Asterix moved quickly, at as fast a pace as his short legs would allow. The wind was cold, and terribly strong, having picked up since they had left the village, and it whipped ice crystals through the trees and across the ground, blowing them into his face and making his nose cold and stuffy. Behind him, moving at only a slightly less determined march, was Getafix. His beard flapping in the wind over his shoulder, he squinted ahead through the face prickling wind to watch Asterix struggling through the fresh-fallen snow.

It had fallen only shortly after leaving the safety of the village's wall, which was a good two hours behind them. The druid had taken to carrying Dogmatix, finding that his abundance of facial hair actually served in keeping the pup warm. Beside him, walking with a gleam of defiance in his eyes against the rising weather, strode Itylus. The man, as usual, didn't seem bothered by the cold, so much as he was bothered by the wind, which was making it hard to see. So hard, in fact, that anything beyond twelve yards in front of them was nothing but a hazy sheet of shifting white.

Getafix shivered, wishing that he could be so easily unaffected by the frigid air. His robes, which blended in with the pure color of the snow, was made of thick wool, and were long-sleeved, which helped. Which was more than the druid could say for Asterix, who, despite having a scarf and mittens, always wore his sleeveless, black tunic. It was all Asterix owned, and all he had ever really been comfortable with. Mrs. Geriatrix had once tried making him something a little more seasonal, but Asterix had said it had restricted his movements too much. Sleeves made it harder for him to be quick, which, in the young warrior's mind, was essential to his occupation. And so, even during the coldest days of winter, Asterix wore the same thing he would have worn in the middle of summer, and vice versa, much to Getafix's frustration. But many of the Gauls were like that, so it was something that the druid had learned to accept as just another quirk of his closest friends.

They traipsed through the forest, bracing against the wind, feet soaked and cold, though not to the point of being dangerous yet. However, Getafix was concerned for Asterix's arm. The small man had just broken it. Not just fractually either, but in a way that was more a wound. It had broken the skin, which meant there was always a chance of infection. Not to mention that Asterix had lost a fair amount of blood. Enough to make the druid nervous. And so, even as they struggled forward, Getafix kept one eye on his friend, watching him for any signs of distress.

Asterix tried to rub his arm inconspicuously. He didn't want Getafix worrying, which he was absolutely sure he was doing. He could feel his friend's eyes upon him, watching. It made Asterix want to chuckle and sigh in frustration all at the same time. Getafix was a father figure to many of the Gauls, including Asterix. Had been for years, even when he was little and had had his real father around. Getafix had always looked out for him and the others, and Asterix had seen that to the extreme when Getafix had used every ounce of his strength to protect them from Mastix. Even when he had had nothing else to give, the druid had given more. It was a side to Getafix the Gauls had never seen before, and their love and respect for him had only grown as a result. But sometimes the worry got on Asterix's nerves. He wasn't a child, and he could take care of himself...for the most part. And he sometimes felt as thought Getafix forgot that.

Suddenly, Asterix stopped, pulling up short, his head tilted as he struggled to listen beyond the whipping wind. Getafix and Itylus came up behind him, watching the Gaul curiously. But it was Getafix who posed the question.

"Asterix? What's wrong?"

Asterix breathed as lightly as possible, trying to cut down on the cacophony around him. But he couldn't ignore a question from his village druid, and so, out of respect, he answered. "I thought I heard something."

Itylus raised a curious eyebrow. "An animal?"

"No." Asterix shook his head. "Stay here, I'll take a look." With that, he moved forward until the hazy shield of snowy atmosphere hid him from view of the others.

