Muchas gracias to dyingimmortal, stephanie, deathsinger, alec-alumina, shadowblade546, Castaway5, pomplamouse, and tcat75, all of whom reviewed most graciously before I even checked my stats page. I hereby demand that they are made the kings and queens of Mars. Abracadabra.

Had serious writer's block before writing this. I had planned everything before and after revealing the first twist, but not right after. I think Mareth's outta character; I don't have any of the books to reference, so, apologies for that. Anyway, took longer than usual, sorry. Here's Chapter 7. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own the Underland Chronicles when pigs fly. Then again, my sister's boyfriend wants to be in the air force...

7

Right to Remain Silent

...

...

Gregor couldn't move.

He was afraid to try, 'less he keel over and suffocate on his own conscious agony. He had previously believed it impossible for him to feel any worse. Apparently, I was wrong.

Horrifically wrong.

Before, pain had blinded him into oblivion, lost in a swirl of colors that was his heart's turmoil. Now, learning the one item that could have made his day that much worse, he found that he felt nothing at all. In its extent, the news had rendered him numb.

He could only stare blankly, lost of his free will to act.

Over a long period of time, he became aware that he was sitting in a stone chair, alongside the edge of the council chamber, with Mareth at one side and Ripred standing over him, the giant rat obscuring the view of the rest of the council and their discussions. Memories of the previous few moments came flooding back to him as if through a view that wasn't his own. Him numbing up. Ripred trying to shake it out of him. The council's annoyance more than confusion or worry. His friends leading him off to one side.

Embarrassing, these memories were. But all Gregor felt was pain. Just like he had all of the last twenty-four hours. Agony in the form of a sword.

Ripping into a heart he didn't know he still had.

As Gregor swirled back to his bleak form of consciousness he shivered horribly, and Ripred slapped him once across the cheek, causing a jolt that helped him back to himself in his mind. He felt light-headed and nauseous, causing him to wonder whether or not he was truly as strong and solid as he thought he was. Probably not.

"You all right, boy?" Ripred asked gently, crouching down to look into the warrior's face. "You didn't exactly make us feel wonderful with that over there."

Gregor stumbled over his own words a few times before he was able to find his voice again, which was disturbingly shaky. "It wasn't exactly by choice. I'm not strong enough to take so many bad surprises in a single day."

Ripred nodded, understanding. Mareth seemed not to be paying attention to his Overland friend, instead directing his attention to the council's current debate, of which Gregor could not identify but could hear was a heated argument. Two of the humans and a flier were both furiously opposing the Viceroy, who had regained center stage, on a topic.

Uninterested, Gregor turned his thoughts to how stupid and weak and useless he was. You can't do anything, his mind told himself. You're useless as long as these emotions control you. And you're too weak in the heart to overcome them.

Which leaves me with what? Why am I here?

Neither his brain nor his heart was able to fathom a response to that, and he was left sitting in pathetic silence, wondering how he could be so weak as to collapse horribly like he had after all that had already happened in a day.

Ripred had turned towards the argument. Evidently, by the way he twitched his ears dismissively as one of the spinners voiced their opinion on whatever matter was at hand, he was in on whatever the discussion was. True to Gregor's suspicion, once it was silent again, the great rat stood to his full height and proclaimed, "Sending escorts from each of our species will do nothing to help her Majesty in the escape. Your peoples will just be cut down, quickly, tediously, and in a fashion assured to arouse the cutters' wrath."

"Says you, Ripred!" shouted an elderly man from the human assembly of the council, standing to look down upon the rat. "What you propose is that you and the Overlander go in alone! With our species combined by our best fighters, we will number at least twenty! Are those not better odds?"

"Olton, allow me to ask you something," Ripred retorted, sending a glare as fierce as a volcano at the man. "When was the last time you were on a battlefield? Twenty, thirty, forty years ago?" The council member didn't answer, immobilized into silence, and Ripred continued in the gap. "If it were a matter of pure numbers in a battle I would have already led our collective armies against the cutters and eradicated them. However, you must realize that these are cutters, and that they will not hesitate to jump headlong into a fight and destroy us, combined with the fact that leading a large number of forces into their midst would mostly likely defeat our target goal, which is to remove and rescue Queen Luxa alive."

