The Puppeteer's Puppet

by zhaladshar

Three years after Hyrule had been saved, everything was calm until they came. In a violent battle, Link and a young girl he met were forced to flee with nothing but the clothes on their back. The only way to mend Hyrule is to find an ancient relic...

3. Memories

Link didn't know how far he ran, or how long; all he knew was that he ran far into the night, deeper into the forest. Twigs grabbed onto his clothing and broke free of their tree as he bolted by. Many times the dark growth of vines tangled under his feet, nearly tripping him, but he ran on. Somewhere in front of him was Alamatar--he could not see her, only hear her feet crunching the dead leaves. Belgard, too, was in front and the soft thud of feet on the ground led him on. Link didn't know where Gywan or Jesika were.

Link's breath grew ragged and each breath of air felt as if his lungs were being scraped against rough, jagged granite. By the time he felt as if he could not take another step, Belgard abruptly stopped. Link slammed into the man's back and stumbled backwards, relieved he did not have to go on anymore. He rested himself against a tree, ignoring the lumps of bark that cut into his back as he tried to get his wind back. A few minutes later Gywan caught up to them with Jesika just behind him.

"Where's Alamatar?" Jesika asked, spying around the trees, hoping to find her friend. The shadows made it hard to see, but she knew Alamatar was nowhere to be found. "Aren't we going to follow her? She's getting away!"

"No, lass," Belgard replied sadly. "It's best to let her run. With what's happened, it's just best to let her run. When she is ready she'll come back." He started searching the area around the trees where they stood, and came back within a matter of minutes. "This is as good a place as any. Link, give me a hand setting up camp." For the next hour or two Link and Belgard cleared out a small area of trees using their swords, and Gywan and Jesika collected dead leaves, making them into four piles, four crude beds. The leaves circled a small fire, casting contorted, twisted shadows around the camp; everyone made sure the mounds were far enough away that a stray spark wouldn't light the entire site afire.

Link stayed awake late into the night, wondering where his friend was and thinking about what that Malchadite said. I don't know what he meant by those, by I will find out soon enough. In the meantime I had better get some sleep. "Just come back soon, Alamatar," he muttered, and thought he heard Jesika, who lying just ahead of him, sound her own soft agreement, .

Alamatar ran and ran, heedless of where she was going; she just wanted to get away. Branches grabbed at her arms, legs, hair, but she broke them off with her staff. Her feet carried her fast away from Belgard and Link, and deeper into the forest. The malicious cries of animals of the night did little to scare her; what she did, what she had promised not to do ever again scared her even more.

She cursed as an unseen root, convoluted with age, carried her feet out from under her. That was just as well, for she was tired of running, but it didn't stop the fear, the anger, from stabbing at her. She brought her hands from her sides and slammed them into the rough bark of the tree. Again, and again, she vented her emotions into her pounding fists, not caring that her knuckles were scraped raw and bleeding down her fingers. After moments she put a little magic into a fist and knocked the entire old elm to the ground. When she saw the wilted grass lying limp on the forest floor, even more anger coursed through body. So badly she wanted to send flaming rain to burn the entire accursed forest, but she knew it would do no good.

She fell to her knees. More sobs racked her body and tears that had not fallen from her eyes for some time flowed down her cheeks. "I did it again, Artaemia," she cried to the forest. "I let my anger get a hold of me and I Casted again. More innocent people died because of me and my anger. Why did I have to be born with such a horrible gift?" She thought--wished--she could hear the comforting voice of her friend saying it would be alright, that everything would be okay as it had many times before, the voice that had been with her for all of her life except the past three years, but she knew she had only heard the wind whistling emptily through the trees; the voice she hoped for was dead. Curling up into a ball, she wept until sweet sleep came upon her.

Over an hour later--Link didn't bother counting how many--he still laid awake in his jumbled piled of leaves, now scattered around from his constant turning. He didn't know if anyone else was still awake, but from Jesika's squirming and Gywan's tossing he assumed no one had gotten to sleep.

"Link, are you still awake?" a soft voice whispered. Somehow in all her twisting and turning Jesika had switched around so her face was right next to Link's. She sounded as awake as Link felt. "Link, how long do you think it will be before Alamatar comes back?"

Link didn't want to think about how long it could be, not at all. "I don't think it will be long, Jesika. Now go to sleep." I hope she will not be long. Waiting in this forest is not my idea of a pleasant time. He shifted his head around on his arms and looked straight into Jesika's blue, compassion-filled eyes.

"Do you think Alamatar will be alright?" she asked. The soft glow of the embers cast shadows over her eyes, making them look like those of a dog nuzzling its dead master's hand, desperately awaiting the limp fingers to scratch its ears. "Do you?"

Before Link could answer there was a rustling of leaves, and Belgard was sitting up on his leaf pile. "Yes, I told you Alamatar will be okay, and she will, lass. She will." Then, more softly, "This is not the first time something like this has happened." Link was not sure whether Belgard meant for everyone to hear, or if it was a personal thought.

"What do you mean? 'This isn't the first time something like this has happened'?" Jesika leaned closer to Belgard, a look on her face expecting an answer. "Please tell me."

Belgard smiled where he sat, the glow of the almost-dead fire making his face look like a demon's. "The joys of youth, hearing is. I wasn't sure whether you would have heard or not. I wish you hadn't."

"Well, I have heard and I'm sure Link has, too. So tell me what you mean."

"Do you really want to hear, lass? It is not very pleasant to listen to." Belgard let out a soft sigh. "I thought so. Maybe I should start three and half years ago…"

Belgard strode down the white granite walkway taking him through a maze of flowers and trees. Blossoms had just begun to bloom in whites and reds and pinks, and finches and sparrows, all shades of yellow and blue, sang in their newly-made nests in the trees. Hummingbirds went about their business sucking nectar from purple and red spring-flowers. The sun hung high and bright in the clear, cloudless sky, and red-breasted robins basked in the light. The grass growing between the cracks of the delicately placed stone was rich and green. A small breeze wafted through the garden, swaying the tall daffodils, and a calico cat lazily lay on one large branch of an elm, high above the ground.

I'll have to commend my gardener; he did a good job this year. He walked on the path for quite some time, having nothing better to do. It had been months before he had finally received some time to be by himself, to sleep peacefully in his own bed, to walk his gardens. He knew Alamatar was doing the same at her manor; she desperately needed to be back in her own home, especially after being away from it for over three months on their last mission.

Belgard followed the trail for another hour until the soft thumps of padded feet caused him to look up and see a manservant running down the stone towards him. A flash of anger crossed over his eyes and face, making the servant stumble and nearly fall, but it was gone just as fast. "I said I wanted no interruptions while I was in gardens, Retrae," he said coldly to the man standing uncomfortably under his piercing gaze.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry, Setting Belgard," he stuttered, and took two deep breaths. More calmly: "A courier just arrived with this letter, my Lord. He said it was urgent." An almost shaking hand gave the letter over to Belgard before the servant was dismissed back to the manor. Flipping the letter over, he broke the seal of the king--a half crimson, half golden sun rising and setting over the horizon--and quickly read the words written in an elegant hand:

Setting Belgard,

You have been commanded to appear at the Royal Sun's chamber at noon. There is some news that must be discussed. Alamatar will join you.

Don't be late.

Belgard grimaced. The king has a lot of nerve cutting my vacation short. There had better be a good reason for this. Stalking down the granite trail in great strides, he reached his large manor. More of a castle, really, but by law the only man who could live in a castle was the king. "Get my horse ready," he told one of the maidservants and she rushed off to the stables. After grabbing his sword--two-handed for most people, but only one for him--and his black cloak and crimson-sun sigil, he made his way to the stable yard. His horse, a large war-horse, standing tall on gray legs with a gray body speckled in black, was all ready to go.

Without a word to any of the maids or menservants, he jumped onto the horse and set himself into the gleaming, leather saddle, and led his horse down the stone brick walkway and out into the dirt street, now muddy from the previous night's rain, that would lead him down into the city. Men and women crowded the streets, but all moved as fast as they could out of the way of the large animal and its rider; Belgard's cold gaze and his sword, practically poised to draw itself, hurried the people even more.

Men and women steered clear of even coming close to him, but little children rushed up to the horse and patted its gray head and its flank before their mothers shooed them away and shot him a dark look. He didn't care; what other people thought or felt of him was not his business.

After half an hour of riding, the large castle loomed overhead. By far larger than Belgard's mansion, and Alamatar's, it was carved from a solid black stone by stonemasons thousands of years dead. Four turrets made the corners of the castle, long and high, higher than the rest of the castle. Arrow slits, more than could be counted, were cut from the black stone of each corner, and Belgard knew that there was at least one archer for each slit. Black marble gargoyles watched faithfully from their places around the castle walls, some with mouths open in a snarl, others with wings spread and claws ready to strike. To anyone not used to the magnificence of the Castle of Light, it would take the breath from their lungs, but Belgard passed through the black iron gates of the Castle with not a second glance.

