Hiya! My vast and incredibly grateful thanks
to the absolute angels who reviewed last part :-) Thank you for your charm,
honesty and patience! I'm in France from Saturday to Next Sunday, so don't
expect anything until at least then, but then I'm on holiday fro 3 weeks (yay!)
so I'll try to get at least five parts done (done, not posted) so I can post a
little more regularly.
To everyone who is still reading, blessed be,
you have the patience of something very patient, and this part is
dedicated to all of you...you're what got this written...
I would love, love love to hear what you have
to say :-) Please give me your thought, comments, criticisms...they are all adored
and worshipped.
Au revoir, (getting into practise)
Ki
Hanging On Part
Sixteen
The Realms of the Dead.
Andrea turned her head slowly to look around.
She didn't know what she had expected. A green, verdant paradise perhaps, or a
place filled with winged things and golden light, but not...this.
A dark, narrow way lay before her, yew hedges
lining either side. The scent of pine filled her nose, wild and fragrant,
swamping her senses with its strength.
I suppose I have to go down there, she thought.
Glancing behind, she saw a thin golden cord that glowed with pearly light...and
it was attached to her, disappearing into the small of her back. Fascinated,
Andrea reached out and touched it. It felt warm, and it thrummed slightly.
That's my Gift...that's my only way back.
Jaw set, she walked into the narrow way.
* * * *
"Mithros," Cleon muttered under his breath. A
cold feeling swept over his body. That was *Kel*. That was his friend, lying
there so small and pale. He'd never seen her looking vulnerable, but now, in
the arms of her brother as he carried her over to the Riders' healer, that was
just how she seemed.
"—gold nobles!" bemoaned Joren. "I had to pay
through the nose for this—"
"Squire," Miri said sharply, from where she
was knelt down, "if you don't be silent, you'll be paying through a broken
nose."
Joren shut up, but
one corner of his mouth turned down in a slight sullen sneer.
"Can I help at all?" Cleon said anxiously. He
needed to take his mind off all this...carnage. That was the only word he had
for the destruction that lay all around. He hated the silence, the way it
seemed to swallow his voice, he couldn't bear the reek of blood and death on
the air and the still forms around him.
Miri frowned. "You can go back along the road
and see if you can find Master Numair. And take Joren with you." Her eyes
glinted with a little mischief. "Feel free to find a muddy, messy route."
Cleon cast one final look towards Kel. The healer
had her now, a steady flow of icy-blue gift rippling over her body, over the
numerous cuts and lacerations. Too many. Cleon turned away. Thinking like this
wasn't doing anyone any good.
* * * *
It was a maze.
Andrea had realised that as soon as she came
to the fork in the path. A vast, yew maze where the only light was that of the
golden cord behind her, and the Gift-fire she called to her palms. She had been
walking in it for what felt like eternity, turning left and right aimlessly.
She didn't know where she was going, but surely there had to be an end
somewhere. Surely...
But after her feet
had begun to ache, and her heart felt heavy with disappointment, Andrea decided
that perhaps she was going about this the wrong way.
Let's think about this, she told herself,
stopping at the next bend. This place isn't real. So this maze can't be real
either.
She reached out, and her hand brushed the
spiny smoothness of yew. It felt real, and it smelt real...and what she could
see of it looked real.
That didn't mean it wasn't an illusion
though. Dreams so often seemed real while she walked in them, yet they were
only cages made from the desires of the mind. Maybe if she couldn't *see* the
maze, that would help.
Cautiously, Andrea let her eyelids fall shut.
The darkness seemed to swoop in around her, dark wings dropping over her. No
sound, nothing but the flutter of her heart and the swish of her pulse in her
ears. And there was something else...something odd...
She couldn't smell the green freshness of the
yews anymore.
Andrea opened her eyes and the smell flooded
back into her nostrils, so strong she almost choked. Just an illusion, then,
but a very clever one. Why? she thought. Why put a maze here?