Itylus looked to Getafix questioningly, half expecting the man to call out and stop the little warrior. The traveler simply couldn't understand these people. They lived without fear of the Romans, or so it seemed, and yet here they were in the heart of Caesar's conquest. They were practically surrounded by the enemy, and yet, the enemy did not attack. At least, not since Itylus had arrived. And the village showed no signs of destruction or war. It just didn't add up. And what didn't add up even more was the villagers' trust in the little warrior. The Gaul was so short, so weak-looking. Itylus could have bet that he could lift the fellow with one hand without effort. And yet, the villagers seemed to hang on his every word. He held authority in the village, even though he wasn't even half as tall as most of them. And now here was Getafix, a druid, standing in the cold snow, waiting, while the little Gaul went ahead to check for danger.

Itylus just didn't understand.


Asterix waited until he was further into the forest, and out of sight of his companions, before he unhitched his gourd of Magic Potion from his side and uncapped it. He held tight to the container, his hands slippery with the mittens he was wearing. The gourd was warm, even through the material, Getafix's potion having always held that magical warmth. Taking a final glance behind him, to make sure that Itylus would not be able to see, Asterix lifted the opening to his lips and took a careful swallow. It only ever took a little Magic Potion to get a job done, and Asterix always used his supply in reserve.

Instantly, he felt that familiar energy course through him. It made his heart jump slightly, a boost of adrenaline warming him inside and out. That golden light he new so well seemed to shine from within him, filling the clearing with a flash of color. He vaguely hoped that it hadn't been too visible from afar. It would be bad if Itylus started asking questions, the blond Gaul still not fully trusting Lycurgus and his followers. A moment later, the glow disappeared, and Asterix took a deep breath, feeling the strength the Magic Potion empowered him with coursing through every vein in his body. It was hard to imagine, but Asterix had always figured that was how Obelix felt all the time. No wonder it was so hard for him to feel cold, or tire out. If that same warmth and energy coursed through him in an endless cycle, then that explained a lot about his friend.

Now equipped for virtually anything, Asterix crept forward, listening intently for the sounds he had heard before. Slipping silently through the forest, he picked it up once more; a sort of stomping noise that, in all honesty, he recognized at once. It was a Roman patrol, walking in step through the padded snow and ice. A few more hurried steps, and Asterix could see them.

They appeared nervous, eyes flitting from side to side as they marched toward him. Knowing he had nothing to fear, Asterix stepped out into plain view, and knowing that the reaction would be immediate.

And it was.

With shrieks of terror, the soldiers broke formation, eyes wide with terror. Like a shot, several ran off to the right, some to the left, and a few toward the way they had come. But one soldier, obviously a new recruit, stood his ground, looking about in confusion by his fellow Romans' reaction to such a small, native Gaul.

The fellow glanced about for a moment at his retreating friends, before turning toward Asterix with a cruel smile, thinking that it was his chance to prove his worth to his patrol, and maybe even Caesar. Asterix almost felt bad. To be so excited, only to have those dreams dashed. But this was important, and Asterix pushed his thoughts on the matter aside. Readying his spear, the Roman charged at him with a mighty battle cry...which was quickly cut short when the Gaul grabbed the weapon and deftly snapped it in two with one twist of his wrist. A small hand found its way to the front of the soldier's uniform, gripping firmly, leaving the Roman surprised when he found he could not escape the small man's grasp, no matter how hard he tried.

"Sorry to bother you," Asterix addressed politely. He positioned the soldier so they were a little closer in height. "Have you seen a...large Gaul come through this way, sometime between now and a few days past?" He refrained from calling Obelix fat, years of learning by experience having finally become a habit. His tone was kind, but stern, showing that he was really only being civil because he was trying to be.

The Roman swallowed nervously, feeling his gulp momentarily tighten the fabric around his neck before continuing downward. He stared in fright into the brown eyes only several inches from his own, his pride still whispering lies of victory over the blond Gaul, but common sense winning out over it. "I-I h-haven't seen h-him..." He flinched, as though he thought the Gaul would hit him for that. But when Asterix didn't, the Roman carefully continued, a little more confidence in his voice. "But one of the other patrols reported to our Centurion last night that they did...They all seemed surprised that they had gotten away without being..." He gulped again. "B-Beaten up."