He walked down the dirt path, a half-mile in length with even more glorious flowers and trees and wildlife than his own gardens, until he reached the closed wooden doors leading into the castle. Intricately carved into the massive doors was a magnificent sun, both rising and setting, rays of light covering the farmlands and plains, lakes and rivers. The doors were made of wood from trees long since extinct and were as old as the stone walls to which they were attached. Three steps, black and precisely laid, led up to the small floor before the entrance. Two guards stood on the floor in front of the doorway with their ornate spears held high in the air. Both wore the crystal hanging-sun pins of the Light Suns, the guards of the Castle of Light.

"Light," Belgard addressed the soldier standing closest to him. "Take my horse to the stables and make sure he is well groomed and fed." The man hurried off with the horse's reins in hand as Belgard walked up to the massive doors. The second Light Sun placed a hand on the door and pushed it open, sweeping his body in a deep bow. The doors swung open with great ease, despite their size, on silent hinges. An echoing boom sounded behind him as they were closed again.

The hall in which he stood branched off into three corridors leading deeper into the heart of the palace; Belgard followed the red velvet carpet down the center one. Golden torches worked with silver and studded with precious gems hung in their decorated brackets, the fire lighting the entire passage with a rich orange glow. Small tables, some holding priceless porcelain vases, others holding large bouquets of flowers, were placed throughout the hall in the space after every door. Where there were no stands there were paintings of earlier rulers, some even dating back to two thousand years before the current king, Xeros.

Walking in the direction he was coming from was a woman of average height with flowing red hair almost touching the floor and bright hazel eyes. She wore a high neck-lined red dress tailored to fit the curves of her body, and it flowed in waves behind her as she strode down the hall; the stitch of her dress was from the country Siwann, a land over four hundred miles down the Strangl River to the southern portion of the Niil Sea. The thin slippers she wore made soft scrunching noises on the carpet. Four guards, two in front and two in back, guided her down the lit corridor, their hands on sword hilts as they passed Belgard. The guards' eyes never left him until they were safely down the hallway. Belgard smirked; even the High Lady, the most powerful person in Siwann besides the Queen Aritha, was cautious around him.

Another turn down a second, even more glorious chamber brought him to the chambers of King Xeros, the Sun of Malchadia. The ornate doors were embossed with the three phases of the sun: the rising sun, the hanging sun, and the setting sun. Each one was painted in brilliant reds and oranges and yellows and precious metals and gems covered most of the work. As Belgard approached the grand doors two Light Suns pushed them open with bows, and he walked into the antechamber.

Standing against one of the walls was Alamatar. Her face said she was not happy being there but that was the only sign, and no one could tell she was unhappy unless they knew her quite well. Each time he saw her a renewed sense of amazement coursed through his body; thinking of how far this woman had gotten in just three years made him think the world was almost not filled with no-talent idiots. Woman? She's just barely old enough to be away from home. Three years ago when she joined to be a Rising Sun, Belgard laughed; a fifteen year-old girl joining the hardest training course in the entire Malchadite empire seemed utter nonsense to him. When she flew through the training exercises and mastered the staff and spear techniques and received her promotion to Light Sun in less than a year--faster than he earned his promotion--he was completely surprised and took her to train until she became a Setting Sun, a year later. In just a year and a half she had made her reputation as one of the deadliest fighters in the entire country, a reputation that took him nearly five years to make. But that magic of hers helped her along greatly.

"Good morning, Belgard," Alamatar greeted, her red eyes replacing its annoyance with gladness. Her staff clicked on the tiled floor. She was wearing her usual garb: a white gown designed for rugged travel yet elegant for a ball, white leather boots that extended to her upper thighs, and a black cloak covering her slim body. Her brown tresses gently lay on the back of her cloak.

"He better have a good reason calling me off my leave so early," Belgard grumped, but was not entirely displeased; he could be stuck doing this alone; he had half expected her not to come, because of her homesickness.

For over an hour the two sat in the plush chairs, waiting to be admitted into the king's inner chamber. By the time Belgard was about to knock the door down, a woman dressed in fine linens approached them. "The Sun will see you now. Please follow me."

She led them past the closed doors and into a room as elegant as the antechamber, if not more. Paintings of Xeros, from the most skilled painter in Malchadia, decorated the room between gilded lamps holding anywhere from five to ten lit candles. The carpet was still the soft, red velvet but its cleanliness was much more distinct. His bed, a four-poster, was three feet of down mattresses with daily-changed sheets of fine cotton and stood a foot off the floor. Thin curtains hung from the carved wooden beams at the knobs on top of each post, just thick enough to veil any specific detail of the person sleeping in the bed. A rug lay in the middle of the room, worked with rubies and emeralds and other colorful gems, threaded with gold and silver in intricate patterns. The king himself sat in a chair almost as magnificent as his throne. Belgard bowed at his waist and Alamatar curtsied, much to their distaste.

"Alamatar, Belgard, how nice to see you," he said, a smile on his face. It quickly faded when he saw the serious looks they gave him. "You must be wondering why I called your vacation short? Yes, I thought so." He walked over to a red oak desk and pulled a parchment out of a drawer. Untying the strings that held it closed, he pulled out two identical pieces of paper and gave one to each Setting. "I have been talking with the High Lady Arian, and it seems that that general who was most unhappy with your last assassination has decided to cause trouble in Siwann."

Belgard flipped through the multiple pages, reading each one carefully. Alamatar was doing the same. "Well, that's very unfortunate," she said, "but what do you want us to do?" From the tone in her voice, Belgard thought she did not exactly like the ideas that were going through her head. He did not like them, either.

"It's only a small army, maybe one, two hundred soldiers at best. All I really need is for you to kill General--ex-General--Zalargh. The soldiers will not give you much trouble when he is dead." Xeros sat back down in his padded chair.

"But why us?" Alamatar demanded. She was one of the only people in the entire Malchadite empire that dared question him openly. "There are other Setting Suns you could use, who aren't on leave."

"Yes, but you are my best. As the years progress the men who choose to be a Rising are weaker and weaker. Most drop out after the first three months. Those who become Lights are not as good as those who joined ten years ago. The Lights who are promoted--only because Malchadia needs Setting Suns--are poorer fighters to those that were around before my reign. You two are my best Settings, possibly the best in hundreds of years, and I need a guarantee that Zalargh will be killed; he must not be left alive."

"But--" Alamatar began.

"You are going, Setting Alamatar," the king said sternly. "I will not hear another word of it."

"Yes, my Sun." Alamatar hated having to concede anything and stalked for the door, her staff thumping on the ground in anger.

"One more thing, you two." Xeros' pleasant mood returned. "My son wants to start his Sun training soon, so I have decided to let him tag along with you. To see how a good, effective Setting completes his mission." Out of the door at the end of the room entered the king's sun, Barain. "From this point on, until you return, he is under your command. You may leave now, all three of you."

Alamatar stalked out of the chamber and the anteroom into the hall. Belgard was on her heels, and Barain was shouting down from the outer chamber's doorway, telling them to slow down. "Oh, that…that man! He is so stubborn! He could send a legion of Rays, but instead he wants us to do it. And why? Because that Arian woman got him into bed, saying how delightful it would be if it were Settings who killed the general, and he couldn't resist her after she had had her way with him."

Belgard agreed; an army of the Rays of Light, the soldiers of Malchadia, could easily take out Zalargh and any forces he had. "Our mission has already been set. Shouting about it won't help at all."

She gave a sigh. "Yeah, but it makes me feel better. Anyway, I guess we better leave tonight, and the extra baggage we have to carry won't help much. He's as stuck up as those nobles over in Caldior." They walked in silence for a time until they walked out of the Castle and into the daylight. The king's son had caught up with them.

"Listen, you dirt," he scolded. "When I tell you to do something, you do it, hear me? I am the Prince of Malchadia and you are just soldiers. I'll forgive your insubordination this one time, but if you do it again, I'll have you in the dungeons so fast it will make you head spin."

Belgard turned on him, his blue eyes glaring down to stare into Barain's. The boy cowered down a little. "You hear me," he said, his heavy accent making his voice sound even more commanding. "Your father, the Sun, put you under our command. That means we do what we want, we tell you to do what we want, and you will not question us. It's bad enough you are coming with us that we don't want your attitude, so you will drop it by dusk before we board the boat. Do you understand?" Belgard walked along, Alamatar at his side, saying to him, "If you plan on being a Rising Sun--no matter what nobility; they don't care if you ruled the world--the trainers are much harsher than I am and will not put up with your behavior."

"Ha. Shows how much you know. My father is promoting me straight to Setting." Barain held himself a little higher, as if he thought he were better than every other person in the world, which he probably did. Belgard wondered if the prince made that up or if Xeros was being a fool; the king was far from dumb, but sometimes he made fortunetellers look like wise sages.

Alamatar bit her lip to keep from laughing, but the smile almost split her face in two. Belgard gave a harsh laugh. "Your father is taking you right to Setting Sun, is he? Do you even know the basics of fighting?"

"Of course I do," the prince retorted. "What do you think I do at my training sessions?"