The answer was simple, of course. So the living
couldn't reach the dead. The dead could see through illusions, everyone knew
that. They saw the truth of everything, because they were no longer deceived by
their senses.
Again, she shut her eyes and this time, she began
to walk. Step after step, half-expecting to hit the yew wall ahead...but
instead, she kept on walking. Her feet began to thud on a floor that was no
longer cold stone, but the perfect flatness of tiles.
As she stepped on,
voices began to grow in her ears; first a soft murmuring, like a distant
waterfall, then louder, until she could pick out individual voices. She didn't
dare to open her eyes, in case it all disappeared, but she listened long as she
walked faithfully into unknown darkness, and then...the voice she wanted.
"...ain't nothin' I can do 'bout it," a voice
said almost sadly. "They's on their own now. I wish..."
Her eyes flew open, full of hope as the
golden sun.
Ryan Talver was standing there.
* * * *
By dusk, the King
had made his arrangements. Knights spilled forth from the castle in a sleek
train, like dozens of tiny silver and bronze ants. Pitiful, feeble things. They
looked so easy to crush...she prayed she was wrong.
Phillippa ha Minch watched them, riding away
to this unknown peril. Other ladies wept, and waved scarves, threw favours to
their menfolk and lovers. So many seemed almost to enjoy it – it meant nothing
to them, just another distant danger that would be quickly dealt with. There
would be death and pain and screams, but they would hear none of them. They
would remain safe and sheltered, spinning tales of courage and glory under a
burning sun.
"Pip?" She turned at the voice, still in her
ball dress. It felt stupid now, a silly frivolous silken thing that didn't
belong among this war that had come to Tortall. Yes, it was war. She at least
would admit that.
"Neal," she said with a sigh. "You're going
now?"
He was in armour, light mail that surely
couldn't protect him from the monstrosity of these men who could become beasts.
Magic. He was fighting magic, and all he had was a Gift to heal. Someone like
him should never have been a warrior. What use was the sword he held again the
ferocity of teeth and claws, against madness?
"I have to," he answered. The emerald eyes
were unhappy, but at the same time, filled with desire for triumph. "It's my
duty."
"Duty," Pip said scornfully. "Do you know
what that really means, Neal?"
He came to stand beside her on the
battlements, looking down at the nobles galloping into the night. Back to their
lands, back into that realm of unnatural magic. "I think so."
She laughed bitterly. "What it means, Neal,
is people being sent to the slaughter. Kiery, father, you, all of you...how
many of you will come back? While we have to sit here and - *wait*!" She spat
the last word out, her pale face flushed.
Neal considered his next words carefully. He
didn't like seeing Pip this way, but what could he say? It *was* his duty. He had
sworn to serve the realm, and that didn't mean that when the going got tough,
he stepped back and refused to fight. *He* wasn't Vinson, something he thanked
his gods for every day.
"I know it can't be much fun for you, my dear
girl," he said gently, "but would you rather be out there? Fighting...being
afraid all the time because you have no comprehension of what you're facing?"
"That's what life is!" Pip declared heatedly.
Her sea-green eyes flashed with wrath. "It's not a tournament where the big brave
men charge up and down and all us brainless ladies sit and clap politely. How
can you expect to fight this when you leave half the kingdom to sit around and
weep?"
"That's the way it's always been," he
murmured. "There have been women warriors true, and according to—"
"You cite *one* book," Pip said in
dangerously quiet tones, "and I swear, Neal of Queenscove, it will take the
greatest healer in the realm to separate that sword from your posterior."
He grinned, despite the seriousness of the
situation. "Pip, it's probably not as bad as the King said. It's a chance to
fight for our land, to put right a wrong."
"How can you see glory in this?" Pip
demanded. Looking out across the battlements, Neal saw the proud procession of
knights, of glossy horses moving gracefully, or men whose faces were filled
with determination to fight for the law of their realm. He wondered what Pip
saw.
"How can you not?" he asked in return.
