cut of her gowns back.  It was the same green as her eyes, which was fetching and hugged her womanly form nicely, accentuating her flat stomach, sensuously flared hips and long, shapely legs.

                As Avalon was sitting Falcon and Strut retook their seats, the ranger having turned his so the chair back was to the table, straddling it with his arms cross over the backrest.  “Your sister knows how to throw a party.”  Kestrel told Ariana.

                The paladin looked around, taking in the lavish decorations again, only now noticing the large, well built men in matching suits that were scattered about the perimeter.  Apparently Sasha had even hired security for the occasion, which was probably a good thing considering past experience.  “Has anyone seen her?”  Ariana asked, surprised that her next oldest sibling hadn’t yet made an appearance.

                “She danced for everyone when the party started,” Shadow Walker told her, “haven’t seen her since.”  The youth, who had always had a thing for Sasha, frowned at that, glancing around as though realizing he hadn’t been allowed enough of the eye candy that was Sasha Moonstone.  “Want me to go look for her?” 

                Ariana, who was among the few people in the world, not including those at this table, who knew the young mans real name to be Bryant Dieter, shook her head.  “She’ll turn up.  She hides it well, but she was dreading this day as much as I and the other girls were.”

                “You five have been putting on a brave front for this city for ten years now.”  Tasha commented, smiling knowingly at the human.  “I think they can forgive a few hours tardiness on your part and a few hours absenteeism on hers.”

                Suddenly Ariana’s chair was bumped roughly from behind, jarring her forward.  Rather than get angry, she smiled and turned to face the bumper, who had greeted her thus for as long as she could remember.  He was tall for a dwarf, a few inches shy of five feet and stout across the chest and shoulders.  Though perhaps the oldest dwarf she had ever known, Wolfgar Graybeard was still a formidable man to behold.  Her eyes lit up and her beautiful face split into a grin when she saw him, one of her fathers two closest friends, whom she had looked on as an uncle since the day she was born. “Gar!” she cried happily, sliding from her chair to one knee and hugging the dwarf. Though outwardly a gruff and standoffish man, as was the case with most dwarves, he wasn’t shy about returning that hug.  He was never shy about showing affection to the sisters, whom he was protective enough of for them to have been his own girls.  “I’m so glad you’re here!”

                She leaned back, holding him at arms length.  “You look well, life in the mines treating you well enough?”  She knew that Gar, like most dwarves, was happy working and sweating at the forges and mines that his people were so well known for working.  In the case of Wolfgar Graybeard however, the only time he was ever truly happy was when answering the siren call of combat.

                “Well enough.”  He grunted, his gray eyes sweeping over her critically.  “I think you forgot half your dress.”  Tasha laughed aloud at that, drawing a glower from the dwarf.  The high elves and rock dwarves had been stalwart allies for thousands of years, a fact that was well known to anyone versed in Kyzanthia’s history.  But the surly dwarves liked to make a show of being annoyed by the elves constantly upbeat demeanor.  Tasha, for her part, had always been very fond of Gar and delighted in teasing the old dwarf.

                Before the two could start into the typical bickering banter, Ariana patted the dwarf on the shoulder and shook her head.  “My dress is exactly as it is supposed to be.”  She assured him, her tone reminding the man that she was an adult, and while he may be protective, he was not her father.

                Gar grumbled something unintelligible as he helped her back to her seat, then he shook hands with the others around the table, grasping forearms with Strut who had, almost upon their first meeting years before begun looking on the dwarf as a father figure.  So strong was their bond that Gar had even begun teaching Strut the finer arts of dwarven forge craft.  To Ariana he asked, “Seen yer other uncle?”

                Ariana’s brows shot up slightly in surprise at the question.  “Galon?”  She glanced around with a frown.  “Now that you mention it, no.  He should be here.”

                “He’d never miss one o’ yer daddy’s parties.”  Gar agreed with a solemn nod.  “He went over to Valor yesterday to fetch the Duchess and bring her for the festivities.  Neither of them has arrived yet, nor has the Countess and that worries me a bit.”

                Avalon who, as first knight of Peacehope, was largely responsible for the safety of the realm, leaned across Ariana and asked the old dwarf, “You think something has happened?”

                “Aye, and it’d have to be somethin’ pretty bad t’keep them three away from this party.”  Gar growled in his typically gruff voice.  “Thinkin’ I ought t’go lookin’ fer them.”  Ariana knew it was true that it would take a dire circumstance indeed to keep Countess Shroude, Duchess Rethbourne and Galon Eaglehart from this party.  Though their husbands hadn’t been, the two noble women had been very close to her father, for different reasons certainly but they had both loved him dearly.  And Galon was like a brother to Donovan and would not have missed this unless for something truly dire.

                “Shall we go with you?”  Ariana asked the dwarf, her mind shifting gears from noble woman to that of leader of the Dragons.

                Before the dwarf could respond Sasha Moonstone seemed to materialize out of the crowd.  Of all the Moonstone sisters Sasha was perhaps the most… memorable.  The gypsy woman was undeniably beautiful, but more than the other sisters she chose to flaunt that beauty openly.  Her attire was always revealing, though it varied in degrees depending on the import of the situation.  Today she had opted for a typical gypsy gown, two pieces, the skirt of lightweight silk that swirled around her shapely legs when she walked and the top a matching royal blue looking like nothing so much as a long scarf wrapped around her top several times, twisting between the firm swell of her breasts so that it encircled her chest and rose over her shoulders.  As always her wrists, ankles and neck were studded with precious metals and stones and her gleaming raven colored hair hung loosely about her shoulders.  No sooner had she appeared at their table than Bryant’s eyes became fixated upon her.

                “There you are!”  Ariana said with a smile as she saw her sister appear beside the dwarf.  Her smile died as she saw the grim expression on Sasha’s face.  For her sister to not be cheery and happy at a party of her own hosting something truly disastrous must have happened.  “What?”

                “Galon is here, he’s in the back.”  She nodded with her head toward a door behind the bar and Ariana glanced that way before rising. 

                The others made to join her, their expressions grim and concerned.  Turning to them Ariana said, “No, you all stay here.  If Galon didn’t come out here himself then it was because he didn’t want to alarm these people.  Seeing all of us leave at once will have exactly that effect.  I’ll meet with Galon and I’ll come back to tell you what he says.  For now, hold down the fort here.”  She nodded at her people, all of whom nodded back.  Magnus had even put his tome aside and was looking attentive as well.  Turning to Avalon, she said, “It might actually look odd if you didn’t join me, so why don’t you come along?”

                The knight rose and Ariana slipped her arm through his, trying look natural as they followed her sister toward the back rooms of the huge building.  She noticed that Gar was following her and didn’t question that, he was under no obligation to follow her orders.  In fact, as the king of the dwarven clan on the island, he had more right than she to hear what might be threatening them.  She often forgot that Gar had taken over the throne following the death of his father, it had seemed such a long time ago, during the Vampire Wars… that had been around the time she had formed this group of Dragons in the first place, though the team she lead now was not the same as the one she had lead then.  They followed Sasha through a curtained doorway behind the bar and down a narrow hall.  The gypsy took them to a room that Ariana had visited many times, which her sister used as a business office.  Inside they found Galon Eaglehart, looking grim and dressed not his finest party going clothes but his in studded leather armor, sword on his hip and shield on his back.

                “This can’t be good.”  Gar growled as he set eyes on his old friend.

                Galon, who had been studying a picture of a gypsy caravan on the wall of the office turned to face them, his expression stolid.  “I fear it isn’t my old friend.”  He glanced at the others, making note of who was there.  “Duke Rethbourne is dead, by the hand of an assassin.”