Sit under a tree, ignore you sword trainer, and flirt with the maids who walk by. "If you can fight, punch me. Don't hold back; give me the hardest, fastest punch you can."

Barain pulled his fist back. Doing just that small move caused a group of people to surround the two Setting Suns and Prince of Malchadia, all eager to see what was going to happen. "I must warn you, I have a pretty hard punch." He shot his hand out towards Belgard's chest. As agile as a cat Belgard moved out of the way and twisted Barain's arm until it rested in the small of his back. Suddenly Barain found himself hunched over, staring at the muddy ground.

"First, boy, you had better learn how to fight before you learn how to kill. An assassin is no good dead." He kicked behind the prince's knee, and Barain fell face-first into the mud. Belgard turned and left the boy where he sat as many women helped him to his feet, wiping his face and readjusting his dirtied shirt.

"You can have dinner at my house tonight, Belgard. If you wish," Alamatar invited, trying as best she could to keep from laughing.

"I think I will." Belgard followed his friend down a dirt road to the outskirts of the city, where farmland replaced the houses, and trees and rocks replaced the city-dwellers. Her mansion was almost as big as his, but instead of having luscious botanical gardens she had orchards and vineyards and groves. The trees were in the prettiest stage of their bloom, and gardeners carefully pruned each branch so as not to hinder the growth of the fruit. Her manor was made of travertine, and marble pillars supported the overhang over the large wooden doors. Large windows were cut into the face of the house, making it easy to see in, but Alamatar did not care; no one could see in from where they stood outside the high iron fence.

Every night the light from the sunset shone into the windows, hence the reason they were made so big. Once Belgard had seen how the setting sun looked away from the city, and the sight took him aghast; he rarely ever saw the sun set because he almost always had business somewhere in the Castle, so it was even more beautiful than how Alamatar described it. He was looking forward to seeing it again before they left.

The inside was as glorious as the outside. Even though he had been inside her manor many times, each time he marveled again at its beauty. The floor was laid in marble tile, and a thin, red carpet led straight to the dining hall behind two wooden doors. Two winding staircases, one on each side of the room, extended from the floor to a second floor two stories up. Her library. Alamatar led Belgard down the scarlet carpet and into a large dining hall. Already, maids were preparing three spots at the beginning of the long table and menservants were placing dishes of salad, fish, roast meat, and bread in front of the silver plates. Why three spots?

"Elvin," Alamatar said to a manservant wiping meat juices from his hands with a splotched apron. "Please tell Artaemia that dinner is ready." As he hurried out of the room to the suites, Alamatar turned toward Belgard, an apologetic look on her face. "I am sorry. I forgot to tell you that I had a guest tonight. You don't mind if someone eats with us, do you? Good." She sat down in the chair at the end of the table with Belgard at her right. A maid set a cloth napkin in each of their laps before hurrying off to the kitchens.

Five minutes later--Belgard wasn't really sure how long--the servant returned, guiding Artaemia to the plush chair at Alamatar's left. If not for years of masking his face, Belgard would have dropped his mouth at the site of her. She was an eighteen-year-old woman with black hair and blue eyes, and, from what he remembered about her, was Alamatar's best friend as a child. For dress she wore a red silk evening gown, with light blue designs on the skirt, that left her shoulders bare. Obviously a dress Alamatar had given her; knowing how poor the farmers from Artaemia's village were and how expensive the dress was, she would never have enough money to buy it. Artaemia's features were soft and pleasant, prettier than Alamatar's--not that Alamatar was not pretty--and attracted the attention of most men she came across.

The conversation around the table was mostly between Alamatar and Artaemia; Alamatar rarely saw her friend and Belgard did not like talking about "cute" guys from the two women's home village, Salvia. She may be a Setting, but she is still a young lass. If acting like a child every once in a while keeps her from being lonely…Well, I can't keep her from being homesick all the time.

An hour later the maidservants were clearing the silver plates off the table and a manservant was pouring each person's goblet full of a rich red wine, made from grapes from Alamatar's own groves. "Follow me," Alamatar said to Artaemia, standing from her seat. "I want to show you something before I have to leave." Belgard walked behind the two talking women as they wound through a series of hallways and curving staircases until they stood on the large balcony facing west into the setting sun. The sky was painted in brilliant reds and oranges and yellows, the sun hanging above the horizon a bright red; the few clouds were painted, too. A slight breeze blew across the balcony, sending strands of brown hair into Alamatar's face; Artaemia shivered.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Alamatar asked, leaning forward on the stone railing, basking in the soft glow of the set. She set her glass of wine of the broad stone railing and placed her hand on the leg of the stone angel in the right corner of the balcony. A moment later she had her feet dangling over the edge of the railing and was resting her head on the angel's billowing, stone gown. "Sometimes I wish the sunset would never end. Especially times like this."

For moments she was silent, and when Belgard was about to turn and walk back into the house, Alamatar spoke up. "We better go, Belgard. We'll be late as it is getting to the docks, might as well not make it any later." Carefully she stood back on the stone-tiled floor and walked through the large glass doors. Artaemia grabbed her skirts, a little clumsily from lack of experience in dresses, and hurried to catch up. Belgard gave the sky one last look before walking away.

By the time he caught up to the women they were already down by large wooden doors leading out into the evening air. "…I might not be back for a while; Siwann is a long way away, even by boat, and finding our target might take longer than expected. But feel free to stay as long as you wish, and take what you want when you decide to leave." She turned to Belgard, and put on an almost sad smile. "Come, Belgard. We mustn't make Barain wait too long." After giving Artaemia a hug goodbye, she grabbed her black cloak and staff, and walked outside.

I sure wish we could. After saying his goodbye to Artaemia, he too donned his cloak and sword and hurried down the stone-paved path onto the country road. "Take your time," Belgard said, not quickening his strides in the slightest. "The prince is too used to having his way. Making him do something other than what he wants for a change won't kill him."

An hour of walking down streets, Belgard ignoring the dirty looks from the passersby--Probably heard about what happened to Barain--and they were at the harbor. Even at that hour many ships were tied to the numerous wooden docks, men loading and unloading their cargo of spices and clothes and anything else they could be trading or selling. Captains stood on their decks shouting to the sailors to hurry up and move their feet faster, and the sailors were more than happy to comply. The sun was already below the horizon and darkness had set in. Barain was no where to be seen. "Where is that child?" Belgard asked irritably. "When I get my hands on him--"

Alamatar reached up and placed a hand over his mouth. "Here he comes." The prince was hurrying up to them with a hunk of meat half stuffed in his mouth and a bag nearly weighing him down to the wooden planks thrown over his shoulder; his face said he was less than happy. "Be nice to him. Just until we are done with our mission."

"Where have you been?" he demanded, finishing his dinner and setting his pack on the floor. "You said at dusk. It's been nearly an entire hour!" He was almost shouting the last words to them; Belgard was tempted to toss Barain into the river.

While Alamatar answered him in a voice much kinder than the one he would have used, Belgard shifted through the bulging backpack on the ground. Many changes of clothing, four robes worth enough gold to feed half the beggars in Calystra, a Charmed black cloak--the ones he and Alamatar wore--and a small book filled up the bag. Disgustedly, Belgard almost threw everything but the book--a diary, maybe--and the cloak into the Strangl, but thought better of it. He chose to bring this, and he will carry it even if I have to crack a whip at his heels. Instead he took the cloak and pressed it against Barain's chest. "Put this on. Come on, we will take this boat."

Before anyone could speak, Belgard made his way up the creaking gangplank with Alamatar and Barain right behind him. On the deck, sailors hurried every which way, tying ropes down, knotting them, untying them, and the captain walked around shouting to his sailors about "his passengers not paying to stay in the harbor all night long" or "to hurry up with those ropes". Men manned the booms, finishing their jobs at loading the rest of the crates off the dock, and others were drawing the sails. In just a moment on the dock, the captain spotted his three new arrivals and fixed them with a scowl. He was about to yell something at him when Alamatar pulled back the left side of her cloak, showing the red sun on her breast, and he shut his mouth. "What can I do for you, Setting?" he asked through clenched teeth, his tone stating his displeasure with having her on his deck.

"We require passage to Siwann." Alamatar's voice was cool and level with no room for argument.

"Um…I'm sorry, Settings--" his tone made it clear he was not sorry in slightest "--but we have no rooms available to offer to you. Anyway, this boat is not suitable for people of your positions--ah, yes, I didn't think you would like that answer." Two knives with blue glowing blades stuck out of the floor right in front of the captain's toes. The splinters on the boards curled and smoked from the magic in the blades and, the captain quickly stepped back.

"You will show us to our rooms, and you will tell no one about us, or you'll be as twisted and black as the victims of the vreehal spider." Alamatar's tone made the threat sound as real as the night sky was black.