The wind lifted her hair in spiralling
tendrils. As she swung back to him furiously, she was like some avenging
goddess, fierce and primal and lovely. "How can you be so *blind*, Neal! This
is *war*!"
"I know," he said patiently. "But whether you
see it as foolish or right, it's still going to happen. We have to fight for
what we believe in, or there would be nothing to fight for."
She stared at him, biting her lip. "Oh, I
*know* that," she said. Her voice was more exasperated than anything. "I
just...wish people would be realistic. Don't let glory stop you being careful,
Neal. If you get yourself killed, I'll resurrect you and kill you again."
She meant it. "I have no plans to get myself
killed," Neal said dryly. "I'm rather attached to my life. It has certain
quirks, like breathing."
Pip eyed him, her face sceptical. "Fine. Live
a quiet life, Neal, don't die a hero's death."
He shrugged. "I'm planning on living forever.
So far, so good."
A new voice cut across them. "Neal!" It was
the quick, hard tones of the Lioness, magnificent in her golden armour. A nod of
her head acknowledged Pip; the curl of her lip, the other ladies. "I was
talking to Jon," she explained. "Phillippa, Thayet wants to talk to you later.
She's going to organise the defence of the city, and as most of the men who can
fight have been conscripted by the lords, it's a case of ladies first."
He saw his friend's eyes blaze with an unholy
green light. "*Good*."
"It's time we left, squire," the Lioness
said. Her face was set, severe in her armour and a saddlebag in one hand. She
cast a half-amused glance at Pip. "Keep your goodbyes brief."
Pip glowered after the departing, stocky form
of the Champion. "She thinks we're..." she muttered furiously. "Honestly, why
is the whole castle determined to think the worst?"
"Well," Neal said cheerfully, "it's always
better to be pessimistic and wrong than optimistic and wrong."
"I suppose," the noblewoman said glumly. The
breeze fluttered her hair up again and Neal noticed something shiny tucked at
the nape of her neck. It couldn't be...her hair moved aside again and Neal was
sure.
"You're wearing a knife, you untrusting
fiend!" he said, shocked.
Pip blinked then shrugged. "I didn't trust
that—" She said a word that made one of the noble ladies take a step away,
looking alarmed. "—Vinson."
Neal sighed, raking a hand through his dark
hair. "It's probably a good idea."
They were both side-stepping, he knew. Neal
had never been particularly good with goodbyes, and Pip was like one of his
family.
"I'd better go," he said uneasily. It was strange,
he thought, how everything could change so quickly. An hour ago, they had been
dancing to the harmonised sweetness of violins and harps...now, they stood on
the battlements, with a cold wind blowing from the north, a wind carrying
tidings of battle and blood.
"You had," she said solemnly. Her eyes
flicked away from him, down to the outpouring of people. Then she said, "Oh!"
in an exasperated tone, and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodbye," she told him
firmly, her voice cool and clear. "There, I've said it. Now *go*, for Mithros'
sake, or the battle'll be fought without you."
"You sound just like my older sister," he
commented sourly. That, he was beginning to realise, was what she had become.
She was very beautiful, no doubt about that, but...there didn't seem to be
anything *there*. She was fun to be with, and a challenge to talk to at the
best of times, but she didn't make his heart pound or his breath catch... not
the way there had been with...well, this was no time for *that*.
"Good luck," she said. "Give my best wishes
to the others."
Neal couldn't stop the wicked grin that crept
over his face. "Any others in particular?" He had noticed her deep in
discussion with the Prince often. And she didn't seem to punch him as often as
everyone else.
She swatted him on the head, starting to
blush a little. "Shut up, Neal."
"My lady," he said courteously, executing a
sweeping bow, for which he was promptly hit on the head. "Hey!"
"If you can't stop sweet, innocent little
*me*," she pointed out, "what hope do you have against anyone else?"
Before she even knew what he was doing, Neal
had moved, a flash of silver, and flipped her onto the ground. For a moment,
her face was shocked (the nobles around them gasped in horror, no doubt
thinking he had gone quite mad), then Pip began to laugh, her eyes sparkling
with mirth.