                Ariana felt a sudden wave of dizziness and staggered to the leather upholstered sofa against a nearby wall, slumping into it.  ‘Lorilei.’  Her first thought was for her old friend, eldest of the Rethbourne’s three children.  Though by no means a warrior like her, Lorilei Rethbourne had been there for Ariana during a rough time in her life.  She doubted the woman was handling her father’s death well. “When?” she asked aloud.

                “Last night, while I was in Valor to collect Tyffani for the party here today.”  Galon came and sat on the sofa by her.  “I met up with the assassin myself in the city, we crossed blades.  He’s formidable, don’t know who he was but I’ve got a decent description.”  Galon and Gar exchanged a glance and though she hadn’t known either man as long as they’d known each other, she knew what that look meant. 

                She nodded her agreement with their unspoken thought.  “Yes, Reaper may know who it is by the description.”  Reaper was a master assassin, at the top of the most wanted lists of almost every kingdom on Kyzanthia.  As it happened he made his home in Peacehope, which was good in that it meant he would never work here.  Before he had earned all the notoriety he had been a Dragon, the first man to fill the rogues position on the team, the same position that Bryant filled now.  She often thought of Reaper when she interacted with the young thief, wondering if her young friend would one day turn out like the assassin.  He had a lot of darkness in his soul and she worried for him, but she didn’t think he was cold blooded enough to turn to assassination.  Her own interactions with Reaper had been few, but enough for her to have a healthy respect and… yes… fear of the man.  The few times she had had the misfortune to speak to him however she had gotten the impression that she had nothing to fear from him.  Galon and Gar had often told her that Reaper had a list of people he considered untouchable, who also had his protection.  Her name, and those of her sisters, they had told her was on that list because of the respect Reaper had had for their father.  Though by all accounts she had ever heard, Donovan Moonstone had had no love for the man.  The other impression she had of Reaper on the few occasions she had encountered him was that he was powerfully attracted to her and though she dreaded admitting it even to herself, he was a hard man not to desire.  “If you can find him of course.”  She added after a long silence.

                “Maybe yer young Shadow Walker will know the description as well?”  Gar suggested.  Ariana appreciated his tact in not saying the rogues true name.  Anyone who had served on the Dragons had had to write their true names upon the charter as a magically binding contract, which meant those people knew each others true names as a matter of trust.  Though from different generations of the team, Gar and Galon both had been there when the young man signed.  It was a point of contention with Ariana that Reaper, though he had traveled with the original team, had never actually signed the charter.  That, perhaps, was the problem her father had had with him… not signing the charter would, to her father, have seemed as though the rogue didn’t feel they were trustworthy which in turn have lead to the knight not trusting him.  There was little that was more important to Donovan Moonstone than trust, and if he didn’t trust someone he had found it very difficult to like them, either.

                “We can ask him.”  Ariana said softly, still reeling from the news that Algeron had lost another of its leaders, one of the very men who had founded this city before going to the other side of the island and starting his own.  First it had been the Count, then her father and now the Duke… and all of them killed violently.  “Where is Penny?”  She asked her uncle.  She and a few others were the only ones that ever referred to the Countess in that way, and never in public, but here she felt safe doing so.

                “She is preparing for the journey to Valor.  The Duchess has requested her presence there.”  Galon said and Ariana nodded, that explained why she wasn’t here.

                “Will she need an escort?  I can have the Dragons ready to ride….”

                She was cut off by Galon, who held up a hand to stop her.  “Her own personal guard are more than capable, I should know, I trained them.”  Ariana, who had been thinking of visiting with Lorilei to offer her support after escorting the Countess to Valor nodded.  Then she saw something in her old uncles face and she turned to look at him fully.  “There’s more isn’t there?  What is it?”

                Galon shifted on the cushion of the sofa and glanced at Gar, who was also looking at him curiously.  Apparently he didn’t know what else was bothering the old paladin either.  “The Countess was going to tell you about this herself after the celebration, but in light of what’s happened.”

                At his hesitation she reached over and placed her hand atop his.  “Tell me, what is it?”

                Galon looked into her eyes and asked her, “Do you remember your father, or us, ever mentioning to you a man named Rolfe, son of Grenn?”  Ariana’s eyes narrowed slightly in thought, but she nodded slowly.

                “Vaguely, yes.  A Trey’Eldner wasn’t he?”  she remembered.

                Galon nodded.  “Warlord of the Thunder Hammers tribe, the largest tribe of barbarians in the Trey’Elden mountains.”

                Ariana nodded, remembering that her father had told her a few tales of his exploits with the then young barbarian warrior.  The two had been friends, she recalled, “What about him?”

                Galon glanced at Gar again, then back to her, “Apparently, he’s dead.”

                “No.”  Gar’s rough voice was troubled at that.  “How?”

                Speaking now to the dwarf, with Ariana listening in, Galon said, “Murdered by his brother, Karnash… or so I’m told.”

                “Told by whom?”  Asked Avalon, speaking for the first time since entering the office.  Sasha, Ariana saw, was seated behind her desk, taking it all in. 

                “His children,” Galon responded to the first knight, who was technically his equal militarily within the city, “they’re here.”

                Gar blinked in surprise.  “Rolfe had kids?  And they’re here?  Now?”

                Galon pushed himself to his feet with a sigh and began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back as she had seen him do countless times when briefing her father on something that had happened in Donovan’s office within Moonstone Manor.  “Three as it turns out, two boys and a girl… though they’re all of age now, so I guess it’s two men and a woman.”  The old warhorse shook his head, pausing to gather his thoughts before he continued, “They arrived a couple of days ago, they had been discovered stowed away on a cargo vessel bound for here.  Fortunately the captain had been wise enough to recognize their genuine need and didn’t throw them overboard.  Instead he delivered them here to Peacehope… in chains mind you, but he did deliver them.  It took a day for me to realize they were there and when I got them out of Falcone’s jail,” Ariana flinched inwardly as she always did when hearing that name, some part of her was still in love with Vance she knew, “they told me why they had come.”

                “Why is that?”  Avalon asked cautiously.

                It was Gar who answered.  “For repayment of a debt.”

                Galon glanced at him and nodded, apparently relieved that his old friend had picked up on that.  “Yes, though they came here looking for Donovan.  Being so isolated in Trey’Elden they were unaware as yet of his death.”

                “What debt is this?”  Ariana asked her uncles, glancing from the craggy old dwarf’s visage to that of her human uncle, so handsome even now, in the waning years of his life.

                Galon looked to Gar and the dwarf heaved a sigh before launching into an explanation.  “It must have been… four decades back.”  The dwarf said, sounding a little wistful as he recalled the scene.  “T’were just the four of us then, yer daddy, me, Galon and yer uncle Rolin.  Weren’t the Dragons yet, this was a’fore that.”  The old dwarf paused, smiling almost fondly.  “We was already a team though, her daddy and his brother having known Galon fer most o’ their lives, me comin’ along after.”  He shook his head, “I was older and should’a been wiser, but I was as hungry fer adventure and fame as they were back then.  We was heading toward Keyos, west out o’ Errgaunt which put us smack in the middle o’ them Trey’Elden mountains.  Ain’t nothin’ there but rock and ice, maybe some mud.”  He shook his head, “Going was rough, that’s fer certain, so yer daddy, he got in his head to make the going easier and we decided to cut through this ravine we’d heard tell about in some little out o’ the way burg.”  Gar snorted, “Bout ended our adventurin’ career a’fore it had even started!”

                “What happened?”  Ariana asked.  She had always enjoyed hearing about their exploits from their youth, and this was no different, except that it was because this story from their past might be affecting her future.