The Viceroy nodded and looked up to the council himself. "He speaks the truth, friends. Sending in forces amassed will do little to accomplish what we must do."

"But still!" piped out a nibbler, squeakily and quietly. "By your own conclusion, how do you expect two soldiers, a rat and an Overland human, to survive such an assault alone! They're two people, by Sandwich!"

The Viceroy nodded, but in an aggressive way, not agreeing. "First of all, my dear Pythagran, the attack designed with these two in mind is not an assault. It is an infiltration, made only with the idea to get in, get the Queen, and then get out. It is not a matter of defeating the cutters, only achieving our objective. Second, I feel that you do not truly understand the skill level of the two we propose to send in."

"Indeed we do not, apparently!" a rat shouted out. "Of course Ripred is a rager, everyone in the entire Underland realizes that, but what nice component does the Overlander bring to the table?"

The Viceroy regarded him as if he had sprouted an asparagus from his left eye. "Do you not know, then? The Overlander too is a rager. A particularly good one, as well, if what our dear esteemed colleague Ripred has depicted is true."

At the announcement of his rager status, Gregor noticed that several of the council members appeared taken aback. He was somewhat surprised, to be completely honest with himself. From the moment Solovet, Vikus' now-deceased wife, learned he was a rager it seemed common knowledge everywhere. Now, however, Gregor noticed that many nibblers, both spinners, a number of crawlers, most rats, and even a few humans seemed astonished by this news. The shiner probably would have, too, if it had possessed any interest in the discussion at hand.

One human in particular, a man looking to be the youngest of the congregation, stood and said, "Viceroy, do you mean to tell us that our warrior is a rager? Excuse me, was a rager all through this time, through the war? Why were we not made aware of this at an earlier time?"

The Viceroy wore a look to mirror the man's own. "I was unaware that you were in the dark on this matter. As I heard, it was frequent knowledge that the Overlander was a rager. As far as I know, he has always possessed the rage ability. Is this true, Overlander?"

The Viceroy turned to face Gregor. Every head in the chamber swung with his to face the Overlander, but Gregor only saw the Viceroy's, a man he was doing his best not to hate but at which he was failing miserably. Trying to summon his voice, Gregor found he could not, and instead nodded, hoping the small and barely existent answer was enough.

"If indeed he was," continued Olton, the human man who had spoken earlier, "then why was the war so difficult for our people? Why did not the Overlander simply go and rage, and there lies the Bane dead, hurrah! Why was it such a struggle?"

"Once again," Ripred growled, shouting in a snarl every word he spoke, "you forget the rules and abilities of war. When this boy fought for us, Olton, he was eleven years old, and just newly discovering his capabilities. A rager, yes, but he was only bloody eleven years old! I discovered that I was a rager when I was eight, but I couldn't even master the ability until far past my twenties. By the time I saw him last, he had already begun to establish a fierce level of control and containment on his rager side, something ragers seldom can, or rarely attempt, to do, and certainly not so in the first year of learning the secret of that side of their personality. Still, his fighting does not rival that of a full warrior or a master rager, but he did kill the Bane. He did save Regalia, and the humans, and the nibblers, and the fliers, and even us gnawers. Don't doubt his abilities. He's done more in five minutes than you did in twenty years, Olton."

A stunned silence fell upon the chamber. Half of it was astonishment, surprise of what Ripred had said. Rarely did the rat establish praise, much less that much, much more less that much at a single time. Gregor found himself staring slack-jawed up at his comrade and mentor, shocked out of his wit. His facial expression was reflected on over half of the faces enclosing the council, including Mareth. And, Gregor noted with interest, the Viceroy.

Long moments passed. Finally, Olton swallowed and said, "I retract my argument." He sat down quickly, attempting to disappear into the background in humiliation.

The Viceroy recovered immediately after, and said, "Are there any further points to be made?" He looked around to the Council to see if anyone wanted to add something to their discussion. "Then, it is decided. Only the two ragers will enter the Cutter Lair to retrieve Queen Luxa, and only in the event that they fail will we send in our armies for her.

"The plan of motion is decided. The plan of attack must still be planned. We will convene once again at the mid-evening hour." He clapped his hands three times and immediately the members of the meeting began to disperse.