Neal of Queenscove grinned down at her. "I'll
cope," he said, and strode off to battle.
* * * *
Numair Salmalin opened heavy eyelids to see
only a blurred haze of blue. As he blinked, trying to clear his vision, he
realised his entire body felt unaccountably heavy, as though every limb had
been turned to stone. A dull, sinking feeling began in his stomach. He knew
this spell; Ozorne had tried it on him once, long ago at the university as a
'joke'. Some joke...he had been unable to move until the Mithran master managed
to untangle the spell; Ozorne had swanned off to hunt with his friends,
laughing all the way, no doubt.
He tried to speak, but all that came out was
a garbled moan.
"Arram?" The voice was a soft hiss. He
recognised it from somewhere...the knowledge scuttled around the edge of his
mind. "Blink if you can hear me."
He blinked. The haze above him was beginning
to recede a little, and there was just enough feeling left in his body to tell
him he was lying down.
"I don't suppose you remember me," the low
voice went on. A flash of red slipped over his vision, like a rose of stained
glass. "Laird y Sanra?"
Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith! How could he
forget?
As he vision cleared, he saw the pale
oriental face with its slanting cheekbones and impassive expression. Only the
eyes gave her away; the darkness of them was brimming with fear, but unless he
had known her as well as he did, Numair wouldn't have realised anything was
wrong.
"You've done well for yourself, Arram," she
said dryly. Her voice was rich, bleak as the desert horizon. "I wish I could
say the same."
He tried to speak again, but there was only
the strangulated gasp that passed for his voice.
The girl – though she wasn't of course, she
was a woman grown now, but to Numair she would always be the streetrat he had
travelled with in those grim years after he fled from Carthak, moving from town
to town with their paltry show of illusions and tricks – sketched in the air
with her white fingers, her lips moving silently.
The weight lifted, leaving him light as a
feather. Numair sat up gingerly, wincing as nerves sprung into tingling life.
"What—" he began, before she clapped a hand over his mouth, shaking her head.
"Hush!" Laird hissed. "If it knows you're
awake, we're both dead!"
"It?" he said, keeping his voice low. A swift
glance around did not reassure him. This looked like some kind of cell, clearly
a laboratory from the scrolls scattered about and the metal instruments that
were neatly lined up on a stone slab. "Would you care to elaborate?"
Laird stepped back cautiously. "Are you going
to keep quiet?" she whispered. He nodded, taking note of the red robe that she
wore, the scarlet a leaping flame in the dim light.
"You're a mage?" When he had known Laird, she
had been a fire-eating girl, a tumbler, nothing more. An eastern delight to the
crowd with her long-legged grace and satiric, flashing smile that seemed full
of mystery.
She nodded her head sharply, the silver rods
holding her hair in an intricate twist gleaming. "Seems like it's catching,
Arram."
He smiled, delighted despite the gravity of
the situation. "Congratulations."
"Only a red robe though," she murmured
wistfully. "Not quite your level. Really, Arram, you never said you were *that*
Gifted."
He shrugged. He didn't look the part of the
mighty mage now, in his travel-stained clothes, his grimy face and the sheer
exhaustion he felt. "This 'it', Laird?"
She shifted uneasily, the scarlet robe
rippling. Her dark eyes met his squarely. "Do you know what an Arachon is?" She
spat the name, as if it was something tainted.
Numair blinked. Another immortal sprung to
life? How many of these fabled beings lay hidden in their land? He had thought
many were extinct, or locked in the Divine Realms. "Part spider, part dragon.
Of legend, notoriously unstable. Three eyes, the third said to be the seat of
power—"
"Still sound like you swallowed the scroll,"
the woman remarked with half a smile.
"But why come here of all places?" he said
irritably. "The north has very little land or protection. The coasts or the sea
would be better – I believe it is aqueous by nature...and what on earth are you
doing in the, the—" He trailed off, unable to voice his thought.