                “We were set upon by the worst winter storm you can imagine, like the Gods themselves sought to punish us for our trespassing upon their lands.”  Galon supplied with a rueful shake of his head.  He took up the story from there, “Snow like you wouldn’t believe Ana!  Flakes as big as my hand, and so much of it the whole world had turned white!”  He shivered as though recalling the memory had made him cold somehow.  “Wasn’t long before we realized what an error we had made, but we had gone too far into the ravine to turn back.  We had a sheer cliff face to one side and a glacier to the other and not enough room to breathe in between, or so it felt.  The snow started to pile up so fast we were certain to be buried, we thought we’d had it.”

                “This Rolfe saved you then?” she asked, thinking the situation had been grim indeed but perhaps not enough for them feel they owed the barbarian a life debt.

                “Aye,” said Gar, his tone suggesting he knew her thoughts, “but not till after th’ giants come.”

                “Giants?”  Ariana paled slightly.

                “Aye, frost giants.  Must’ve been abou’ twenty o’ the suckers.”  Gar said with a shake of his gray head.  “Lined up on the top o’ the cliff and along the edge o’ the glacier they did, ten to a side and started flinging chunks of ice and rock down at us.  We though we were dead, they nearly took Rolin, had his leg crushed beneath a chunk o’ rock the size o’ that big stallion you ride.”  The stallion in question was her warhorse Thunder, whom she had raised and trained herself.

                “Is that why he’s always had a bit of a limp?”  Ariana asked.  She had always wondered what had happened to her uncle to cause his slight gimp.

                Galon nodded.  “Yes, he never fully healed from that wound.  Well anyway, Rolfe was leading a hunting party near there.  He wasn’t a warlord yet, but he was the son of one and was every bit the warrior we were back then.”

                “More.”  Gar grunted, and from him that was high praise.  “Never seen no one swing a blade like that barbarian could.  Well, maybe your daddy, but even he was impressed with Rolfe’s skill.”

                “He was an exemplary warrior, no doubt.”  Galon said, sounding perturbed at the interruption.  “He and his band must have heard the shouts of the giants and come to investigate.”  The old paladin went on.  “When they saw what was happening they set upon the giants with a vengeance, killed all ten of the ones on their side of the ravine, then started firing arrows at the ones on the other side till they retreated.  After that, Rolfe had his people haul us out of the ravine and took us back to their village where they nursed us back to health.”

                “From that day on,” Gar finished the tale, “yer daddy and Rolfe was the best of friends.  Near as close as we was to ‘im.  The day he got crowned warlord, we was there to see it.  O’ course, in later years we all drifted apart, but in their youth they got together for a few adventures, before Rolfe had more responsibilities… your daddy too.”

                “So father really did owe him a debt.”  Ariana said softly.

                “Aye, as does Galon and me, and yer uncle Rolin if we could ever find his isolationist ass!”  Gar spat on the ground in distaste.  It was no secret he had no love for Rolin Moonstone, who he felt had abandoned his brother.  It had been over an affair between Rolin’s wife, Nastasha and Galon.  Donovan had sided with his friend over his brother, and Ariana had understood her uncles anger.  It had been the one thing she hadn’t been able to agree with her father on, nor had she been able to quite forgive Galon that insult either.  She felt that it was the old paladin that held the brunt of the responsibility for tearing her father and uncle apart.  She could place some of the blame upon Archress’s shoulders too, of course, but anyone that knew her knew that she wasn’t exactly the most loyal of wives.

                “But it isn’t a debt that you should feel you owe him, Ariana.  Especially not his children, it was Rolfe that saved us, not them.”  Galon told her.

                Ariana looked into his lined, handsome face and smiled gently.  “Then why are you already planning on helping them?”  Galon blinked, then colored slightly.  “You could never hide your intentions from me any more than you could my father.  You believe, as I do, that the honor debts of the parents fall to the children to fulfill.  You will help the children in spite of the fathers death… or perhaps because of it.  Just because my father is dead doesn’t make the debt any less real, so if it is within my power to do so, I will help them too.”

                Galon smiled and the paladin thought he might have been close to tears.  “Donnie would be so proud of you.”  He told her and she nearly did cry.  Her uncles were the only men she had ever heard refer to her father as Donnie, and she knew he had only pretended to hate it.

                “Aye,” Gar said proudly, “just like us.”

                “General Eaglehart.”  Avalon spoke up now, his voice sounding very official, so when Ariana looked over at him she knew he had reverted to First Knight of Peacehope again.  “Would it be prudent for me to offer my services to lead the Countess’s escort?”

                Galon, who seemed to understand that the man wanted to be of use, smiled and nodded.  “It might at that Sir Avalon.”

                “What can you tell me of the warlords children?”  Ariana asked her uncles.

                Gar shrugged.  “I didn’t even know till today that he had any.”

                Galon smiled, “I’ve spoken with all three of them.  They are Devlin, the eldest, Shayla is next oldest and the Kelvan is the youngest.  Kelvan also brought with him his betrothed, a young woman named Ember.”  He paused for a moment.  “From what I was able to learn in my brief conversation with them before going to Valor, Devlin, being the oldest, should be next to follow Rolfe as warlord.  However the people of their tribe seem to have chosen Kelvan, and I can tell you it seems a good choice.  He seems far more level headed than his brother.”

                Gar grunted.  “I’ve heard of that happening before, the people of a tribe choosing to follow a younger brother over the elder.”

                Ariana glanced from one of them to the other, then asked Galon, “How does that seem to sit with Devlin?”

                Galon shrugged, “Actually, he seems relieved by it.  I think it was a case of the father wanting what the son did not, but I can’t be sure.”

                Ariana nodded.  “When do we meet with them?”

                “I’ve arranged it for tomorrow morning.”  Galon informed her.  The general turned to Avalon, “The Countess was planning on leaving for Valor within the next couple of hours, if you wish to be of assistance you should go.”

                The knight nodded, then turned questioningly to Ariana.  She smiled and waved him off, “Go, duty calls.”  He offered her a smile in return, then turned on his heel and stalked from the room.  She turned back to her uncles, “So… tomorrow morning then?”  Galon nodded, “Good.  My sisters and I have something more to do this evening anyway.”

                “Mind if we tag along?  Haven’t paid your ol’ man a visit for a spell.”  Gar asked.

                Ariana glanced over at Sasha who nodded.  “Happy to have you along.”

                The Peaceful Rest cemetery sat at the eastern most edge of Peacehope, in what has become known as the temple district.  It is surrounded on three sides by the three most worshipped faiths of the region, the Temple of Justice, the Temple of Light and Dark and House of Nature.  On the fourth side the cities perimeter wall rose ominously into the sky.  As Ariana and her sisters pulled to a stop in the carriage thoughtfully left behind by Avalon, the paladin looked out at the wall and saw the guards a hundred feet in the air, patrolling its perimeter.  Carson, Avalon’s long time servant, hopped down from the drivers seat, displaying a nimbleness that belied his age and opened the door for the five women, who had managed to squeeze into the same carriage together.

                Ariana disembarked first, allowing the elderly driver to assist her with a hand, then he extended it to Aribeth who followed her.  Sasha came next, then Krystel and finally Talia.  Behind the carriage came Galon and Gar, the former astride his magnificent palomino war horse while Gar rode the mount that was more common to his people, a black boar, which handled the tunnels of the underground dwarven complexes as well as it did the surface.  The two men disembarked, tying the reins of their mounts to the fence that surrounded the cemetery as Ariana turned to Carson.

                “You can head on home Carson, we’ll be able to make our own way from here.”  She assured him.

                He shook his head emphatically.  “No ma’am.  Sir told me to make certain I stayed with you till you got back home… I haven’t disobeyed a Charm in fifty years, I’m not about to start now.”