Asterix cocked his head to the side, concerned confusion slipping into his expression. "You mean...they weren't?"

The Roman shook his head slightly, finding that the Gaul's hand was holding the material of his tunic just a bit tighter, subconsciously. "N-No...They s-said he let them go!"

Asterix's eyes opened wide in alarm. Never, ever, in Obelix's life, had the large Gaul ever missed out on an opportunity to teach the Romans a lesson. Never had he ever given up the chance for a good punch up with their invasive neighbors. In fact, usually, he was almost impossible to stop. Asterix could think of quite a few times where he had had to place himself between his over enthused friend and a cowering mass of the enemy. Why depended on the circumstances. Asterix was a strategist, he only fought when there was a need for it. He never even joined the brawls in the village unless it was truly necessary, which was hardly ever. He just wasn't one to enjoy a fight all that much. Obelix, on the other hand, always enjoyed a good brawl. It was all a game to him, and, in his innocence, he made sure it stayed that way. He never hurt the Romans badly; none of the Gauls did. There was no need for it. Most of the soldiers in Caesar's army were forced to fight them, and it just didn't seem fair that they should be harmed beyond a few bruises. Caesar was the enemy. A country is led by its leader. Not all Romans were bad. In fact, the Gauls had befriended a few in the past. But that didn't stop them from repeatedly sending Caesar the message that they would not be giving up any time soon, by forcing him to replace troop after beat up troop.

But for Obelix to give that all up, and just let the Romans go...It proved that something was terribly wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. And Asterix was bound and determined to find out what that was. No matter what.

"Which way did he go?" Asterix's stern glare and threatening snarl convinced the Roman, without a though of being a traitor to his camp, to obey and answer. Even if this Gaul was the enemy, some things just weren't worth being beat up over.

"D-due South!"

Asterix's eyes narrowed, gazing in that direction before glaring back at the Roman. "Are you sure?"

The soldier was dissolving into tears now, having learned his lesson of the Gauls the hard way. "Listen, please! I wasn't even o-on the patrol that came across your f-friend! All I can tell you is what I h-heard! And that's that he headed Southward!" His eyes gazed into Asterix's in a pleading manner, and it was all Asterix could do not to look pitying. He had a very soft heart, even for his enemies...Well, some of them. This Roman, as of yet, had not hurt any of his friends. Nor, as a new recruit, had he even tried, other then his useless show of backbone with Asterix.

The blond Gaul nodded slowly, releasing the Roman with a slight push. Not enough to hurt, but enough to warn. The soldier stood before him, or, now, more like above him, knees knocking and wrinkled clothes still tugged in the shape of the Gaul's fist. Asterix fixed the Roman with a low growl. "I am letting you go, but know this. The next time we cross paths, because you are laying attack to my people, I will not be so merciful." He sounded a lot more ruthless than he really was, but it got the job done. The Roman nodded like a lunatic, so vigorously Asterix feared his head would fall off. And then the soldier was off, bounding away like a scared rabbit, leaving Asterix alone.


Getafix shifted his feet in the snow, beginning to feel a little impatient. He knew Asterix could take care of himself. He knew. But that never kept him from worrying. After the nearly unstoppable spells of Mastix, Getafix had learned that none of the 'indomitable Gauls' were completely indomitable. They could still be hurt. They could still be killed. In fact, modesty aside, without his Magic Potion, they very well might have been hurt or dead long before this time. And, sometimes, that just scared Getafix. That his little concoction held so much weight on the survival of an entire village, and, in a way, an entire people, was sometimes an overwhelming thought. In this time of Caesar's reign, many of the other tribes of Gaul had lost all hope after the defeat of Vercingetorix. Their last, standing village was a sort of symbol; a promise, that the battle wasn't over yet. That, no matter how bleak things seemed, there was always hope.

That was a lot of responsibility.