"The employment of
one," Laird finished. Her face was bitter. "I was foolish, Arram. That was all.
I stumbled across it one night and was fool enough to think I might capture it and
take it back to Corus. In the midst of the War, I was convinced they would pay
me for such a prize. I would be famous...living from charms and talismans is no
way to make a living."
He smiled grimly, remembering the days when
they both had lived just that way. Often they had gone hungry, or frozen
sleeping on the streets because the inns were too costly. "But still, an Arachon?"
Her eyebrows arched. "Alas, I didn't have
your education. I didn't know how powerful the wretched creature was. It enslaved
me...and I am the lucky one, Arram. It has others here, prisoners. All mages,
all with power."
"Solely mages?" He frowned. It niggled at
him...that was important somehow. Laird must have seen his confusion.
"Do you know what
they feed upon, Arram?"
"I believe they feed upon...oh." he stopped.
Enlightenment dawned. "Magic," he said softly. "It feeds on magic."
She gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Clever as
ever. Yes, when the men began to take the magic here, the Arachon felt it. We
came for a girl originally, some little Gifted creature that caused quite a
stir in the magical world. But it has decided to stay – there is food enough
for its lifetime running about."
"I know," he answered mildly. "We were
seeking her."
Laird stared at him. "She is here," she
murmured. "We caught her one even...sleeping out in open." The dark eyes
flickered. "The Arachon wants information from her – the whereabouts of the
boy."
Numair made his face a perfectly blank mask.
"What boy?" he said as innocently as he dared. For all he knew, Laird was in
league with this creature, not merely enslaved by it.
Her brow furrowed. "I can't believe you don't
know. The girl is bound to a boy, equally powerful. The Arachon wants them
both..." her eyes slid away from his. "She wants you too," Laird said so softly
he had to strain to hear her.
He looked at her. "And why did you wake me,
Laird?" Numair thought he knew the
answer but he wanted confirmation.
His childhood friend, a girl who had
discovered magical powers of her own, lifted that proud head and the fire in
her eyes heartened him. "I want out of this," she said. "I can't spend my life
paying for one mistake, being at its beck and call." She held up her arms, so
the billowing sleeves of the robe fell back and he saw the weals along her
arms. "I cannot take any more pain. I want it dead, and I need your help to do
it."
He gave a little bow. "Agreed."
For the first
time, he saw that wonderful genuine smile of hers, flicking white in the shadows.
"Good," she said. "We must—"
She froze, like a deer in front of the
hunters, her dark eyes deepening like two wells. "it's coming," she hissed.
"Lie down, I must put the spell back on. I will tell it you are unconscious."
Hastily, he did as she asked and resigned
himself to the slow, cold feeling that stole over him.
* * * *
Their first meeting, face to face. Andrea
stared at the boy, the boy who had risked his life for hers and paid the
highest price of all.
He looked the same. The gentle dove-grey
eyes, with a steeliness behind them echoed in the sharp-cut features and coolly
confident voice. Tousled dark hair that fell into his eyes, a wide mouth with a
humorous tilt and tan skin. He could have passed for a noble, if not for the grubby
clothes and rough voice.
"Hello." His stare was frankly startled.
"What are you doin' here?"
Andrea swallowed. "I came looking for you,"
she answered.
He shrugged, sorrow stealing into his face.
"I'm dead. Ain't no use lookin' for me now. I can't help." His smile was
crooked, sweet as honey. "I'm sorry I let you down. I should a' helped you."
"You're not dead," she pointed out. She
glanced at the boy he was talking to. Another streetrat, with a wolfish
appraising grin, and green eyes fresh as spring. "Who're you?"
"'M Quicksilver," he said, holding out a
calloused hand. "Got knifed yesterday. I'm a-waitin' for the bastard what got
me to show up." Sharp teeth gleamed. "Then I'm goin' to teach him not to hurt
kids."
"This isn't the Realms of the Dead," Andrea
told Ryan. He shrugged slightly. "What are *you* waiting for?"