                Ariana smiled, leaned in and pressed her lips lightly to his cheek.  “You’re a sweet man to be so loyal to him.  Wait then, if it suits you.  We shouldn’t be too long, this is always painful.”  Carson nodded, his expression sympathetic, then he leaned back against the carriage and made no effort to hide how much he enjoyed the view as the five Moonstone women, arguably the most beautiful in the city, made their way to the gate at the center of the fence.  As they approached the wrought iron of the gate seemed to hum softly and a voice that she recognized as belonging to Ishara Wodan, the High Priestess of Light at the nearby temple, drifted to them as if on the hum.  “Who goes there?”  It was part of the magical protections placed upon the cemetery to keep grave robbers away.

                “Ariana Moonstone, her sisters and other family… we’ve loved ones here to visit.”  She said and then she felt a slight tingling through her body as the magic verified her identity.  She could see by their expressions that the others were experiencing the same thing, then there was a faint click and the gate slowly creaked open.  Ariana led the way through it and along a narrow paved path lined with grave markers and the flowers placed upon them by loved ones.  The whole place was well kept because, Ariana knew, Ishara kept a staff well paid to see that it was so.  Ishara, who was one of the founding members of the Dragons, was also the sister of Countess Shroude.  It occurred to Ariana suddenly that she might well be traveling with her sister to Valor, since the Duchess would likely want her to perform the funeral rites.  She wondered as she lead the procession up the hill toward their families tomb if Avalon had left yet.

                The tomb of Donovan Moonstone was the largest such structure in this part of the cemetery, the second largest overall, topped only by the final resting place of Count Maximillian, who had been the ruler of Peacehope till his death five years before.  Of course, Ariana and those with her knew that Max wasn’t in that tomb, he was actually wandering Kyzanthia somewhere, living the damned life of a vampire, but the tomb remained to keep up appearances for the people of Peacehope.  As they approached their fathers resting place they all paused and looked up at the statue which stood tall from the crypts roof.  Ariana had thought it a little ostentatious, but the Countess had insisted.  It depicted Donovan in full plate armor, as he had been seen in so many parades over the years, leaning casually upon Vindicator, the zweihander she had inherited and now wielded.  He had a bemused expression on his face, one she had seen often when he was alive, especially when he was trying to figure out the way his daughters minds worked.  The sculptor who had made the statue was extremely talented, the likeness was incredible.  It brought a pang of loss to her heart as she gazed upon it.

                “Come on.”  Krystel whispered to her, taking her arm and leading her toward the door of the tomb.  The five girls gathered in front of it, Galon and Gar standing a respectful distance back.  There was no actual door visible on the tomb, but rather a concrete sphere at the center of which was a golden crescent moon.  This had been the family medallion their father had worn during his life, and it matched the ones worn by his daughters.  Spread around this, evenly spaced, were five indentations, each shaped like the crescent at the center.  One by one the sisters removed their medallions, starting with Ariana and pressed the golden crescents into an empty slot that was positioned exactly as their individual medallions hung about their pretty necks.  When the fifth crescent, placed according to age by Talia had been placed the sphere suddenly began to glow and a seam appeared in the rock above and below it.  Slowly the sphere at the center split in two, seeming to break two of the medallions in half as it did so and a pair of heavy concrete doors swung outward to admit the women.  Ariana took a deep breath and then started forward but was suddenly blasted back by an explosive burst of cool blue energy that struck her squarely in the stomach and launched her back thirty feet.  She crumpled to the ground without a sound as her sisters and the two men with them shouted in surprise and fury.

                The four remaining Moonstones fell back, each moving off to the side of the opening in case another attack of magical energy escaped.  Galon and Gar, both of them armed (Gar had had his hammer on his boar) drew their weapons and advanced on the tomb.  They halted though, hearing a faint scuffling noise and exchanged a glance.  A moment later a form could be seen in the darkness of the tomb and Gar, who could see as well in the dark as he could in the light, swore colorfully in his native tongue and tightened his grip on the handle of his hammer.  A moment later the others saw what he had seen, not one but half a dozen animated skeletons staggering haphazardly from the tomb, their eye sockets glowing with unholy fire.  With a roar of rage Wolfgar charged, his hammer swinging viciously and smashing the first of the six to the ground where it’s bones scattered.  Galon was a heartbeat behind his friend, and though he knew his sword wasn’t as effective against these creatures as the dwarf’s hammer he still laid into them with abandon, both men enraged that the tomb of their closest friend had been so defiled.

                Krystel called to her two older sisters, “Beth, Sasha, see if you can help Ana!”  The gypsy and the mage, the two least combat oriented of the sisters turned and dashed from the fray, crouching by Ariana’s prone form.  She had landed on her back, one arm out to her side the other draped across her abdomen, her knees bent and turned in such a way that she might have been sleeping, except that her body was crackling with blue black electricity.

                “What hit her?”  Sasha asked, knowing that Beth was the more knowledgeable about such things.

                “I’m not sure… but if the animated skeletons are any indication it must be death magic.  I’ve never heard of a necromancer having this kind of power, but it isn’t exactly something they teach over at Gideon’s school.”  Sasha started to reach toward their elder sister, but Beth put a hand to stop her.  “Don’t touch her yet!  We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”  The mage started to mumble under breath, her blue eyes scanning her older sister for any signs of what type of energy was used against her.  Eventually she hit on the right combination and the crackling energy dissipated, or perhaps the magic had just run its course.  When she saw that it had stopped, Sasha leaned in and pressed to fingers to the side of Ariana’s neck.

                “She has a pulse at least.”  There was relief evident in her voice as she turned and glanced toward where the fight was still raging.  She was just in time to see Galon shoulder ram a skeleton into one of the heavy concrete doors, then Gar leapt forward and shattered its skull between the door and his hammer.  Krystel and Talia stood to the sides, watching anxiously, their fingers flexing, obviously wishing they had their own weapons and could help.  It would have looked odd though, carrying weapons in those gowns.  The thought almost made her laugh, which would have been highly inappropriate at the moment, so she choked it back.

                “Let’s get into the tomb and check on Donnie!”  Galon bellowed as Gar smashed the last of the skeletons to the ground.  He turned to Beth and Sasha, “You two stay here and see what can be done for her.”  He didn’t wait for their response but lead the way into the crypt, Gar on his heels and Krystel and Talia on his.

                The two women had no weapons, but the other two knew that there was no way they weren’t going in, any more than Ariana wouldn’t have if she were conscious.  “Be careful.”  Aribeth said softly to the quartet, though they had already moved inside.

                The first room of the tomb, which they found themselves in upon entering, was exactly as it should have been.  Two stone sarcophagi, one containing the body of Gwenyth Moonstone, mother of Rellik, Krystel and Talia and the other the body of Aribeth, mother of her namesake, sat to either side of an opening that descended into pitch blackness.  The top of a narrow stair could be seen at the mouth of the opening, but they didn’t proceed further, instead pausing and glancing at each other.

                “I haven’t been here in a while, it’s true,” Galon said to the girls, “but didn’t you all pay to have magical lighting enchantments placed in here?  So that if you came to visit it would be illuminated for you?”

                Krystel nodded, reaching up to push her oculars back on the bridge of her nose.  “Obviously someone circumvented the magical protections on the tomb, which included doing away with the lighting.  They booby trapped the entrance and left the skeletons as rear guards… the question is, who?”  At times like this it was obvious that Krystel, in addition to being a knight, was one of the most successful lawyers in Peacehope.  She had a way of reasoning things out that left most people in the dark.  “And why, of course.” She added as an afterthought. 