The captain gulped, and with a bow he led them himself past many rooms and down many flights of stairs until they reached the bottom, all the while muttering about having to travel a hundred miles out of his way to help three people who could just as easily have found passage on another ship and get there all the faster. Belgard thought he caught something about "losing thousands of gold pieces because of those burdensome Settings". Past another three doors and he reached the last two. "The-these are the last two rooms, Setting…what should I call you?" When Alamatar did not answer he went on, stumbling over his words. "Yes, well, I wish you a nice stay. We-we will be leaving as soon as possible. Please, make yourself comfortable, and if there is anything I or someone else can do--"

"Leave." The captain all but bolted up the stairs, leaving the two Settings and Barain standing in the hall. Alamatar walked into the first door and Barain and Belgard into the second. The room was smaller than Belgard wanted, but it would do. Four candles, lit and half melted, were placed in plain candlesticks and lit the room with a yellow glow. A small window let in what little light was cast by the moon and stars.

Setting his pack on the ground, Barain walked over to the bed, a feather mattress on a simple frame, and pulled off one of the two pillows, tossing it to the floor. "You can sleep on the floor; I don't mind." The prince stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. That right there was enough to make Belgard want to bloody Barain's nose and bruise his face, but Alamatar would scold him all day if he did, so instead he stalked out into the hall and stood before Alamatar's door.

Placing his hand on the doorknob, Belgard quickly drew it back; the last time he walked in on Alamatar without knocking he thought she was going to tear his eyes out of their sockets. Best to knock. Rapping three times on the door, Belgard waited patiently outside for permission to enter. There was a momentary pause before Alamatar's voice called, "Come in."

Standing in the center of the floor was Alamatar, holding a small knife in her hands, which she quickly placed on a small nightstand when she saw it was Belgard. She wore a thin white shirt and short skirt coming down to about her mid-thighs, her brown hair fanning out on her back. The black cloak she wore was hanging from a peg on the wall over her white dress and boots, and her staff leaned on its large knot against the wall next to the bed. Many more candles lit the room till no there were no shadows, even in the deepest of corners. "Well, it's good to see you decided to knock this time." With a smile she stood on her toes and ruffled his hair. "What are you doing here? Is he driving you crazy already?"

Resting his sword against the wall, he sat down on the bottom bunk of the bunk bed and answered, "I'm about ready to kill him. No one I have ever met has been as much of a jerk as him. If you ask me the boy should spend two hours in Setting Haman's office." Alamatar winced at that name and placed a ginger hand on her bottom; Belgard, too, had some bad memories in Haman's office, though not as good as Alamatar's. Setting Haman was in charge of overseeing the training of all people desiring to be a Sun and dealt out discipline for any and every breaking of the rules; he made sure that person never broke that rule again. "That would rid the kid of his attitude." Two hours of suffering under Haman's rock-hard fists--switching for the women, though there were very few women to switch--and chores late into the night and early in the morning would make anyone more decent to be around.

"Yes, just one hour in Haman's study would put him on a different track." She sat down next to Belgard, and leaned her head on his shoulder. "The king--excuse me, the Sun--should not have let him come with us, I think. The kid has no respect for anything, and he can't even fight! Who sends an untrained idiot into a battlefield? I know I said to be nice, but if he doesn't get any better, say after three days of our arrival in Siwann, then I will allow you to have your…talk…with him. Okay?"

It wasn't like he could really say no, so he said, "Fine." He wished he could have his "talk" sooner so as to avoid any problems later on in his mission--his and Alamatar's, not Barain's; he will make sure the prince knows that--but he would take what he could get. "You know, Alamatar, a few years before you joined as a Rising I found a great vacation spot up in the mountains. Once we get done with this stupid mess, we could go up there and--Alamatar?"

Alamatar, who had been resting her head on his arm, had now fallen asleep. A tress of chestnut-brown hair drooped over her face, moving back and forth as they were blown by her light breaths; her eyelids fluttered as a stray strand got tangled up in her lashes. I didn't think I was that boring, Belgard thought, gently unclenching one of her small fists grabbing onto an arm of his cloak. A moment later he was free, and he delicately picked up her light form and set her on the top bunk; he did not think the top bed could support his weight, and Alamatar would be none too pleased if he came crashing down on her.

Minutes later, his cloak was hanging beside Alamatar's, almost a foot longer, and the dagger always tucked away in a sheath that hung at his belt lay near his sword. His shirt, the only armor he wore, hung over his cloak. Lying down on the bed, he buried his face in the pillow, and fell asleep.

The violent jerk of the bed sent Belgard tumbling to the rough wooden floor. Another one tipped the bed over with a loud crash and a splinter of wood. Fortunately, Alamatar was nowhere to be seen. Hurriedly, he grabbed his shirt from where it was jumbled on the floor and ran out the door, leaving his cloak and sword behind; best let everyone think he was just a paying passenger.

Candles, supposed to be in their brass brackets on the wall, were strewn across the floor, rolling this way and that as the ship shifted to and fro. Ignoring the swaying, Belgard took the stairs two at a time until he reached the deck. Once, another shake almost sent him falling to the landing of the third floor. On the deck was chaos; men ran every which way, tying ropes to keep the sails secure while others tied cables from the main mast to holds on the railing. Dark clouds roiled in the sky, lighting up with bolts of lightning. Waves slammed into the hull of the ship and splashed onto the deck; men lost their footing on the wet planks and fell to their faces. At the front of the ship, three sailors were pulling up another who had fallen overboard. In the middle of this all, Alamatar stood gazing at the churning sea, her dress flapping in the strong wind, not showing a care about what was happening around her.

"What are you thinking?" Belgard asked, standing next to Alamatar and gazing at the waves. He hoped he could get her back into their room before the light rain turned into a downpour. When Alamatar wanted something and decided to be stubborn about it, nothing could change her mind.

"How will we find the general? We have very few eyes-and-ears in Siwann, now, ever since that idiot informant sold them out for an extra few gold coins." She never took her eyes off the white froth spewing about the sea, but her glare should have turned it to ice. Alamatar never liked losing anyone who worked for her--whether stuck-up noble or peasant--especially by the treachery of one of their fellow workers; when she found the traitor, she made sure he did not die an easy death. But that was a year and a half past, and they still had not found any people willing to work as their informers, minus a few.

"I don't know, lass. We might have a hard time, we might get it easy. It all depends on how Zalargh plays his cards." The rain drizzling on his back had increasingly gotten stronger, and now it was almost full rain. Placing a hand on Alamatar's shoulder, Belgard said, "It's starting to rain. We should go back to our rooms."

Before they disappeared below deck, ropes holding one of the sails up snapped and the sail came crashing to the floor. "You sure know how to pick the boats, Belgard," Alamatar said, a small laugh in her voice, but Belgard did not share her pleasure in the situation; he glared at the mess on the planks and followed her down, scowling all the way.

Back in their room, Belgard was wringing the water out of his shirt onto the floor while Alamatar stuck candles in their holders and re-lit them. The bed both of them had to upright. This is turning into a perfect mission, Belgard thought sourly. I'm called off on my vacation early for some idiot general a small army of Rays could take out. We're dragging around the King's stuck-up child, in the middle of a storm, on a rickety boat. He doubted anything could get any worse. "Have you checked on the prince?"

"I did this morning, while you were still asleep. He was sleeping like a baby, but I doubt he is anymore. Why don't you check on him?" Belgard opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak Alamatar had him turned around and out in the hall.

He walked over to the door where the King's son was sleeping and barged into the room. The site was not what he expected. The room looked as if it had been turned upside down; the small dresser was lying on its face, cracked and splintered from its jostling; the candles were rolling on the floor; the bed had turned completely over and was pinning Barain to the floor. A small trickle of blood ran down the floor from an injury in his side.

Belgard walked over to stand over the prince, and Barain turned his face to stare up into his black eyes. "Get this off me," he said in a strained voice, his face twisting in pain.

Kneeling down, Belgard stared him straight in the eyes. "On one condition." His voice was cold as steel and hard as stone. "You will obey me and Alamatar, regardless of what we tell you to do. You will not complain, and if you do not follow my condition I will show you what Setting Haman does to those who do not obey. Is that clear?" After a very quiet moment Barain nodded his head. "Good." Placing both hands on the side of the bed, tucking his fingers over the edge, he pushed with all his might, and the bed came flying off and crashed into the opposite wall. He was surprised how light the bed was; the bunk bed was much heavier. Loud cursing floated through from the wall where the bed hit, but Belgard ignored them and pulled the prince to his feet who had to lean against the wall to keep upright.

"What happened here?" Alamatar came rushing into the room, annoyance flashing across her face. "What was that--" She stopped when she saw Barain slumped against the wall and the bed lying on its top with its legs in the air. One of the support beams was snapped and covered in drying blood. She fixed Belgard with a stare that would make any lesser man cower.

"One of the crashes must have sent the bed on the kid," he answered, completely unruffled by her glare. "You should inspect his wound. You know more about injuries than I do."

Alamatar nodded to the bed, which was quickly righted, and Barain was lain down on it. She sat down on the floor by its edge and lifted his shirt up to see the wound. "Not too bad," she mumbled to herself. "Belgard, get me a basin and water and some bandages. The captain will be happy to supply anything you need. If we get this thing healed soon enough, I won't have to Cure it myself."