Gregor bowed his head, letting it fall exhaustedly into his hands. At any other time in his life he might have argued to keep the council in motion, anxious to get plans into action as soon as possible. In this case, however, he was far too agonized and fatigued to make a dispute over the matter. Moaning, he asked Ripred croakily, "What time is it?"

"By your time or ours?" Ripred replied, watching the departing affiliates of the small alliance. His stance was relaxed, but Gregor could see something unjustified lying in the deep of his eyes. Mistrust, or... suspicion? Hatred? Was it only agony?

"I thought they were the same," Gregor grunted, surveying the rat closely, trying to identify the flicker of emotion lingering in the rat's eye.

But as he turned finally to the Overlander, the strange glimmer disappeared. "They were the same," Ripred answered. "Until about two years ago. Earthquake. All of our chronometers got smashed pretty well. Had to start over, so we didn't bother checking to keep our times synched. It's not like it matters, anyway."

Gregor remembered the earthquake. It had come shortly after Boots' near kidnap, and had only added to another anarchic day in his difficult year. Trying to shake off the memory, he said, "Tell me both, then."

"By ours, it's nearing midday. By yours, I believe you're somewhere around two or three in the morning."

Gregor moaned and dug his hands deeper into his tired eyes. Trying to rub his fatigue away, he only brought up fears and anxiety shocks of what he needed to do in the near future, and how easily it would be for him to fail in the attempt. Moving on to another thought, he said, "I'm tired as hell. I need to get some rest somewhere or we're never going to be able to do anything against anyone."

"Indeed. And that is something we cannot allow to happen!" The Viceroy walked up, finished with dismissing his council. Gregor saw Mareth stiffen and Ripred shift footing uneasily, items he catalogued away for later observation.

"I trust you are fully aware of our situation, Overlander?" The Viceroy continued, speaking in a voice far too calm and boisterous for their 'situation'. Just another thing to add to the list of things Gregor disliked about the man, which was growing faster than it could comprehend.

"I am," Gregor replied, thankfully allowing none of his anger or agony in his voice. "And you have my full cooperation and abilities behind you in the matter."

"Excellent," the Viceroy replied, reaching a single hand up to rub knots from his face. Gregor noticed that he looked almost as tired as he himself felt, although the Viceroy was doing a better job of hiding it from others. "Ripred, will you please arrange accommodations for the Overlander? I must meet with the battle master and try to persuade him to follow my orders in staying."

"Of course, Viceroy," Ripred said, his voice far too even and straight.

The Viceroy didn't notice the change, however. To Gregor, he added, "Thank you for coming here, Overlander. You have no idea how much I appreciate your help. Thank you very much."

Gregor nodded in response. He was already thinking ahead to the next actions, but, as the Viceroy turned away, Gregor suddenly saw something else enter the man's expression. It was like a look of... smugness, confidence, but in a horribly cruel way. For a moment Gregor thought his misgivings of the man had caused him to conjecture up an illusion, but he saw Ripred react to the change as well. Before he could evaluate further the Viceroy had turned and swept himself out of the chamber, and there was nothing more to be said. A look at the rat told him that the vacant council chambers was not a good place to discuss such a thing, and Gregor kept his mouth shut.

"That went well," Mareth said bluntly, sarcasm flooding his tone.

Ripred nodded, beckoning with a wrist flip for Gregor to rise to his feet, which the Overlander reluctantly did. In case his first look hadn't worked, he sent a second at Gregor that strictly said 'here is not the place for discussion'. When Gregor nodded his understanding, the rat sent a minor secondary version of the same at Mareth, who nodded as well, before leading the way to a side door and motioning both of his companions through.

The long hall beyond was wide and expansive, with several adjacent side chambers leading off of it. Light from unknown sources spilled in from every doorway, but still, strangely, the corridor and leadoffs were completely deserted.

Midway down Ripred turned off a side chamber Gregor did not recall, immediately ascending three quick flights of stairs, the Overlander in tow and Mareth hobbling up with incredible speed behind.

After the stairs Ripred turned off down three more corridors before entering a long hall of stone doors, each inscribed with a Roman numeral, from I to XXX along the hall's extent.