                “Let’s find out.”  Gar growled, tightening his grip on his hammer and heading for the stairs.  “After me.”  Being the only one of the group that could see clearly on the stairwell, it made sense for the dwarf to take point, and since he was the only other one armed, Galon brought up the rear, motioning the two girls ahead of him. 

                They had gone about half way down the stairs, toward the sunken chamber where the body of Donovan Moonstone was interred when they heard a female voice.  “Quickly!  They’ll be coming soon, those skeletons won’t hold that group back for long!”  If they could have seen each other in the pitch blackness, the sisters would have exchanged glances.  For some reason, the voice of a woman was the last thing they had expected to hear down here.  Especially one as rough and scratchy as this, leading them to wonder if it was an old woman that awaited them.

                “Ye got that right ye hag!”  Roared Gar, suddenly charging forward.  Krys and Talia heard Galon sigh behind them, the old paladin had always thought that Gar was a little too rash in his attacks, though admittedly it had served him well over the years. 

                “Defend me servants!”  screamed the woman’s voice and the sound of battle echoed up the stairwell.

                “Stay behind me, you’re unarmed!”  Galon growled at them as he slipped past on the stairs and moved down to join his friend.  The girls stayed where they were, tense and straining to hear what was happening below.  The shouts and grunts of Galon and Gar, mingled with the clanging of steel on steel and maniacal laughter and curses of the mystery woman were almost more than they could stand. 

                Talia suddenly jumped as she heard her sister’s voice close in her ear.  “Stay here, I’ll be right back!”  Then the knight turned and darted back up the steps, emerging into the more brightly lit upper chamber.  “Beth!” she cried for her sister, turning toward the sarcophagus in which the other woman’s mother was entombed.  As the silver haired mage appeared in the upper chamber she saw her sister straining at the stone lid of her mothers sarcophagus.

                Shocked beyond anger or insult, she simply asked, “What are you doing?”

                “Your mother was buried with her sword!  I need one!”  Was the knights answer, and Beth paused only a moment in consideration before casting a spell that made the stone lid of her mothers tomb light enough to move.  As the knight slid it aside, revealing the rotted remains of a wooden coffin within, she said over her shoulder, “Can you shed some light on the situation downstairs?”

                Grateful for something to do, Aribeth nodded and darted down the stairs, already muttering the spell she needed.  Krystel reached down and hefted off the mostly rotted wooden lid of the coffin, wincing at the not quite fully decomposed remains within.  “My apologies milady,” she said softly as she reached for the shining blade lying atop the corpse, her hands folded across it’s hilt, “but my need is greater than yours at the moment!”  As she lifted the sword from the coffin she felt a cold chill pass through her and she staggered, gasping and wondering what sort of enchantments rested within the blade.  Pushing those thoughts aside for the moment, she turned and was gratified to see light emanating up from the stairwell, she also so flashing lights, telling her that it was likely Aribeth had joined the fray.  Not one to be left behind, Krystel hefted the sword, which was a typical long sword in size and shape, and started back down the stairs.

                Talia was no longer on the stairs as she rushed down, but she found her younger sister in the lower chamber, crumpled on the ground at the base of the stairs.  Krystel’s eyes widened in fright at the sight and she crouched beside her sister, checking quickly for a pulse and feeling a flood of relief when she found one.

                “Krystel!”  Galon called, his voice tinged with desperation, “A little help here!”  Lady Knight, as she had come to be known in recent years, looked around at where her two uncles were locked in pitch battle with a lone aggressor.  It was a monster, towering near seven feet tall and clad from head to toe in black full plate armor lined with red highlights.  It had a massive claymore in one hand, the blade rippling with some dark magical energy, like the effect seen above an open flame.  On it’s other arm was a tower shield, an emblem emblazoned upon it of a shadowy, demonic form with blazing red eyes.  Galon and Gar were backing toward her, being forced into retreat by the creature. 

                “It’s a Necroknight!”  Aribeth cried and Krys looked around, noting that her sister had backed herself into a corner and was throwing every spell in her arsenal at the creature.  Her magic missiles seemed to be simply bouncing off the things dark armor as though they weren’t even there.  “I can’t hurt it, we need holy magic!”

                “We seem to be suffering a lack of priests at the moment!”  Galon grunted, his sword nearly getting knocked from his hand as the undead knight hammered it away with its shield, while simultaneously thrusting its rippling blade at Gar.  The dwarf parried the blow to the side with his hammer, but received an armored boot to the gut that staggered him back.  He hit a wall and slipped, tumbling backward.  Krystel, clad only in her high necked silver dress, leapt forward and filled the spot the stout dwarf had just vacated, preceded by a fraction of a second by a bolt of lightning from her sister that managed to stagger the creature back but didn’t seem to hurt it.  Out of the corner of her eye Krystel saw a pair of what looked to her like zombies dragging a desiccated form toward a hole that had been pushed out from underneath, which was obvious from the way the dirt was piled around it.  It took her a moment to realize that the body they were dragging was her fathers mummified remains!  Howling in rage she stepped toward the necroknight and launched into a series of stunning sword strikes, each one landing with a flash of sparks upon the creatures armor but it just rumbled laughter at her despite her bet efforts.  When she had exhausted the intricate attack the knight shifted on its feet, turning its body toward her and slamming the tower shield into her full force.  Krystel cried out as she was flung backward, slamming into a wall and staggering forward as she rebounded off it. 

                “Necrolon!” cried the woman that Krystel only now noticed was standing  by the hole in the ground, “Follow!”  She was not old, but she was a decrepit looking thing, all skin and bone with long, stringy black hair and a rag of a dress hanging off her bony form.  She was pale, her skin seeming to be stretched across the bones beneath it.  It seemed that her choice of magical profession had not been good to her.  After barking her order at the knight she turned and vanished down the hole, narrowly avoiding being hit by a magic missile from Aribeth. 

                Krystel screamed in rage, shaking off the numbness from having been flung so hard against the wall and lunging at the necroknight.  To her side, Gar had rejoined the fight as well, but now she saw that his armor and hammer were glowing with odd magical symbols, the light from them illuminating the grim determination on his face.  Now as he waded back into the fight, every blow of his hammer resonated with magical power and the necroknight was reeling under the barrage.  Krystel had known that her uncle was the last of the rune smiths on Kyzanthia, but this was the first opportunity she’d had to witness his art in action!  The glow coming from his weapon and armor seemed painful to the undead warrior and it hastened to follow its masters command, retreating from the magically augmented dwarf.  Gar however was in full rage and made to follow it as it headed down into the tunnel that they must have dug over a space of time, burrowing right into the lower chamber of the crypt.

                “Gar!”  Galon had flung himself in front of the dwarf but the old warrior shoved him aside, in his rage all he could think of was pursuing his foe.  “Gar, the girls!  We need to see to the girls!  Donnie can wait… he’d want us to make certain his girls were safe!”

                The dwarf froze at the edge of the hole, glaring down into it, his back to them.  His broad shoulders were heaving as he breathed deeply and slowly the magical glow on his weapon and armor faded.  “Yer right Galon, that’s what he would’a wanted.”

                As one Krystel and Aribeth remembered their baby sister and turned to her, rushing to the young blondes side.  Aribeth fell to her knees and immediately began chanting some arcane spell.  A moment or two later the young woman’s eyes fluttered open and she glanced up at her sisters hovering over her.  “Did we win?” she asked weakly and the four people in the room with her laughed.

                “She’ll be fine.”  Aribeth observed, then stood, helping her little sister to do the same.  As a group they turned toward the hole in the ground down which the body of Donovan Moonstone had been dragged.