While Belgard was gone, Alamatar stripped the prince to his waist, muttering something about "having to get a new shirt at the port in Siwann". After he was settled in bed, she silently waited against the wall, staring through the window at the rain pelting the glass and the beads of water trailing down the surface. Almost ten minutes later Belgard came in, basin of water in hands and a train of bandages coiled around a wrist.

"That captain," he grumbled, "is almost as bad as my mother was. He thinks I speared somebody with my sword and would not leave it alone that someone was simply injured. I had to pick him up off the ground before he would leave me alone and get me what I wanted." He set the water-filled bowl down by the bed and gave the bandages to Alamatar.

While Alamatar cleaned and dressed Barain's wound, Belgard set the dresser upright and placed the candles back into their holders. One candle, still lit, he used to re-light all the others. Once done, he and Alamatar walked out of the room, only after she told the prince not to leave the bed and that they would get him some food soon. She silently closed the door behind them.

As they made their way back to the room, Belgard said, "I cannot believe we are babying that kid. All his life he had someone to nurse his wounds. And now we're doing just the same." They stood just outside their own room. "If he wants to be a Sun, he will have to learn how to take a few pains, and we're not helping that any."

Alamatar fixed him with a blank stare she used when trying to keep herself from shouting at the other person. Or when trying to keep from launching at him. "Do you want to spend the entire trip listening to him complain about the pain in his side? It is better 'to baby' him than put up with that, I think. He already has a ways to go in trying to be a Rising; one more thing he has to learn for himself will make no difference."

She walked into the room and jumped up onto her bunk. Belgard finished hanging the cloaks on the floor back onto their pegs and laid their weapons under them against the wall before he, too, rested on his bed. Not even the afternoon and he could sleep the rest of the day away. "Belgard, when should we go get our lunch?"

"Lunch will arrive any minute. Dinner will come at nightfall." Belgard had his eyes closed now. "I took care of that when I had my 'discussion' with the captain. He was more than happy to send us our meals." Shifting around on his bed, he buried his face in his pillow. "Wake me when dinner comes." Quickly, sleep overtook him.

Alamatar woke him up with their dinner as the sun set below the horizon. The captain joined them for a few minutes, explaining how the storm had blown them off course and the damage to the ship made it necessary to stop at Siwann anyway. Not that either of the two Settings cared, of course. The rest of the trip passed by slowly, to Belgard, who hated being in transit between missions. Barain rested in bed, slowly healing, until the last day when even the scab was barely noticeable. The captain himself came down and told the two Settings and Barain they were docked and they could leave when they wished.

Belgard was more than happy to get off the boat and onto the dock, even if it was crowded by the people from their boat and others. A cold, light mist hung over the piers, obscuring vision of everything more than ten feet away, and water soaked the dock, making it more slippery than moss-covered rocks. The three left the captain scowling at a customs officer who insisted on charging for the cargo, and entered into the town of Silaarr, the largest town in Siwann, yet still smaller than Calystra.

They walked down the stone-paved streets, attracting a few people's eyes with their black cloaks that covered everything but their heads. A glare from either Alamatar or Belgard quickly made them find something more interesting on the ground or through the nearest shop window. The city was not full of many passersby; at this time of night, most would be in eating dinner with their families, or already in bed. They passed many shops along the road of street-cobblers, blacksmiths, coopers, doctors, and inns--and in a small convenience shop Alamatar bought three strips of jerky; their dinner. Twice, guards stopped them but a glance at the sun sigil on each Setting's breast and the sword Belgard had strapped across his back and the guards quickly scurried away to bother other city dwellers.

By the time the three reached the wall of the city, darkness had fully settled in, and starlight twinkled behind clouds floating high in the sky. Another pair of guards stood at the path leading out of the city, but none approached; the stony face of Belgard and icy gaze of Alamatar kept them from questioning what they were doing so late at night.

The group walked in silence for an hour through a thin forest. Dead silence reined over them except for the snap of a twig or the occasional rock or log Barain kicked, until finally the prince broke the silence. "How long until we make a place to sleep?" His voice cut sharply into the night, sounding louder than it really was. He stumbled over a vine laying on the forest floor and nearly fell on his face from the extra weight of his pack. Next time he won't carry so much unneeded clothing.

"Another two hours," Belgard answered sharply, as if the prince should have known that. "We will get as far as we can before sunrise." He quickened his stride till even Alamatar had to jog slightly to keep up. Barain was nearly at a run. Unfortunately, Alamatar placed a hand on his arm and he slowed down.

"Two hours! I can't keep this up for another two hours. I can barely keep up now!" The prince was slightly wheezing. He should be in better shape if he is going to be a Sun. "If you don't slow down right now, I--"

He cut off abruptly as Belgard turn an icy glare upon him. "We will walk for another two hours. So will you, without complaining once. Do not forget your agreement." He turned his attention back to the trees in front of him and continued on relentlessly, not slowing his pace one bit.

After two hours, Barain complaining all the way, camp was set up in a small clearing thinner than most of the other clusters of trees but thicker than any would have liked. No tents were erected--much to the prince's dismay--only beds of leaves, mostly leaves dried and brittle. Alamatar and Belgard slept as far away as possible from Barain, who did not mind having the extra leg space. Hand resting on the hilt of his sword, Belgard fell asleep with Alamatar lying right next to him.

Before first light the two Settings roused the prince from his sleep and set off. Belgard used his sword to cut a path through the thicker growth and killed a rabbit by swiping its head clean from its shoulders. Grimacing, Alamatar Casted slightly to cook the meat to a dark brown; using her magic in front of people aside from those she held close she hated. Plus seeing nearby plants wilt and whither also caused her to refrain from Casting. Barain looked astonished watching fire form from nothing and cook hunks of meat suspended in the air; he clearly did not believe that anyone but his father's mages could use magic.

By noon the heat was horrendous. Only spring and the temperature was well above any Malchadia ever reached in the summer. How anyone could live in this place was beyond him.

An hour more of hiking through the ever unforgiving day and they came across a small country town. Or rather, what used to be a country town. Now all that was left were half-charred beams or the roofing of a house or shattered glass. Not one building remained standing except for a few hastily constructed lean-tos and some deerskin tents. Townsfolk milled about the streets, some with brooms, others rakes, and swept the rubble into small piles about the ground where others lit them afire. Not one face wore a smile; most had a look of longing, of looking at something not really there; they must have lost someone special in whatever had happened. Barain sucked in a long breath, eyes wide with shock and face paling. Alamatar was probably wreathing inside with sympathy for the villagers and anger for whoever attacked the town; she was as soft as a feather bed when it came to poor townspeople, though probably because she grew up in such a similar place.

"Shall we go see who made this neat little mess?" Alamatar said through almost clenched teeth, walking into the ruined town. Belgard followed, quite unlike her, keeping all outward emotions from showing on his face or anywhere on his body. Barain walked at Belgard's heels, trying to avoid the sad eyes of the villagers--Belgard thought it odd that there were so few; usually destroyed towns had most of the population living on the streets, unless they were dead, but he saw no corpses or mounds of dirt--and especially what hung from trees at the border of the village. Nine nooses were tied to nine branches, and nine people--three men, three women, and three children--each had a loop around his or her neck, feet dangling ten feet above the ground; the typical execution used by Zalargh, even during his service under the King. As tranquil as he was, he could not stop a small wave of disgust from rising in his body. In over his ten years of service as Setting he had never killed like this--the deaths he dealt were short, painless deaths from the blade of his sword, not from hanging someone over the branch of a tree--and whenever someone killed just for show, it made disgust and sometimes anger boil over inside him. Alamatar must surely be suppressing a roiling mass of rage inside her own body, after seeing that sight. When we find him, Alamatar will rip his throat out and feed it to him. He had no doubt that she really would.

They made their way through what was left of the town, Alamatar stepping gracefully over rubble strewn across the road, Belgard moving it aside with the broad side of his sword. The sword was more to keep the villagers from doing anything they might regret than to move debris--he could easily kick it--but he did not think they would do anything more than watch. Something else bothered him aside from the lack of villagers: there were very little women or children anywhere, and he doubted that they were out hunting for food. More townspeople watched wide-eyed from where they stood or sat, none daring to step forward to question the Settings if they needed any help. Instead, Alamatar said in a loud voice for all to hear, "Who is the person in charge of this village?"

For moments no one moved, just staring at the woman who had spoken. Then a man stepped, or more like hobbled, over from where men were stripping the bark from tree trunks and cutting them into flat boards with broken-tooth saws. A few skeletons of new houses were being constructed where old houses once had been, and men were nailing boards to the corner support beams or securing the beams in the ground with dirt. "I am," the man said. He was maybe in his fifties and had bandages wrapped around the side of his head. In one hand he had a hammer and the other nails. "I am Gestalt, mayor of the village Minnauw. I apologize for not being able to offer you any place to rest or anything to eat, but we are short on food and houses." His eyes never focused entirely on Alamatar, but rather seemed to look through her head at the forest behind her.