"Homage and power," he drawled. "I ain't got
no idea. Guess I am waitin', now you mention it. But I'm dead, Andrea...that's
your name, ain't it?"
She nodded.
"It's pretty," he said mildly, and carried
on. "I'm gone, an' I may be a streetrat but even I know that once you're gone,
ain't no goin' back."
"I'm here." Her gold eyes met his defiantly.
"I'm going back and you're coming with me, whether you want to or not."
The grey eyes widened, a smile curling up his
mouth with breathtaking slowness. "Goin' to argue with the gods, are ye?"
"I already have," she snapped back.
Ryan stared at her closely. She stared back,
hoping he would see the truth in her eyes. "You serious?"
"I walked this way to find you." Her voice
was soft as ever, but ice lay under it like a sheathed sword. "You can at least
give me some company on the way back." His face became uncertain; Andrea
pressed her advantage. "Aren't there people you're going to miss? Do you want
to leave everything behind for *this*?" She gestured disdainfully at the plain
room.
She saw it in his eyes, a kind of growing
wonder that changed them from misty into that pure, blazing turquoise of summer
skies and knew she had won.
"How do I go back?" he said finally.
She beamed. "Hold on to me, I suppose." She
held out her hand, small and delicate.
It was the first time they had ever
touched...and neither could have predicted what happened as lightning
splintered the world.
* * * *
Thoughts? Comments? Opinions...go on,
review...you know you want to...do your good deed for the day!
My grateful,
humble and completely overwhelmed thanks to the fabulous, wonderful and special
people who commented :-) You made my day! Thank you for being so patient!
Thanks to:
The awesome Aquilla: Welcome back! ::beams::
Oh, you have exams too? Poor thing! (I got my timetable today, ick!) Isn't it
just wanton cruelty? Or is just me? Anyways, it's great to see you again, and
thanks for telling me you like the story!
The amazing Arylia: Hiya! ::beams:; It was my
pleasure, I enjoyed reading the story. I have the next part, I just need a
moment! Don't worry, I'm not such an obsessive maniac (except in the case of
Michael from Roswell aka God) as to correct spellings on reviews :-) Thanks!
The captivating Camilla: FF-net is a pain in
the right royal hiney sometimes. It just doesn't want to work sometimes (but
hehn it does work, it's fabulous) ::grins:: Thanks! I hope the story stays a
little unpredictable...yeah, I've given up chocolate. Haven't had any
since...March 03 now. Thanks!
The cosmic Catchfire: I wouldn't say Kel's
okay, but she's still alive :-) Let's face it, killing off TP's character would
be pretty much sacrilege! As for Ryan...well...I think this part explained it
for me! Thanks os much - I'm thrilled you like the story!
The cheery Chip: You got my answer by email
(I pray, honestly, the number of times Hotmail breaks...) so thank you once
again!
The delightful Daine: ::beams:: Thank you! Do
you know, I have the feeling Joren may well get just what it is he deserves. Oh
no, they're all caffeine addicts in Tortall - how do you think they get out of
bed in the morning? Why stop at the north? Why not reconquer the *world*! (No
wait, that's my takeover plan...) Cheers!
The direct Dead Flower: Thanks for your
honesty :-) Well...I figure not everything can be all honey and
sunlight...plus, I tend to write how I feel. So if it's depressing, chances are
it's been a bad day. I hope you like this part a little better :-) If not, tell
me why. Thank you!
The divine Destiny: (wow, that sounds quite a
strange phrase). Scary? I hope it is a little :-) Life's scary (and so was
Comic Relief...my teachers took that a *leetle* too far!) Anyways, I'm
absolutely over the moon that you like it - thanks muchly for telling me!
The glorious Gwyn: Thanks :-) ::Kiana
winces:: Mind you, you've had to wait quite a long time for this part, so my
apologies...I am an insatiable romantic (that's why I like TP's books so much!)
so whatever I write, there's going to be romance. Thank you so much :-) I hope
you enjoy the rest!