Dogmatix, who was still sitting in the druid's hands, gave a light bark, tail wagging as his ears stood up on end. Getafix felt relief wash over him, knowing by the pup's reaction that it was Asterix. A moment later, the short Gaul strode into view, struggling to make his way back to his companions without slipping. Itylus raised an eyebrow again, noticing that something was slightly different about the fellow. He couldn't quite place it, but it was there.

Asterix came to stand beside Getafix, pointing with a mittened hand toward the South. "Obelix went this way about a day ago." His eyes told of his urgency to continue, showing the determination he still felt about reaching his friend before any harm came to Obelix.

Itylus gave a huff, almost in a scoffing tone. "And how do you know this?" He eyed the short Gaul just as all the travelers back in the village had since the moment they had first arrived. As though he was little more than dirt.

"I asked," Asterix responded hurriedly, already headed in the direction he had indicated, trying to dodge anymore conversation on the subject. Only Getafix knew what he meant. Itylus was simply plunged into complete confusion on the matter, but was too proud to stoop so low as to question the Gaul further. They trudged Southward, Asterix and Getafix walking up front, and Itylus moving grudgingly behind by several paces.

Asterix kept his eyes fixed ahead, and spoke softly to the druid so that Itylus would not hear. "Obelix came across the Romans. Apparently, he...he let them go...without a fight." His tone matched the look of worry that moved swiftly into Getafix's expression.

"That is...disconcerting." Getafix frowned, mattering to himself anxiously. Some of it was in Druidic, and Asterix couldn't understand it, but it wasn't hard to figure out what subject it was about.

Asterix felt suddenly very small and frightened, what was left of the Magic Potion wearing off quite suddenly. He looked down at the snow at his feet as he walked, working up the mental courage to ask his next question. "...Getafix?" It can out sounding strangled. He cleared his throat softly before continuing. "Getafix, how are you so sure that, if his strength were taken away, Obelix would...would..." He couldn't even bring himself to finish. But he didn't have to, because Getafix understood.

The druid was quiet for a long moment, before he started his explanation. "When Obelix first fell into the Magic Potion, I was very...concerned...about what would happen. I had never given a child the potion, and...never so much at once, to anyone." Getafix kept his voice down, again so their companion would not hear. "I tried many things, to try and reverse the effects. Everyone wanted him back to normal; his parents, the villagers, and me. I felt it was my mistake to undo." Getafix missed the look of guilt that crossed Asterix's face. "I kept trying, until finally I found something I thought would work...I tested it, of course, before giving it to him, and it was a promising potion. But..." Getafix looked slightly pained by the memory. "But when I had just given him a little, he became very ill...You were too young to be told, but...but we almost lost him. It was then that I found out that...I couldn't take away the strength the Magic Potion. He needed it. It was a part of him. And it still is."

Asterix felt as though he were shrinking deep inside. He knew that Getafix's guilt was unwarranted. It had been him that had convinced Obelix, as a little boy, to sneak into the druid's hut and drink the potion. He had only had his friend's best interests at heart, he really had. But it had all gone so wrong. It was something that had haunted Asterix for quite a long time, the guilt only finally wearing off when he realized that it had actually all turned out for the best. Obelix had turned out just fine. Better than fine. In fact, Obelix had always loved his strength, after he had learned how to control it, at least to a degree. But now things had gone all wrong again. And Asterix could only blame himself.

It was the only secret Asterix had ever kept from Getafix. The only secret he had ever kept from anyone. And Obelix had never told. Never, because he had forgiven Asterix. In fact, Asterix doubted that he had ever felt he had anything to forgive. Since then, Asterix had striven to never make a mistake like that again. To always protect his friend. And he had succeeded...until now.

Asterix quickened his pace, trying to keep the guilt down that threatened to be released.


A deep darkness fell on the village of the indomitable Gauls, night without stars or moon, as the sky was filled with heavy clouds. Snow fell slowly; lazily, drifting down and gathering on the ground, adding to the white that already existed. The air was frigid, and the wind still blew from the sea and out across the land. It was quiet, as silent as winter can be, with no birds, or other animal sounds to break the spell. It gave one a feeling of being alone, and made one long for the warm days of spring. But spring was still a long ways away. For now, the silence would reign undisturbed.