                “We’ll get ‘im back.”  Gar growled, his voice brooking no argument.  “But fer right now, let’s go see to yer sister and figure out our next step.  We don’t really know what we’re up against here!”  Nodding their agreement with that the three women and two men turned and trudged up the stairs, all their thoughts on what the strange necromancer wanted with the body of Donovan Moonstone.

                Countess Penelope Shroude sat on the plush cushioned bench seat of her royal carriage, staring out the window at the bright spring day which was moving quickly now to dusk.  A high elven woman of astonishing beauty, Penelope had started her life as a student of magical words, a Scribe by title, proficient in the use of symbols, wards and circles of power.  She had intended to expand on her studies, moving into the realm of Incantations and perhaps even mental magic, but life had, as it so often does, had other plans for her.  Instead she met a man and fell in love, deciding to give up her wish of a life of adventure and settle down with him, even giving up the rest of her schooling.  They were happy for almost a hundred years, she even gave him a daughter, Tatyana.  Tanya, as they wound up calling her, had been a willful child right from the start, but she had been the apple of her fathers eye.  Penelope had been so happy back then, before she came along.  Sidling into town with her pale skin, shapely figure and seductive attitude.  Penelope had thought the vampire woman to be trouble from the beginning, and this was well before the laws had been passed dictating that vampires were to be accepted as a sentient race.  There were laws now governing their activities, but then it had been the wont of any bloodsucker to do as they pleased, with whomever they pleased, and this particular monster had set her sights upon Penny’s husband.  Before she had even known what was happening her dear man was gone, stolen away from her in the night by an undead temptress. 

                It had been difficult at first, learning to live without her husband, but she had Tanya and the two had taken care of each other.  Until the day when Tanya decided to leave as well, to go and study the arts of combat and magic, becoming a vampire hunter.  Penelope had supported this decision fully, especially when her daughter vowed to hunt down the woman that had taken her father from them.  Shortly after her daughter had left, Penelope had met Maximillian Shroude and while she did not love him and never would, she couldn’t deny that the nobleman could give her a comfortable existence and so she accepted his marriage proposal and moved with him to Algeron, where she assisted with the settling of Peacehope and eventually met Donovan Moonstone, the second man she had ever truly loved.  Of course, he had been married at the time and wouldn’t have come to her bed while she was married to his friend the Count, but she admired him from afar.  And then Klestron had arrived, an elven vampire mage who offered his services to the count as an advisor.  From the start Penny had been infatuated with him, though in her heart she despised vampires for what the one woman had done to her, she couldn’t deny that she desired Klestron Rasmussen.  When she found he felt the same and didn’t care that she was married to the Count, they began a rather heated and very passionate affair.  It was some time later that she learned that Klestron was actually her first husband and that he had had his features magically augmented in an effort to help him hide from his one time master, Lustra Vonderlicht.  He had acquired a medallion which he told her allowed him to stave off her mind control, freeing him from her grip.  Penny had been beside herself, her husband had returned to her, but she agreed with him that they could not tell their daughter, for Tanya had developed an unbending hatred of vampires and she would never have been able to accept her father as one.  Once again she was happy, until Klestron had had to leave again following the events of her current husbands death.  He had been afraid that Lustra’s hand had been involved in that, and fled into the night, vowing to return again when it was safe. He hadn’t yet done that, but his absence had reminded her of the feelings she had for Donovan and she had, perhaps unwisely, rebounded into the handsome knights bed where she had stayed till his death.

                She sighed, her large, soft bosom rising and falling, stretching the satin of her bodice across her burgeoning breasts.  Her sister, seated across from her in the carriage glanced over, her blue eyes sizing her sister up knowingly.  “You were thinking about him, weren’t you?”  She didn’t say which him, because she knew that with her sister they were all pretty much the same.

                Penny nodded, smiling wanly.  “I was.  I had been thinking of the Duke and how long we’ve known him and Tyffani.  It seems the men that settled this land are destined for violent ends, doesn’t it?”

                Ishara Wodan, younger than Penny by several years, tilted her head thoughtfully and glanced at the roof of the carriage.  “I don’t know, Galon Eaglehart and Wolgar seem to be doing all right.”

                The Countess nodded, “For now, that’s true.  But if the pattern holds, I fear for their lives.”

                Ishara, a powerful priestess who had actually been the one to introduce her both to the Count and to Donovan, shrugged.  “They can take care of themselves better than most.”

                Penelope glanced at her beautiful sister, her tumble of blonde curls cascading down her back and over her shoulders, tucked behind the points of her ears to show off not only the ears themselves but also the earrings she wore, ankhs of Ra, the deity to whom she had sworn her life.  Penelope knew she was desirable to men, but in her mind it was her younger sister that was true beauty of the family.  Their had similar builds, soft and womanly with ample curve, but Ishara had a cameo face that would have looked natural upon an angel.  She wore a modest enough blue gown, the neck worn high, but it was form fitting, accentuating the curve beneath.  A damn sight more priestess like than the skimpy outfits she wore as a founding member of the Dragons.  Penelope he to smile remembering those throwbacks to the days of her sister being a little more carefree.  Skirts with slits up both sides to her hips, skimpy tops that covered little of her breasts and left the men of the team drooling after her every time she passed.  She had often wondered whether her sister had ever shared Donovan’s bed in those early years, but if so the priestess never said.  Still, she wouldn’t have been surprised, having known them both then and realizing that they would have been drawn to each other like moths to flame.

                “Maybe I’m just getting sentimental in my old age.”  Penny quipped.

                Ishara laughed, the sound light and airy, quite pleasant.  “You’re not even into the middle of your span of years!”  It was true, the Countess had not yet quite seen three hundred years and her people were known to live over a thousand, though that was rare. 

                Penny smiled and turned to continue watching the scenery pass by.  Ishara did the same, though her view was rather different.  “Nice of Sir Avalon to accompany us, wasn’t it?”  Ishara asked and Penny had to smile.  She knew that the priestess’s window gave her a good view of the handsome, virile knight and she had never made any secret of her attraction to the man.  The fact that he was betrothed to a woman that both elves looked on as a niece was all that kept her from pursuing him romantically.

                Outside, the knight in question rode in silence, though he could hear the sound of the voices of the women within the carriage he couldn’t make out their words, nor did he try.  One of the first duties of a knight was to serve, and part of that entailed knowing when to listen and when not to.  Instead he kept his attention on the wilderness to the side of the road they traveled down.  It was the main throughway of the island, cutting right across the center of Algeron and linking Peacehope with Valor on the far side.  Since leaving Ariana at the Gypsy Fortune he had donned his armor, shining silver plate lined in blue, a tabard with his family’s crest emblazoned on his chest worn over that.  He had a helm that went with the armor, but he rarely wore it unless at tournament in a joust.  Just now it was strapped to the saddle behind him, next to the boot where his lance rested.  It hadn’t seen use in some time, since the lance had become more of a tournament weapon than one actually used in open combat, unless between two knights, and even then other, more manageable weapons were preferred.

                He glanced around him at the four soldiers, hand picked by him, of the elite guard that were accompanying them on the journey.  He had worked with each one before, knew they could be trusted.  He was pretty confident all the elite guard could be trusted since they had been chosen and trained by Galon Eaglehart, but these men he was familiar with.  They all wore full suits of plate and chain armor, though they actually wore their helms, and were armed with swords, shields and crossbows. Their quivers and a long spear a piece rested on their saddles, but were easily detached if needed.  They seemed plenty alert and rode in a good formation, one to each corner of the carriage while he tended to circle it, alert to all sides for any threat.  He didn’t really expect any trouble, from what he’d heard the assassin that had taken down the duke had been hired by a jealous husband.  He wasn’t surprised, everyone had known about the dukes transgressions, it was only a matter of time before they did something about it.  Still, while it wasn’t common on Algeron, there was always the chance of bandits on the trade road, so it paid to stay alert.