"What happened here?" she asked, not keeping the sympathy from her face or voice. "Who did this?" Not that she really had to ask; she already knew who it was, but she always liked confirming what she believed.

"Take a look around," Gestalt said, waving a hand around at the wreckage everywhere. "A few days ago we were attacked by some crazy Malchadite. He had around fifty soldiers with him, I think. More were riding around outside the town. I don't know what they wanted; they just came, burned everything to the ground, and rode away with many of the women and children tied to the horses." So that was why there were few women or children: they were taken captive by Zalargh. But what would he want with captives? They were just more mouths to feed. Unless he is going to sell them. Knowing Zalargh, that was a possibility. Alamatar's face said she thought the same thing and thought even less of it.

"Which way did he go?" Her voice was a strained calm that barely kept out the anger and contempt. He thought he heard a trace of eagerness, but no one would be able to tell unless they were close friends. Her face was as calm as she could make it, but still, a small scowl slightly twisted her lips, making it into a half-smile, half-sneer. Gestalt's face visibly paled.

"It was d-dark," he stammered. "But I b-believe they went th-that way. T-toward the south of t-town." He pointed toward a patch of trees on the far side of the village. "I-I must go see t-to how the construction is c-coming along." He hurried off toward the group of men who were starting to pound wooden beams into the ground, but stopped in his tracks when Alamatar called to him.

This time her face and voice were full of compassion and sympathy. "We'll get them back. We'll bring every woman and child back to Minnauw." Belgard could not tell whether the man smiled or not, but the mayor turned away and walked slightly less slumped. "And we will help pay for the reconstruction," she finished, just barely audible. Belgard would have protested--giving villagers money to rebuild an entire town was costly and not something he would ever do--but Alamatar would just fix him with a frosty stare until he agreed. Besides, he was used to her giving away his money; she had done many times before.

Belgard started forward, to where the mayor had pointed. "Come, prince." A moment later Barain was at his heels, muttering something about "no-good Setting" and "no-good commands". It took just a moment to realize that Alamatar was not with them. In fact, she was still standing in her spot, looking at the ruins and reconstruction, not seeming to notice her partner had gone. "Alamatar?"

She gave a slight jump. "What? Oh, yes. Belgard, I think we should stay here tonight. They could use someone like you to help build, and I could take some of the remaining women and hunt. These people look like they haven't gotten much food." It was true; some of the villagers' cheekbones were all but poking out of their faces, and one of the little girls sitting in the street had arms so thin Belgard could wrap his index finger and thumb around one and have room to spare. The nearly pleading face that Alamatar gave him forced his nodded concession.

The next moment she had called Gestalt over and told him what was going to happen. For a slight moment he looked a bit hesitant, but he smiled and thanked them again and again. And about a quarter hour later Belgard was pounding beams into the ground where wrecked houses had been cleared away, with Barain nailing flat boards from beam to beam, glaring and grumbling something Belgard did not bother listening to. It won't hurt the kid to get his hands dirty once every twenty years. The sounds of men chopping trees down and cutting square posts or boards out of the trunks helped drown the prince's complaining.

Alamatar had gone with a few of the remaining women, but the first thing she did before leaving was have the nine hanged villagers cut down, and some of the men were digging fresh graves amid a bunch of other mounds of upturned dirt in a little cemetery. Belgard did not know why the corpses were allowed to hang in the trees for so long that they began to smell of decay, nor did he want to. The reason probably had something to do with Zalargh. For once, he was looking forward to finding and killing his target.

By dusk, Alamatar, ten women, and a girl of about fourteen returned. Some carried rabbits, others fish; a good amount of food--if you ignored the number of men in the village. Many of the men left their places around their fire and surrounded the women, who were trying to push their way through to a set of pots hanging over burning logs. The girl, though, rushed over to a little boy--probably a little brother--and, taking him by the hand, led him to a different fire where she laid her two fish on a rock in the flames. Alamatar gave her small string of fish to a woman and sat down next to Belgard. "You brought a lot of food back," he stated. "I don't think the men were expecting half as much as you got."

"We had more," she said a little curtly, "but we came across a thrakkan and most of the women dropped their food and ran. I thought about using it for food, but they could not carry the beast all the way back here. So we stayed for another two hours, until we replaced most of the food we had lost. I decided to give my fish away to the villagers, so we will have to hunt tomorrow after we leave," she stated more as an afterthought.

"What do you mean you gave your food away?" Barain practically shouted, causing a few heads to turn around them. "I'm starving. I am going to get something to eat," he growled and stood. Only to fall face first onto the ground. He rubbed his leg where Belgard had grabbed him and shot a furious glare.

"You are not starving, boy. These people are starving. You eat feasts upon feasts in your castle; these people barely scrape by. Missing a meal won't hurt you any." Belgard's deep accent made his tone more commanding and just dared the prince to try to disobey him. When he saw that Barain was not going to move, he took off his cloak and folded it up to lay his head on. A moment later Alamatar did the same, and he fell asleep.

The next morning Belgard awoke to the soft sounds of a morningbird's chirps. The first rays of light were just breaking through the dark sky, coloring the clouds reds and oranges and yellows and washing away the last of the starlight. A thin fog had covered the small town, and the morning dew soaked the back side of his clothing. With a stretch Belgard stood to his feet and threw his wet cloak around his shoulders, clasping it together over his chest with a small golden chain.

All around him men snored close to their dying fire, some with a small blanket wrapped around their bodies, but most lay without one, shivering in the brisk coolness. In the tents and lean-tos slept the women and children, tucked away under the rest of the woolen blankets, not appearing to feel the coldness at all. And curled in a small ball around the red glowing embers of Belgard's fire was Alamatar. Her light brown hair was soaked and clumped about her face, and drops of water slid down cheeks to drop onto the grass under her head. All it took were two light shakes to wake her and she was on her feet in just moments.

Barain, on the other hand, sprawled out as far as his arms and legs could reach, did not wake so easily. No matter how many times Belgard shook him, the prince would not rouse. Finally, Belgard, irritated with his failed attempts, took his sword and poked Barain savagely in the ribs. With a cry he bolted upright and gave Belgard a vicious glare, which was met with one of his own. The prince was the first to look away.

Before Barain was even standing, the two Settings had started walking to the edge of town, talking quietly amongst themselves, but stopped when he was in hearing range. For an hour they walked, Barain complaining every now and then about breakfast, until they came across a large beast lying dead on ground. The thrakkan had a caved-in skull and a few of its joints were pointing in odd directions. "Is this the thrakkan you were talking about?" Belgard asked, drawing a knife from a sheath on the inside of his cloak. "You sure did a number on him." He jabbed the animal with the knife, completely burying the blade in its hide, sawed out three large squares of meat and threw them on a rock.

"What are you doing?" Barain asked in a you-are-an-idiot tone. "Isn't thrakkan meat poisonous? If we eat that we'll get sick and die!" By his face, Belgard would have thought the prince might suggest they wait till noon to eat.

"Shut up," Belgard ordered. "Shut up and watch. And close your mouth." The gray rock the slabs of meat had been laying on was now glowing a bright orange-red, and the three steaks were soon sizzling and smoking. Black goo was oozing from the meat onto the surface of the heated stone where it hissed and rose to the sky in a dark cloud. Alamatar's eyes, usually a light red, had gone crimson; the normal color for when she was Casting weak magic. Soon after, the meat stopped spitting out the goop and was thoroughly dark brown.

Each grabbing their slice of meat, they started walking back in the direction Gestalt had pointed to them the day before. As Belgard tore viciously at his meat he wondering if they would find Zalargh any time soon. He may be an idiot, but there are still leagues of forest and mountain to search. He could be anywhere in these backwater woods. It would be a stroke of luck if we found him before autumn.

Unfortunately for Belgard the luck never came. The weeks of searching slid by all through the spring and summer and fall with little results. The few leads they found were of a fort in the heart of the forest, or a hideout near White Rivers' Cross, or near the edge of Falcon's Cliff, or under the base of Elbeght Mountain. All but the last were just rumors.

The mountain they stood before was fairly small, more of a large foothill, really, but that did not matter. What did matter was that someone was living in it; many hoof prints circled around the base and walked straight to a rock wall where they just disappeared. Of course that was no way to get in, and Belgard was not in the mood to wait for someone to walk out from the wall, so he and Alamatar set about to find another way in. There had better be another way in.

So far he had found nothing during his search around the base and nearby forest. Alamatar, searching on top of the mountain where magic was needed to get to certain ledges, had not found anything, either, and they had been searching for three hours since noon. "Belgard," Alamatar shouted down from her ledge thirty feet up, "this place is closed up better than a rock slug. I don't think there is any way to get in aside from that slab. Not unless Barain has found anything."

Not likely, Belgard thought. He had sent the prince away into the woods to get him out of the way. That boy was more of a nuisance than a help, and had he not been the king's child he would have had a constant black eye and maybe a bloody nose, some days possibly a broken arm. The only thing that kid finds is an overeager servant girl to kiss. "If he has then he will come and tell us. I made it very clear to him that he is not to go wandering off into anything he found unless we tell him to." Hopefully he won't do anything I tell him to and will go investigating and maybe get himself killed.