At XVII, Ripred halted. Pushing hard on the door, it scraped open uneasily. Looking over the rat's heaving shoulders, Gregor could see a rather large room lit by several holsters of candles along the walls, containing a large four-poster bed, a table, three comfortable-looking sofas, an array of chairs, a tall mirror, and a long balcony overlooking the far side of the palace, spreading out over Regalia.

Gregor let Mareth enter first, and then went in himself, before halting to heave the door closed for his rat friend. Mareth collapsed quickly onto the closest sofa, Ripred lounging about near the balcony, waiting. Gregor considered sitting himself, but quickly determined that he would not be comfortable sitting at all, and so he paced past Ripred and settled himself on the terrace, staring out over the city he had saved more times than he cared to count.

Breaking the silence, Gregor pulled the first disruptive topic out of his mind. "So, how bad was it when I spaced out?"

"The usual," Mareth said boringly from where the sofa.

Ripred added a slight bit more detail. "The regular 'what's going on', 'what did you do', 'get him the hell out'----stuff like that. Might've dropped your status with the humans a bit, keeling just when you hear that Luxa's engaged, but then again the crawlers and fliers might be more on your side, now."

Gregor waited for another question to pop from the other two, but before long he realized that conversation would only begin from him. And so, in a voice so quiet he wasn't even sure he said it aloud, he asked the most important question he valued at the moment. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Are you daft?" exclaimed Mareth, somewhat jokingly yet completely serious. "We tried. Right outside the council chambers. You were in such a rush you didn't give us enough time to explain. Remember?"

Unfortunately, Gregor did remember. Every word, or lack thereof, but of course that was entirely his fault, and no one else's. Mareth was absolutely right. They had tried to explain. He had just been in such a hurry to get into the council chambers, into planning something that half-seemed worthwhile, that he had neglected to listen to what they had to say.

But even as he admitted his guilt to himself for that, he turned back to Ripred and asked, "Why didn't you tell me before, when we were still in New York?"

After a silence, Ripred sighed and answered in a saddened voice. "Because I was afraid. I was afraid that if I told you then that you wouldn't come. You would stay in your little world and decide to shirk everything that ever happened to you down here. And that was something that I couldn't allow to happen."

Another pause lengthened. From the inside sofa Mareth had closed his eyes and now gave off the facade of sleep. Ripred and Gregor stood in stony silence, staring out over Regalia with solemn eyes.

Eventually, Gregor found he had the voice to respond. "Do you really think that that would matter to me that much?"

"Yes," his rat mentor answered in a voice like one stating the obvious.

"Allow me to rephrase. Do you really think that telling me that Luxa was engaged to be married would keep me from getting her back? What the hell did I ever do to even give you the thought of something like that?"

Ripred shrugged. "At one time you defied your mother explicitly just to return and search for the cure to a plague we were unsure even had a cure. I thought perhaps you would have a similar reaction were you to discover the truth while still above the surface."

Gregor considered making an argument, but finally admitted to himself that he didn't have the energy for any more conflict. He had forced himself into three hundred and eighty six arguments in the past twenty-four hours, whether with himself, a companion, or an opponent, and he was finally beginning to feel fatigue not only in his body, but his mind.

Instead, he asked another simple question. "So who is this Viceroy? Old family friend?"

"Hell no," Ripred said, joining Gregor on the balcony as the young general began to snore inside the room. "He's a young diplomat, from The Fount. He originally came here three years ago as ambassador to the throne. Of course, he took an immediate liking to Luxa, even though it was clear she wasn't exactly interested in returning the feelings. She was still hurting after you.

"Time passed. Around a year ago we were strengthening our alliances with the other species. But even as we became more comfortable in our new environments Regalia began to lose its connections with its human ally. Luxa saw this, and tried to prevent it, fortifying trade, establishing ceremonies and exchanges. Nothing seemed to work, though."

Ripred paused, in which time he let out a long sigh. He gathered his thoughts, chose his words, and then opened his mouth to continue the tale. "I don't know which of them came up with the idea. I didn't even know about it. Then one day the queen just comes out and announces that she's engaged to marry the ambassador from The Fount."

"Out of nowhere?" Gregor asked dryly.