All lamps in the village had been put out, the inhabitants having gone to sleep quite some time ago. All but one.

Fulliautomatix was working late in his shop, as he sometimes did. He always worked when he was worried, and the whole situation with Obelix had left him nervous and on edge. He didn't like the fact that the three protectors of the village were gone, even though he knew it was for a good reason. But, without Obelix's strength, Getafix's magic, and Asterix wits, it was disconcerting to think of anything happening. He was sure that Getafix must have left them with some directions as to what to do in case the Romans attacked, which, while it was extremely unlikely, was always a possibility. Perhaps Vitalstitistix knew something of it. But it still made Fulliautomatix very uneasy.

Putting down his hammer with a heavy thunk, he knew that it was now too late at night to do anymore metal pounding. It was a noisy occupation, he had to admit, but it served him and his family well. Placing all his tools back in their proper places, as well as cooling the fires that heated them, he began to close up shop, intending on going right to bed as soon as possible. It had been a long day, what with the various search parties that had been out looking for Obelix, and his body ached for the warmth of woolen blankets and straw mattress. His wife and children had long since fallen asleep upstairs, where the blacksmith and his family lived above the store, but he knew that his wife would be waiting for him. She always worried. She never liked it when he worked late.

Preparing to head up, he took a final glance at his project that still lay on his anvil. It was a blade, smooth and sharp, soon to be crafted into a sword for a customer on the east side of the village. While they rarely used their weapons, the Gauls made sure that they were always prepared, especially after the whole incident with Mastix. Not that blades would have done much then.

With a sigh, Fulliautomatix pushed the troubling thoughts from his mind, untied his apron and hung it on a peg by the steep, ladder-like staircase he had built himself. Turning to climb them, he only made it to the second step when there was a firm pounding of a fist on his shop door. Blinking in surprise that someone would visit him so late, Fulliautomatix turned, a look of puzzlement forming on his face.

"Come in," he called, truly expecting it to be Unhygienix, complaining about some problem or other. Perhaps his lantern was shining through the fishmonger's window again, or something equally trivial. He turned back to the staircase, half tempted to just go off to bed without waiting to hear his friend out. "But don't expect me to pay much attention to what you have to say." he called over his shoulder, taking another step up the stairs.

"Oh, I think you will. Once you have heard it."

The voice, obviously not of Gaulish lilt, caused Fulliautomatix to startle, whipping around to face the now open door. Cold air blew in, feeding the dying flames of the blacksmith's fire, bringing it flickering back to life. It cast an eerie glow all around, making matters even more surreal. There, standing in the frame of the doorway, was Lycurgus, backed up by several of his largest men. Fulliautomatix caught himself from showing just how startled he was, pasting on as courteous a smile as he could manage, even though his instincts were practically screaming at him that something was not right.

"Lycurgus," the blacksmith said, a little breathlessly. He was feeling very uneasy about the man's sudden appearance, especially when flanked by his followers at such a late hour. He suspected trouble. "What is it you need?"

Lycurgus's sharp eyes glinted in the firelight. "We want our weapons. I was told that you were put in charge of them. Where are they?" His voice held very little tone. Demanding, but not threatening. Not yet, anyway. His stance was strong and confident, towering over Fulliautomatix in height, even though the blacksmith was quite tall himself. Or maybe Lycurgus just seemed taller because he was so intimidating.

The blacksmith shook his head slowly, his hands clenched at his sides as his stomach suddenly took a dive. He stepped back down of the stairs, moving to the side of it anxiously. But, being a man of strength himself, Fulliautomatix managed to hide his concern. "I'm sorry," he said sternly, putting as much authority into his voice as he could. "But I was ordered not to hand your people back your weapons without the direction of either Asterix, Getafix, or Chief Vitalstitistix." He put on a more calming look, hoping to pacify the men who had now come further into his shop, closing the door behind them. "They are safe, I assure you. They will be well kept until you and your people are ready to leave. I hope you...understand?" The last word came out shrouded in uncertainty, despite his struggle to hide it.