"Belgard!" Barain's voice echoed around the mountain again and again as he kept shouting until, finally, he popped out of the forest on the left side of the mountain clearing. He ran all the way to where he and Alamatar, who had floated down from her ledge, stood. His face was full of excitement and voice of anticipation. "I found them! I found them!"

"Hush, boy!" Belgard growled, clapping a hand over his mouth. For a full two minutes Barain stood there, mouth shielded, until finally he had calmed down. "Would you mind telling me why you're shouting so loud you could wake the dead?"

"I found a way into the mountain," he explained, voice softer yet still as full with excitement. "Come on, it is over this way. Not far." He turned and headed back the way he came, saying, "You Settings make this stuff so hard. It's fairly quite easy…if you're talented in this type of thing."

In a moment the prince was on the ground eating grass, not quite able to stretch his arm to soothe the spot on his back where Belgard had punched him. "Remember you still answer to me, boy. If you make one wrong move, I will beat you from here to the Castle of Light."

Silently they made their way to the spot Barain had found, the prince giving directions from his usual position behind them. A half mile they walked until the soft sounds of men cheering and joking drifted through the trees from a hole in the ground about as wide as Belgard was tall. Whoever was the last person to enter through this hole must have forgotten to cover it, for a wooden frame made from very thin trunks was lying on one side of the opening with a large patch of grass laying on top; once placed, this opening would look exactly like the forest floor. Or maybe no one forgot to close it because they would be back in a minute and did not want to waste their time shutting and reopening and re-shutting the patch of grass. "Let's go," Belgard said. "We still have a mission to finish and I want it done by tonight."

Silently he and Alamatar made their way through the darkness of the tunnel, toward a small dot of light that slowly began to grow. The voices did, too, and Belgard could make out enough raunchy comments to make a sailor blush.

They stopped, backs flat against the wall, just before the light. The hall opened out into a large dome-ceilinged room with lamps placed in niches in the wall about every ten feet apart in rings that extend all the way to the top of the rock walls. Wooden tables were set in rows and Malchadites sat on the long benches in front of their meal of roasted ham, salad, bread, and a seafood soup. Women and teenage girls walked along the aisles between the rows of seated men, filling goblets ranging from gem-encrusted to silver or gold to regular tin with a dark red wine. Some men would reach behind them and slap a few of the women's bottoms as they passed, which sent them scurrying through a door to the right of the room, faces red as tomatoes. Some of the younger girls had tears falling down their cheeks.

After some time the men settled back on the benches, slumping like a sack of potatoes, some still eating a third or fourth plate of ham; all still had a full goblet of wine. The serving maids came less frequently, only appearing when a man bellowed at the top of his lungs for yet another fill of wine. The only other door beside the one that must surely lead to the kitchens and the one that led aboveground was directly opposite where they were standing, a large wooden door that had not been opened all night. That one must lead to the inner depths of the fortress.

Alamatar placed a hand on his arm, looking at him with a face mingled with compassion and the desire to kill. She had surely seen how some of the men had handled the women, and she held her staff and gave the Malchadites a look that said she would not be happy until she saw each and every one with a smashed head, or no head if they were lucky. But before she decided she would walk out into the room, Belgard mouthed, "Wait till they get up to start leaving."

At first confusion dotted her face, but then it spread to understanding, and she backed up to the wall opposite Belgard, a smile on her face that could scare a demon away. After a few more refills of wine, the men rose and started making their way to the door. Belgard told Barain to stay where he was, and the two Settings walked out from their hiding spot.

Yanking his sword free of the scabbard on his back, Belgard chopped the nearest table in two. Splinters flied everywhere and the loud crack echoed to the top of the dome. At first everyone just stared in confusion, wondering why someone would chop up their table, and then one saw the red sunburst on his breast. Immediately he grabbed his sword and shouted in a drunk slur, "We have Settings! Kill the Settings!"

There was a rustle as men drew weapons and some muttered in disbelief that they could have been found out. Neither Belgard nor Alamatar gave them the chance to finish their thoughts. Belgard swung his sword around and slashed the man down the front with a spray of blood, and the room exploded.

Men everywhere drew their swords or clubs or knives and charged with an anger only drunkenness can give, and for once Belgard was glad that he had waited until they had finished drinking their last goblet full of wine; skills or no, he did not think he could have survived had they been sober. Shouts and screams came from everywhere, but from one section only screams of pain and fear could be heard. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alamatar gliding from man to man, cutting some with a small knife along the throat or hamstring or clubbing them on their heads with sickening cracks.

Belgard thrust his sword forward and impaled a soldier all the way through his body. Soldier? These things can barely be called men. Unlike Alamatar, he did not go to the fight, rather, let it come to him. Man upon man fell to his sword with slices across the stomach, chest, or neck, as Belgard wove his sword from attacker to attacker. In moments every man was dead and the room was totally silent. The only sound was the soft scuffle of boots as Alamatar came to stand next to him and survey the room. Blood ran thickly on the floor and splatters covered the tables and benches nearest to Belgard, but none stained his or Alamatar's clothing. The door leading deeper into the mountain remained unopened and the one to the kitchen was clicking and thudding as locks were set and wooden beams placed to keep anyone from breaking the door down. Leaning down to speak into Alamatar's ear, he said, "You calm the women down; I'll go find the general. Take the kid with you." Barain stood in the hallway still; he looked about ready to vomit. "Hurry down as soon as you can."

Belgard made his way down another corridor, lit with dim candles every twenty feet or so. It seemed no one knew what had gone on in the dining hall. All the better; he did not feel like having a whole army trying to kill him. As Belgard walked down the corridor he entered every door that was not locked. Some had prisoners whom he told to stay in their rooms--he would come for them later. Others had soldiers who were sleeping away in their beds and would never wake again while others had soldiers who gave a little trouble before they fell to the ground. The halls broke off into others which broke off into even more. He did not think he would ever get out of this maze.

A sudden movement behind Belgard caused him to swing around, sword poised to strike--and almost cleaved the head of a young girl in half. A sharp shriek pierced the hall, echoing off every wall and around every corner, and a thud as she fell to the ground. If that did not alert the whole fort, nothing would. "Why aren't you hiding with the rest of the captives," Belgard almost growled, and saw Alamatar and Barain standing right behind her. Lowering Belgard's sword from the side of her head, Alamatar placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder and helped her to her feet. The prince stood with a big smirk on his face, probably wishing her head had been taken off. Oh well, he would make the boy wish he had never been born when they return back to Malchadia.

"Wipe that smile off your face," Alamatar commanded. "Belgard, help Arathan, will you? Seeing as you almost took her head off, you can walk with her." As Belgard moved closer to the young girl he noticed red lines streaking up and down smooth her legs, disappearing under her thread-bare skirt. Many looked fairly old, but many also looked quite recent; it was no wonder why her legs almost buckled every few steps she took. Barely holding a sigh of exasperation he picked her up and held her with his arms tucked under her knees and behind her back, following her orders to turn right or left as they walked down the halls. He had no idea where he was being led, but when he reached a brightly lit, ornately decorated hallway he guessed that this would take him to Zalargh.

"Yes, his suites are through the door at the end of the hall," Arathan said, eyeing him with a face full of hope. Surely she had seen the red sun he and Alamatar wore, and only a farmer so far isolated from everyone else would not know what the Red Sun Sigil meant. "Right now he is probably eating dinner, but he could be…" Spots of color filled her face, but Belgard knew what she had been about to say. If he is enjoying the pleasures of a maid, it will be quite interesting watching Alamatar kill him.

After a moment of argument with Barain, which Belgard of course won, the prince found himself supporting Arathan while the two Settings walked over to the door. Placing a hand on the bronze handle, Alamatar wrenched the door open and the two ran into Zalargh's rooms.

The general, just sitting down to enjoy his hot meal of a strange fish, stood with fury on his face. "How dare you barge--" He cut off as he realized the two intruders were not any of his men, and his face noticeably paled when his eyes flickered to the red sunburst on Alamatar's breast. Immediately he was backing up to the wall until he could go no further. His jaw worked open and closed but no words came out.

Alamatar wore a smile--more of a sneer--as she and Belgard walked closer to Zalargh. "How long did you think you could go on?" she asked in a voice near white-hot anger. "How long did you think you could hide under your precious mountain, attacking small villages and taking their women and children before you screwed up? A year? Two? Forever?" She jabbed her staff at the traitor but he spun away into a corner. "You screwed up, Zalargh, and your error will cost your life."