"Yeah. I was none too happy. I was supposed to know those kinds of things, especially when it concerns my bond. Much less, she should have told me beforehand herself." He stopped for a breath before going on.

"The idea worked almost perfectly. As temporary Viceroy, Arthur managed to keep The Fount with Regalia in almost everything, and the relationships with the other creatures didn't shift at all. Eight months in and we still hadn't pulled any bad turns.

"Then the cutters came----"

"Enough said," Gregor interrupted, not eager to travel back down that trail again. Instead, he stated, "You never really answered my question. Who is the Viceroy."

Ripred gazed about the stone rooftops of the city while he gathered his response. "I looked into him personally. As far as I can tell, he's the picture of perfect to an Underlander. Smartest of his people. Fights like a rager, even though I'm all but positive he's not, and he doesn't like to draw his sword. Only person more diplomatic than him that I've ever known is Vikus, and that's vulnerable to change. All in all, Luxa probably couldn't have chosen a better companion." Pause. "Short of you, of course."

Another time, Gregor might have laughed irritatingly, but now he just remained silent. As another stillness enclosed, Gregor read something in Ripred's furry expression that tied in with memories of the council meeting, and asked, "Something tells me that you don't trust this Viceroy very much."

Ripred sighed heavily, his massive chest heaving, and turned his grizzled back on Gregor before answering. "I don't know, Gregor. This man is perfect. Almost too much so. There's just something inside of my mind that's telling me he's got something inside of him that he's not showing us, on purpose. As if he's hiding something from us, intentionally. He's given me no reason to suspect something like that. It's just like... like I'm unconsciously sensing something disruptive, like the rager sense. I just can't make anything of it."

Gregor wondered at the rat's words. He too had sensed something about the Viceroy that set off an uneasy feeling in the pit of his guts. But also, like Ripred, he couldn't localize or identify it.

The Overlander fixed his gaze over the distant buildings on the outskirts of the town, imagining the great father rats returning home to their happy cubs after a good day's work or lounge or whatever it was rats did in a day. He tried to imagine being that happy. He couldn't fathom the feeling and stopped trying.

Encountering a sudden and disturbing thought, Gregor turned abruptly to Ripred. "Have Luxa and him ever... you know..." At a loss for words, he tried to convey his message with strange hand gestures. Despite himself, the rat had to smile as he picked up the train of thought.

"Mated?"

Gregor winced horribly and turned away to hide the blush erupting on his face. "To put it crudely!" he said angrily, mostly because he was surprised he had even considered the action, much less imagined the actual event in his mind. It only made him feel bad, although he was already far past feeling 'bad'.

Ripred laughed, changed it into a cough, and then sneezed as the air caught his nose in a trap. Recovering, he said, "Uh... to my knowledge, the answer to that is no." Gregor's shoulders sagged in relief, making the rat laugh again. Evilly, Ripred didn't stop. "But, then again, bonds don't tell each other everything."

Gregor stiffened again, and Ripred looked away to hide his amused smile, before a solemn attitude set in again, and all became silent for the nth time of the evening, or afternoon, or whatever time it really was.

Standing straight, Ripred heaved a breath. "Well, I believe it is time the general and I take our leave. I have to prepare my thoughts for the evening council, and I believe you must get some rest."

Gregor nodded, still staring far off into the distance, considering just what he knew now and what would become of him after all possible outcomes were complete.

Walking inside, Ripred shook Mareth's shoulder, causing him to break from his sleep cursing and fall hard onto the carpeted floor. Climbing anxiously to his foot, Mareth sent death glares at Ripred and opened his mouth wide to complain.

"Let's go, Mareth," Ripred said before the general could even get out a word. "Gregor has an actual need to get some sleep, unlike your lazy lounging. Let's not prevent him from his goal."

Fuming silently, Mareth only nodded once and bid a gentle goodbye to Gregor before limping to and out the door, pushing it open and walking through to wait for Ripred on the outside.

Turning for a last time to Gregor, Ripred said, "Seriously, get some rest. I mean on the verge of twelve hours of sleep. Chances are we're going to need you tomorrow, because all our preparations are going to happen then."

"And then we'll get going?"