"Oh, I understand," Lycurgus said simply. He had moved forward during Fulliautomatix's words, in an aimless manner, coming right in front of the Gaul. When the blacksmith had said his piece, the traveler half turned, and it appeared as if he were going to leave. "I understand very well." But then, without warning, he swung back around, slamming his fist into the blacksmith's stomach with a force Fulliautomatix would have never expected.

The Gaul gave a sputtering gasp of pain and surprise, arms wrapping around his middle as he leaned forward, curling in around himself, desperately trying to catch the breath that had been viciously driven from him. It stung and ached all at once. A throb of fiery pain that spider-webbed up his chest and around his sides, as though something within him had been crushed. But he wasn't given time to recover.

Grabbing the blacksmith's arms, two of Lycurgus's men, far larger than the rest, forced the Gaul to straighten out, holding him firmly pressed against the wall of his own hut as he gasped for air. The pain worsened when he couldn't fold up into it, but it was easier to breath, not that that was these villains' intention.

"My patience grows thin, Blacksmith," Lycurgus said sternly, inspecting his fist as though admiring its strength. "My people intend to take this village, and I care not whether you approve. But I don't want to hurt any of you people if I don't have to. If you cooperate, none of you will be harmed." His eyes gazed firmly into those of Fulliautomatix, the blacksmith still struggling to speak around his pain.

"W-We t...We trusted y-you!" he finally managed to stutter angrily, gasping around each word and spitting out the words themselves with venom. "Th-This i-is what...what I say t-to you and...and your followers!" He lashed out with his foot, lurching forward in his captor's hands, managing to get Lycurgus in the knees. The leader of the travelers gave a hiss as his legs were forced backward, under the pure force behind the blow. It forced him to stumble back, feet scrambling for balance in a very undignified manner. Fulliautomatix gave a grin, having wanted to do that since the big snob had first set foot in their village.

The smile was wiped from his face as he was jerked backward, harshly into the wall again, this time so hard it stunned him. His head hit the wood with a bang, his vision blurred slightly before clearing back up. By that time, Lycurgus had regained his composer; that same, calm but stern gaze fixing itself back on the blacksmith.

"That was my error," the traveler drawled slowly, coming closer, but not too close. "I allowed myself to come too near to you." His frown hardened. "A mistake I shall not make again." Reaching a hand toward the blacksmith's workstation, Lycurgus slowly, and without breaking his gaze with Fulliautomatix, grabbed the unfinished sword the blacksmith had been working on. It had no hilt, only the blade, but the blade was sharp, and well crafted. Fulliautomatix should know; he had made it. Inspecting the craftsmanship, Lycurgus came just a step nearer. "I want to know where you have hidden our weapons. It would be easier for us all, especially yourself, if you simply told us." He looked meaningfully at the pale Gaul's face, weighing the unfinished sword in his hand.

Fulliautomatix was scared out of his wits. The grip of the two holding him were far beyond any natural strength he had ever experienced. He couldn't move, not even an inch away from the wall. His arms and wrists pinned, he couldn't even shift to relieve himself of the sharp peg in the wall that was needling into his back. His legs were still free, but no one was close enough for them to be of anymore use, unless you counted the two brutes who gripped him. But they were too close, a leg each pressed against the front of his, keeping him from trying to lash out again. It dawned on the blacksmith that he was in serious trouble. But he wasn't about to give in to these lunatics at the drop of a pin, despite his fear. Steeling himself for whatever may come, Fulliautomatix gave his answer.

"No."