The cracking Karalea: Well...even I'm not
quite so terminally insane as to kill off my own character (though I do have a
lot of days where I find I put cornflakes in the fridge and milk in the
cupboard...) ::grins:: Gods need a good telling-off now and again. Thanks :-)
I'm happy you're still liking it!
The kickass Katie: Thanks :-) It was good to
hear what you liked about the story...medieval times just fascinate me...I just
love the richness of TP's world (I'd love to live there...). Hopefully all the
plot parts will pull together pretty soon! Thanks so much!
The laconic (kidding!) Lady: ::jaw to floor:;
Whoa! That was one heeee-owge review :-) Thanks! Well, addictions are good!
(Chocolate for example. Very good.) Thank you for such a thorough
review...gosh...well, if it's any consolation, you lovely lot all fuel *my*
addiction...Ryan inact? Darn, there's goes my hope off chopping off a limb :-)
Hmm...he'll come back. How changed, I have yet to find out! Feel free to
criticise...I can take it! Thank you very, very much indeed!
The lovely Larzdinn: I have the feeling FF
has been playing up lately. Bless its little electronic socks. :-) Anyways,
thanks for reviewing :-) Scary? Well, it's not quite up to Wes Craven level (or
even close!) Ryan...well...I liked him too much to kill him. :-) He's fun to
write. Ta!
The lively Leap: We have it for 'academic' stuff too (for this, read: check
hotmail when no one is looking) but it's so darn slooow (no cable here).
Thanks! If I don't keep them in character, shoot me. I'd deserve it. Thanks!
The marvellous Mel: Confusing is my middle
name! Well...no...it's not actually. I don't *have* a middle name, but
hopefully all will become clear(er). I hope you didn't go mad, what with all
the time it took me! (Then again, madness isn't so bad...it's entertaining...)
Thank you!
The nirvanic Noel: Ah, Pip's
revenge...well...let's face it, getting your own back is such fun (not, of
course, that I have ever done it, being such an ickle angel...) Repercussions?
Hmmm...guess we'll have to wait and see! Thanks everso!
The outstanding Orenda: I have a fatal
addiction to cliffhangers. Besides...it makes everything interesting :-) Even
if it does mean some readers go bald...it gives me something to look forward to
writing (I never plan when I write...so I know what's going to happen about as
much as you do!) Thanks!
The 'onourable Onua: ::smiles:: Thanks very
much! I'm elated that you like...hope you like the rest!
The quixotic Quartz: Ah, Dr Pepper...it's so
scrummy! It sends me off the walls too...must be something in it...Joren's
weirdness...someone's gotta have it (and the attitude!). Don't keep what/ ::Ki
looks faintly baffled:; I think I must have my braincell switched off...Thanks!
Go! Find Dr Pepper :-)
The sparkling Silver Mist Tigress: Believe
me, I'm sorry I'm busy too :-) If I had my way, life would be one loooong
holiday. Ryan nad Andrea are somewhere in-between dead and alive - I guess it's
a kind of halfway house. Thanks for your patience!
The spectacular Sparrow: ::looks innocent and
twiddles thumbs:: Sneaky? Moi? You must have mistaken me for someone
else...would I kill Ryan? (Well...yes...but still! I am just a sweet innocent
creature with no real comprehension of cunning or sneakiness.) Thanks!
The splendiferous Sulia Serafine: Thank you
very much :-) I know it's such a long wait lately (curse school). I'm sure I'm
going to love Normandy! (The more I hear, the better it sounds!) Hmm...I shall
have to investigate the Serafine...I'm intrigued now...Thanks so much!
The terrific Tyr the One-Handed: Well, I can
be mean...but I also believe in eternal hope, not to mention life after death
(in the literal sense) which gives me some leeway to kill off characters :-)
Thanks everso!
The wonderful Willows: Hey, no, as French
goes, that was good! Considering some of the things I can say in French...which
certainly aren't printable...::beams:: And thank you very much indeed!