"The next day, probably, yes. But not if you can't stay on your feet or even grasp a sword." The rat lumbered over to the door with his giant padded feet, pausing and calling back over his shoulder, sniffing a few times with his nose. "The others are all being polite by not saying this, but you stink. When you wake up tomorrow get a bath and some new clothes, then come back here. I'll come and get you when you're needed."

Feeling useless, Gregor asked, "How will I find a bath? And when will you come?"

"Just ask around," Ripred called back as he stepped through the door. "And I don't know, but I'm pretty sure you'll be ready to go by the time I come." On the outside, he pulled the door shut, leaving Gregor alone with his thoughts and concerns for the first time since much, much earlier that day... or morning... or evening, who the hell cares?

For a while, Gregor just stood staring at the closed stone door, feeling nothing and desperately trying to empty his mind of all thoughts. Admitting defeat, he walked over to the table and began to empty his pockets.

84 cents, courtesy of two quarters, a dime, and twenty-four pennies he had picked up that day before meeting Ripred.

A stray apple, which had been lobbed in his direction by an angry beggar, and also which he had caught in stride and pocketed for a later meal.

His gun, which he had taken off of a dead rapist long ago because he thought that it might help his family to survive.

Holding the gun up to the light of the nearest candle, Gregor examined it while remembering the moment he confronted Ripred in the alleyway. It seemed a lifetime ago, in reality only a few long hours in the past. A strong impulse inside his chest told him to chuck the thing off of the balcony, but with a shaking hand he resisted the urge and placed it instead onto the nearest table with his other items.

With tired hands Gregor pulled off his overcoat, depositing it over the nearest chair. He ran his hand over his black sleeveless shirt, feeling his chest where the scars of his encounter with the Bane lay. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his dirty hair, wondering how just ten hours ago he had been living a completely different life as a regular human, not a revered warrior in a place practically no one knew existed.

Collapsing onto the sofa, he tried once more to empty his mind as he fought not against sleep but on the boundaries that prevented him from reaching it, hoping that maybe everything was a bad dream, and he would just wake up in his bed at home as an eleven-year-old boy whose mother needed him to look after his little sister instead of going off to camp...

...in the dream, there was Luxa.

She was standing, peaceful, clothed completely in white. She stood with her hands at her side, her pale skin barely identifiable from her garb. A strange smile found itself on her face, a smile that was so loving and beautiful that Gregor couldn't resist smiling back, something he hadn't done in so, so long.

Luxa reached out a hand, beckoning for him.

He reached his out as well, grabbing blindly for her fingers, desperate to feel her precious skin against his again----

Out of nowhere, a black spear shot out and buried itself in Luxa's chest. Crying out in anguish, Gregor leaped forward to grasp her, only to find that it was no longer Luxa that had a spear in her chest.

It was Ripred. The giant rat was looking down at the spear as if trying to comprehend that it was really there. Reaching----

Now it was Howard. He----

Hazard.

Vikus.

Mareth.

The figure was switching so fast Gregor barely had time to establish whom it was before it moved onto the next one. He began to scream, overcome with impatience and agony at the gore before him.

Dropping to his knees into a floor that didn't exist, he screamed and screamed and screamed, even as, over the din of his cries, a laugh crueler than he had ever heard before, conscious or not, made itself heard over all, cackling loud and clear throughout the horror----

Gregor awoke with a cry equivalent to those of his dream, falling over the side of the sofa and landing hard on the floor, in a similar way to the method Mareth had utilized earlier that day.

Lying on the floor, still in shock from his dream, Gregor realized that his face was wet. At first he thought it was tears, something he hadn't had in so long a time. Before he had even time to be surprised by this, though, he realized that it was only cold sweat, and that it covered his entire body what was more.

Picking himself to his feet, he stood with rough breaths, making a great effort to calm himself after the traumatic event.

Several moments passed before he had gotten his breath back, and several more before he was able to focus. He bowed his head, realizing that not much time had passed in his sleep and that he was hardly any more rested than he had been before.

Stripping off his sleeveless, Gregor threw it on top of his overcoat and headed with trembling footsteps for the bed that he would have been looking forward to in any other situation.

It didn't matter where he slept. The nightmares would find him anywhere.