Lycurgus shrugged. "Very well. It matters not to me." Raising the sharp blade, he aimed it for the Gaul's chest. Fulliautomatix's eyes widened, and, despite the peg behind him, he pressed even harder against the wall, willing himself to escape, even though he knew he could not. Screwing his eyes shut, the blacksmith prepared himself for, what he imagined, would be a painful experience.

"Fulliautomatix? Are you coming up or not?"

Fulliautomatix's eyes snapped open, filled with fearful horror at the sound of his wife's voice. Lycurgus turned toward the staircase, causing the blacksmith's eyes to widen further in panic. His struggles to get free doubled as a small woman descended into view, searching for her husband with a mix of worry and anger.

Before she had even noticed the situation she had just waltzed into, one of Lycurgus's men grabbed her roughly by the wrist, pulling her harshly down the remainder of the steps. She was dressed in her nightgown, feet bare, and she nearly stumbled and fell at his treatment. She gasped, finding herself hanging by her wrist, which was held in the tight grip of one of the travelers they had come to know. His face though, was frightening. That was the only way to put it. There was no compassion in those eyes. No smile on that face. Mrs. Fulliautomatix gave a small cry of fear, kicking in the air, but to small to inflict any damage.

"Let her go!" Fulliautomatix shouted, his voice slightly higher pitched in his distress. He struggled even harder against his captors, actually managing to take a few steps forward before being forced back again. His eyes didn't match his words of defiance though, but, instead, showed intense fear. An intense fear for someone he loved dearly.

Lycurgus could read the blacksmith like a scroll. And he wasn't about to loss this opportunity for leverage against the frantic Gaul.

"I will let her go," he vowed coolly, "If you tell me where the weapons are. Think carefully, for it is no longer you who will pay for your defiance." He watched in satisfaction as several warring emotions practically froze Fulliautomatix to stillness. His expression one of mental pain, as the blacksmith tried to figure out what to do. He no longer struggled, but he was shaking, ever so slightly, telling Lycurgus that his words were definitely having an effect.

Fulliautomatix felt like he was being torn in two from the inside out. His mind screamed at him not to let Lycurgus and his men have the weapons. All those swords...The damage the man could inflict with them being to frightening to think about. But the blacksmith's heart cried out in pain at the sight of wife, held in the grasp of the enemy, looking over at him with a terrified, pleading expression. He couldn't let anything happen to her. He just couldn't.

Finally, too worn out by his mental struggle to hide his hopelessness, Fulliautomatix lowered his eyes to the floor in shame. His voice was shaky when he spoke, cracking with emotion. "T-They're...They're in a...hidden opening...behind that board in the wall..." He nodded weakly with his head to the left, still not looking anyone, even his own wife, in the eyes.

A few of Lycurgus's men, those who were not holding the prisoners, hurried forward, tearing the board in question right off the wall, leaving a large, gaping hole. Within it lay the sparkling blades of the travelers, still as sharp and clean as before. The Gauls had taken very good care of them. Passing out the swords, the villains sheathed them, already feeling more powerful now that they were armed. They stood at attention, awaiting their leader's next command. He didn't keep them waiting.

"Gather the villagers and bring them all to this hut," Lycurgus demanded dramatically, raising his hand as though in blessing. "Release these two. They will stay." He pointed to one of the men. "Go up and bring their children down." Without ceremony, the large men released Fulliautomatix roughly, and the Gaul tried not to pass out as he staggered forward away from them, fining his body and mind suddenly overwhelmed by all that was happening. Stumbling to the corner, he gathered his wife to him, holding his hands around her protectively. They watched in fear as the large warrior went upstairs to force their little ones awake and bring them down.

Lycurgus took no notice, no longer caring as long as they stayed inside the hut and out of his way. Lycurgus's eyes shown with a brilliance all their own, strong anticipation and enthusiasm blooming within him. With a grin of triumph, he turned to his remaining men.

"The village is ours."


Well, here's another! This should last everyone a little while while I work on a few other stories. The next chapter is already almost half finished, so it shouldn't be too long in coming. ;) See ya!