                They rode on in silence for another hour, then Avalon was distracted by the carriage driver leaning forward and scowling at one of his team.  “What’s up?” the knight called, reining his buckskin warhorse, called Charger, closer to the man. 

                “Damn horse is favoring its left front, looks like.”  The driver said, scowling at the animal.  Avalon knew the driver, he was the Countess’s regular chauffer.  He trusted his judgment.

                “What do you want to do Culver?”  he asked the man

                “Should probably pull over and check it.  Wouldn’t do to have a horse come up lame so early in the trip.”  The driver said.  He was a sallow man, slumped and taciturn, with a disheveled appearance and teeth stained by tobacco, a stream of which he spat onto the ground opposite the knight.

                Avalon sighed, but nodded his consent for the man to stop.  As Culver started to steer the team to the side and slow the knight heard the Countess’s window slide up.  “Avalon?”

                He reined his mount around and came up next to the carriage, looking down and through the window at her, his eyes flickering briefly over the deep valley of cleavage visible over her dresses low neckline.  “Culver is afraid one of the horses might be laming.  He wants to check it out.  Shouldn’t take long milady.”

                “Long enough that my sister and I might stretch our legs?  It’s rather stuffy in here.”  The Countess asked. 

                Avalon straightened in his saddle and glanced around, the security conscious warrior in him not liking the idea, but the chivalrous knight unable to deny her.  “I don’t see any real harm in it ma’am.” He told her, and dismounted to assist both women from the carriage. 

                As she stepped to the soft dirt on the side of the road, Ishara took a deep breath, drawing every male eye in the vicinity to her swollen bosom.  “The Starlight looks beautiful in the twilight, doesn’t it?” the blonde elf asked, her gaze wandering toward the river, which flowed about twenty yards from the road.  “Walk with me?” she asked the knight, slipping her arm through his.  Unable and unwilling to say no, Avalon let her lead him down toward the river, the priestess chatting happily, even while casting a mischievous glance over her shoulder at her sister.

                Penelope shook her head and laughed softly.  “She’s incorrigible!”  She knew there was no chance that Ishara would ever actually make a move on the knight, she would never hurt Ariana that way, but the elven priestess wasn’t above flirting with the man.  In fact, from what she knew of Avalon, he wasn’t above a little harmless flirting either.  She wasn’t entirely certain he was above the stuff that wasn’t so harmless, come to think of it. 

                A faint groan and a thud drew her violet eyes toward front of the carriage, narrowing her gaze as she tried to make out where the noise had come from.  By the time she saw Culver, slumped on the ground on the far side of the horses, two of her four guards had slapped their necks where the armor didn’t cover and toppled from their saddles.  Realizing what was happening, the Countess spun and opened her mouth to shout for Avalon, but then she saw the knight and her sister already slumped on the ground, halfway between the road and the river.  Wheeling about again she cast around for something, anything to defend herself with.  One of the guards had fallen nearby and she was racing for his body when she heard the fourth guard slump, the man having managed to draw his sword before whatever it was hit his neck and he slumped.  The elven noblewoman slid the fallen guards sword from its scabbard and wheeled about, her purple hued eyes scanning her surroundings, looking for the attacker.  She knew now that the Duke’s death, while unfortunate, had been merely a ruse to lure her out of Peacehope, where it would be easier to capture her… and possibly her sister as well.

                “Show yourself!” she cried, putting her back to the carriage.

                A gentle thump and the shaking of the carriage behind her had the elf spinning about and she saw a stout figure of average height, clad from head to toe in black crouched on the roof of the carriage.  “Who are you?” she called, hating that her voice was shaking slightly.  He had taken down her whole escort in seconds without even laying a hand on them!

                “Just a man with a job to do milady.”  He said, then raised a long tube to his mouth and blew through it sharply.  The Countess tried to duck but felt the sharp sting on the side of her neck.  The drug, or poison, or whatever it was worked quickly.  She took one staggering step forward, then her eyes rolled up in her head and she fell to the ground, unmoving.  Shadow Stalker flipped nimbly to the ground and stood over her nubile form, his hard gaze taking in the scene around him.  “That was almost too easy.”  He said, then proceeded to gather up his victims and make good his escape from the Island.  He had one week to deliver the women to the shadow elf… time was of the essence.

Chapter Three

                “Tell me again what happened?”  Strut said stiffly, standing at the bedside of the unconscious Ariana Moonstone, his gaze traveling over her inert form as though willing her to wake.  Across from him, on the other side of her bed, a similar expression on his face was Falcon and arrayed between them, spread around the foot of the bed were her sisters and the other members of the Dragons. 

                “We went to visit our fathers tomb,” Krystel supplied for the third time, “as we always do on the anniversary of his death.  We had just opened the door and she was stepping forward to lead the way when this beam of dark energy shot out of the tomb and struck her in the chest.”

                “From what you described of the encounter,”  Magnus Jorvel offered in an oddly clinical and detached sort of voice, “I would venture a guess that it was a death bolt.  One of the more deadly offensive abilities in a necromancers repertoire.”  Magnus was a man of average height and build, wearing robes of blue lined in yellow.  His hair, which was worn a little shaggy and disheveled was a medium shade of brown but his eyes… his eyes seemed to glow with a mystical light.  Mostly this was an illusion, until such time as the mage felt truly stressed, then that light was very real and it generally spelled trouble for whoever was causing him that stress.               

                “You say that this necromancer, a woman, stole your fathers body?”  Strut reiterated.  Though born of the mountains of Trey’Elden, Strut was not the typical barbarian.  A large man, he still lacked the thick slabs of muscle so often attributed to the men of those mountains.  His hair was long and black, still pulled back in the ponytail it had been in for the party.  His broad shoulders somewhat stretched the seams of the dress tunic he was wearing and his fingers were flexing habitually, as though they missed the pair of battle axes he typically wore cross on his back.  “Why would she do that?”

                Though they stood in a hospice wing of the Church of Light and Dark, where they all went for healing when they were at home in Peacehope, and a priest was there in attendance, the group looked to Magnus who was their usual source of information about all things arcane.  This time, however, the brilliant young mage seemed at a loss.

                “I may be able to venture an opinion on that subject.”  Said a woman’s voice from the doorway of the hospice wing.  The entire group turned, their eyes widening slightly at the sight of a majestic beauty of a woman walking toward them.  She was tall and exceptionally well endowed, but wore it well with a firm and well toned body borne of years of physically demanding exercise.  Her long curly was raven black, her full lips red as rubies and the points of her ears poked out of her hair near her temples.  All of this marked her a magnificent specimen of womanhood to be sure, but what was most striking about this woman was her eyes, which were a rich, dark shade of purple.  Her alabaster skin was set in contrast to her snug red dress with its low cut neckline, wide straps that rose of the shoulders, the whole ensemble hugging her body from her bodice all the way down her long, shapely legs.  The skirt must have been made of some yielding material though, for it seemed to stretch well enough with her long strides.  A few of the people present hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting this woman as yet, but the Moonstone sisters knew her well.

                “Blaze.”  Aribeth breathed, her tone expressing a bit of awe that this legendary warrior mage was suddenly in their presence.

                Strut glanced at Beth when he heard the name, then back to the undead hunter, his eyes narrowed.  “You say you have a theory about their father’s corpsenapping?” 

                The woman’s full red lips quirked just slightly in apparent mirth at his terminology, but she came to a stop at the foot of Ariana’s bed, beside Natashiana.  Falcon was struck for the first time by the fact that he couldn’t tell which of the women was most beautiful, he was biased when it came to Tasha, had always been though he tried not to let it show, but he honestly couldn’t tell which of these elves was prettier.  “I do.”  Tatyana Fyre, otherwise known as Blaze, iterated.  “If it was indeed a necromancer that took his body, and by the description I overheard it sounds likely, then the woman may be planning to perform the ritual to awaken a Revenant.”

                Magnus’s eyes widened slightly and he gasped out, “Of course!”

                Talia looked around, was relieved to see she wasn’t the only one lost as Shadow Walker’s expression mirrored her own, and so felt vindicated in saying, “What’s a Revenant?”

                The question was directed at Blaze, but Magnus spoke up.  “May I?”  Perhaps out of habit, he usually handled such questions and perhaps he was feeling a little slighted that he hadn’t picked up on the Revenant link before.  Blaze nodded, that faint smirk back on her beautiful face.  Turning to Talia, Magnus spoke in his best professorial manner.  “A Revenant is one of the rarest and most powerful forms of undead.”  He glanced at Blaze as though wanting to be sure he was right, and she nodded encouragingly.  “There are only two creature I can think of that might match it’s power.  An ancient vampire or an extremely powerful lich.”

                Blaze, who seemed unwilling to let Magnus hog all the glory in this, picked it up from there.  “Correct in concept, though it takes a while for Revenant to build up to that level of power.  The ritual, which only a bare handful of people know, requires the mortal remains of a known hero that they might be… well, violated is the nicest way to say it I’m afraid.”  She winced slightly as she glanced at the daughters of the man in question, all of whom were looking rather stricken.  “The ritual involves taking the body and… imbuing it with unholy power, then summoning forth a demonic presence and forcing it to occupy the body of the hero, thus corrupting the form.  The demonic entity will have all the skills and abilities of the mortal host, as well as the appearance and personality, but it will be warped and hard to recognize, like a dark mirror version of the person he was.”

                “That woman intends to turn our father into one of those things?”  Krystel asked, sounding outraged at the very thought of Donovan Moonstone being turned into an evil undead abomination.

                “That’s one theory, yes.”  Blaze said with a shrug.  “There could be others.”

                Magnus shook his head, “No, I think she’s right.  It fits.  The question is, who was she and where is she taking his body to perform the ritual?”

                Aribeth scowled slightly, “I had never seen her before, but I can’t shake the feeling that I know her from somewhere, like I should have recognized her.”

                Krystel nodded, “I felt the same thing.”  She was still carrying the sword she had taken from the coffin of Aribeth’s mother, but the mage either hadn’t noticed, didn’t care or just hadn’t mentioned it yet.  The sword was resting almost casually with its point against the ground, its grip lightly held in her palm at her side.

                “Describe her for me.”  Blaze requested, though her tone made it sound like more of a command.  The girls exchanged glances, Beth and Krys having been the only ones to see the woman of the people present.  Talia, they had found out later, had been hit by a spell of some sort as soon as she had entered the room and had seen nothing.  A fact that obviously rankled the young woman.  Beth began, “She wasn’t as old as she looked, I don’t think, but she had stringy white hair and very pale skin.  She was thin too, very thin.”

                Krystel nodded and took over.  “She was stooped, as though carrying a heavy weight and had this horrid expression on her face, like she had long ago forgotten how to smile.”  She shook her head and shivered, “She was revolting, actually.  The dress she wore was more like a rag too, filthy and just hanging on her.”

                Blaze frowned in concentration, her gaze lowered to the floor.  “I don’t think I know her.”  She said at last with a shake of her head.  That was disappointing, of all of them she was the most likely to have known of the woman in light of the work that she did.  She turned to Magnus suddenly, her haunting purple eyes narrowed slightly, “Are you not the former apprentice of Purge, the Arcanist?”

                Seeming both surprised and pleased that she recognized him, he nodded and smiled slightly.  “I am, though no one is ever truly a former apprentice, especially where he’s concerned.”

                Blaze nodded but seemed to disregard his words, except for the confirmation of hers.  “It’s likely in his work that he may have crossed paths with her as well, being a dark mage hunter.  His cases and mine have crossed in the past when he’s dealt with necromancers.  I’m usually left to deal with their creations, but we’ve worked together in the past.  You should check with him… he may have information that can help you.”

                “If you know him,” said Tasha with a slight scowl, “why can’t you ask him about the woman?”

                Blaze turned and regarded the archer with a modicum of contempt and it was apparent to everyone there that these two women had little chance of being friends.  Sometimes, with some people, there was just something that didn’t click and that seemed to be the case here.  “That would be… awkward.”  She didn’t seem willing to say anything else and a warning glance from Strut told the archer to drop it, though she looked as though she wanted to press the point.

                “That’s okay, I’ll talk to him.  I should report this activity to him anyway, he’d want to know.  He is after all the guilds senior Arcanist.”  Magnus nodded around the group then turned and headed toward the exit.  As he neared the door however her stopped and stepped aside, permitting two men to enter.  The other saw Galon Eaglehart and Gar striding toward them, returning after having been dealing with some questions regarding the security at the cemetery.

                “How is she?”  Galon asked the assembled crowd, his gaze suddenly finding and settling on Blaze, only just realizing she was there.  “Lady Fyre, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

                Blaze shrugged, her eyes dancing slightly as they played over the handsome old paladin.  “I heard there had been a sighting of undead within the cities walls, where else would I be?”

                Galon flushed slightly at the obvious fire in the womans eyes, leading the others present to wonder if there might be something between them, though they all knew he was supposedly involved with Duchess Rethbourne.  “Good point, I guess.” He allowed, then directed his gaze toward Krystel expectantly, still awaiting an answer to his question.

                “The priests say she’ll be fine, but the magic that struck her will take a while to wear off so it’s just a matter of waiting now.”  Lady Knight responded, casting a concerned look at her sister.

                “Good, then hopefully you can all focus on another matter for me.”  He turned and exchanged a glance with Gar, who nodded that he should continue.  Turning to Blaze, Galon said, “Perhaps it’s good that you’re here at that as this will concern you.”  The undead hunter raised her arched brows at that in interest.  Galon took a deep breath, as though to prepare himself to deliver bad news, which his expression told the others was exactly what was coming.  “We just received word from Valor, the Duchess is wondering when she should expect the Countess to arrive.”

                Blaze scowled darkly, “Mother left hours ago!”

                Falcon, who was the quickest at such things, spoke up, “She should have arrived at least two hours ago… sooner if they were pushing.”

                Galon nodded his agreement with that assessment.  “We’ve decided we need to send someone to track them and figure out what happened.”

                Falcon was already moving toward the door.  “I’m on it.” 

                Galon smiled slightly. “That’s why we came to you first.”

                Strut called out, “Want some company Kes?”

                The ranger turned his head, calling over his shoulder.  “Meet me on the trade road outside the cities west gate in an hour.”  Then he was gone, disappearing  out the door.

                Strut glanced around at the others, and Tasha said, “I’ll come too.  There’s nothing any of us can do here.” 

                “Grab your gear, I’m sure he won’t mind.”  The two of them said some quick goodbyes to the others then headed out of the hospice wing as well.

                Once the trio had gone, thinning out the crowd around the beautiful paladin’s bed, Shadow Walker spoke up, “Anyone want to lay odds on something else going wrong today?”  No one did.

                Natashiana Grasamere went straight from the temple to the apartment she had been keeping here in Peacehope since settling there almost six years ago.  This place had become her home, there was no denying that, but it lacked some of what made her hometown of Hanover so special, foremost among the missing… her family.  She had her mother, father and sister, not to mention her adopted daughter and all the kids in the orphanage she used to run all back in Hanover, on the southern coast of Aldonia.