"I-I can ex-explain." Zalargh had his hands in the air and started stepping out of the corner. "I-I just wanted to prove my point. If it wasn't for…for your Sun--"the words dripped with contempt--"issuing that Ceymbral be killed, I would--"

"Ceymbral was killed because he was what you have become," Belgard interrupted. His sword was in his hand now, and the general was slowly backing away to the door. "If you had kept a better leash on your brother he would not have become that pond scum and he would still be alive, but you were too busy bedding every woman you could find that you did not bother with him until it was too late. Running through that door will get you nowhere, Zalargh." Zalargh, who was walking quickly away from the Settings, bolted--only to have Alamatar's staff sweep his legs out from under him and send him flat to the ground. "You will not leave here alive; you know that."

As Zalargh tried to rise to his feet, Alamatar grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked his head back. Her red eyes shone with death. "After I came across a village a couple of months ago, I thought of many ways I kill you, each one more painful than the rest." She dragged him to his feet with a sharp yank. "First I think I will cut your hamstrings out and shove them down your throat. Next maybe I'll cut off you nose…no, your ears…maybe your eyes--I know, I'll burn your entire face off! Lastly I will take your intestines out and hang you with them. What do you think: fair punishment?" As Alamatar rattled off each thing she would do to him, his face became sicker and he paled to match a bed sheet for whiteness. Of course she would not really do those--she just wanted to see how many ways she could scare him and send him running to his mother like a child with a bad dream--but many people believed Settings were monsters who lurked in dark alleys at night and shredded passersby with razor-sharp claws. Zalargh was one of those.

With a cruel laugh, Alamatar sent Zalargh down to the floor, even closer to the door than before. "Get a good look at that door, Zalargh. It will be the one thing you beg me for by the time I am done with you." Drawing her small knife from its sheath on the inside of her cloak, she advanced toward the general.

"Stop!" a voice shouted from the outside the room. In strode Barain, a sword in his hand and a look of defiance on his face. Belgard definitely would enjoy heading back for Malchadia. The prince placed himself between the general and Alamatar, and set his sword point down into the carpet. "Stay away from this man. We are taking him back to Malchadia to be tried and punished."

Belgard could barely keep the anger from boiling up inside of him. Had he not had better control of his outward appearance his face would have been red with fury and he would have been stomping his foot around. Instead he growled, "Out of our way, boy. Now. Do you forget who you answer to? I will make quite sure you realize who your superiors are if you do not move." He would make sure the child knew anyway, but if the boy did not move fast he would not be able to sit for a week.

"No, you realize who your superiors are. I am from the royal family, the Prince of Malchadia, and my father is the Sun. You Settings are to obey anything that I tell you to do." He glared daggers at Belgard who just brushed them off with a stare to make a rock look soft. "By royal decree, he is being taken to Malchadia. Understand? Rise, Zalargh." As Zalargh and Barain turned to go, Alamatar grabbed the boy's shoulder--and had to jump out of the way as his sword sliced where her head had been. "Fall in behind, Settings. I will discuss your insubordination with my father when we get back. Maybe he won't take away your positions and will only suspend you for a time."

As Barain turned toward the door, the events that followed molded together into a few seconds of total confusion. Zalargh, standing right behind the prince, grabbed the sword out of his hands and thrust it at Belgard's heart. Out of seemingly nowhere Alamatar's staff flew and broke the blade on its hard knot, and Belgard's own sword flashed from its scabbard and speared through both Barain and the general. When he pulled his sword free, the two crumpled to the ground, Zalargh dead, Barain dying and sputtering. "You should have listened to me, boy." Belgard's voice was colder than ice; he had no pity for a person who broke direct orders and ended up dieing. None at all. "You should have stayed out of the way."

"Do you think you will go unpunished?" Barain interrupted, his voice sounding like two rocks scraped together. "My father will have your head when you return to Malchadia. He--" A cough tore through his neck and blood bubbled out of his mouth, garbling what he had been about to say. Another cough, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

There was a shriek outside in the hall that almost sent chills down Belgard's spine. Standing in the doorway were five or six women, each one more shocked than the last, each one with a hand over her mouth. He heard many whispered "He killed the prince of Malchadia" or "That dead boy, he is Xeros's son" as more women joined the crowd.

Alamatar walked over to the women and started shooing them away from the room, saying, "Come on, off to your rooms. We will start returning you to your villages tomorrow, but you need a good meal and a good night's sleep. Away now." As the women filed away she went with them, talking to a few--probably reassurances--putting an arm around some of the younger girls, and did not come back for a few hours.

"Are they all asleep?" Belgard asked, sitting in one of the elegant chairs owned by Zalargh, wiping the blood off his blade. "You know, the boy was right. We will never be able to go back to Malchadia after word of this gets out. We probably won't be able to go near any village in any country near Malchadia for that matter….Unless, of course, we make sure what happened here never leaves this mountain. We can rewrite what happened here and maybe only get a slap on the hand or have our Setting rights suspended for a time."

"Are you suggesting we kill them?" Alamatar walked around the table and sat on the ledge, her feet dangling above the carpets. "Do you really think killing a few women would keep what happened a secret?" When she realized he did not mean killing only a few, her hand came across and smacked him across the face with a loud clap. "We are not killing these women! We spent too long trying to save them to do that! How could think of doing something like that?!"

"It's my job to come up with ways to keep our heads attached," Belgard growled, his accent making his voice even colder and harder. "If these women speak with their husbands, their husbands will speak with merchants, and the merchants will be in Malchadia and turn us in. You know how much the king pays for that kind of information; enough that the informant will never have to work again in his life! If we do not take care of this situation we might as well never return to Malchadia, Alamatar."

"You're right, Belgard. We will never be able to return to Malchadia." Opening his mouth to protest, he shut it as Alamatar placed two fingers over his lips. "I am not about to kill people I spent half a year trying to save. But maybe we can return to Malchadia before the word spreads; we still have to return, Belgard. If we are proclaimed traitors, anyone who works or lives in our manors will be killed. We owe it to them to give them warning about what will happen, and maybe we can keep them alive. But I don't think rewriting history will work this time. Too many people know."

As much as Belgard enjoyed Alamatar's company, sometimes her conscience really annoyed him. This was no exception. No point in disagreeing, though. She'll end up having her way one way or another. "The pigeon flies faster than the boat sails. We will never reach home ahead of any carrier, especially if we're going to get these women to their villages." One look and Belgard knew there was no other way out of it. Standing up he grabbed Barain and Zalargh's bodies. "I'll take care of finding a place to put these. You should get some rest; we have a big day tomorrow." He dragged the bodies out of the suite and down the hallways to the entrance of the mountain. In the sky overhead, dark clouds billowed and rolled and thunder boomed. A storm was coming, and he did not want to be around when it struck.

The next day was the most hectic day of his life, Belgard thought. They sorted through over two hundred women and children, placing them with others who came from the same village or a nearby area. Each group would designate a leader, and that leader would be given a map that would take her to back to her village. It was her job to make sure everyone returned safely home, whether the person be from the same town or one four miles away. Each leader was also given food left over from the kitchens and extra cloaks and clothing to keep her group warm during the cold nights and the newly fallen snow. The last thing each leader received before being sent out was the money and treasure stored away in the vaults, equally divided among each group to help pay for the damages to their village.

Now, standing at the base of the mountain, watching the last group disappear into the trees, Belgard turned on his heels and started walking back the way they had come. Back to the town Silaarr, where they would take passage up to Calystra. Each time he thought of returning to Malchadia something fluttered in his stomach; no matter what Alamatar said they would not reach their home before Xeros heard the news, before their mansions and those who worked them were killed or destroyed. If it were Belgard's choice, he would go as far from Malchadia and its lands as possible, maybe to that small country Hyrule--it was in no way affiliated with any country; Belgard doubted that Hyrule knew of any countries outside of its boundaries. No matter, after their business in Malchadia was over they would go to Hyrule. If they survived Malchadia, at least. That thought could almost send shivers down his spine.

For a week and a half the two made their way through the forest to Silaarr, an uneasiness clouding their moods. Belgard tried numerous times to get her to leave Malchadia, to convince her to go to Hyrule, but in vain. Alamatar would not abandon her mansion or those her worked for her; she claimed some of her maids had children, and she could not rest easy unless she found a safe place for them. So Belgard followed her all the way to Silaarr--besides, there were a few artifacts in his manor that he liked very much, but walking to his death to get them…? He did not mind leaving them to be destroyed.

On the fifteenth day they reached the entrance to the town. It was just as quiet as it was months ago, but Belgard did not know what would happen if they were recognized--Siwann was a strong ally with Malchadia, and Xeros could have Siwann on the lookout--so he and Alamatar took off their red suns and wrapped their cloaks around their weapons, making them look like bundles any two travelers would carry, before walking in.

Belgard was thankful that people moved to the other side when they saw the two coming toward them; they did not want to let people get a good look at them, especially Alamatar; red eyes were an extreme rarity in this part of the world. Once a guard stopped them, wanting to know why they were walking around the streets in the middle of the night and wanted to know where they were going, but a quick comparison of Belgard's massive height and weight to the guard's own medium height and puny weight convinced him to be elsewhere.

The port at the far end of the town was busy, as normal. Crews were unloading their goods onto the piers, every once in a while a rope would snap and all the contents would spill into the ocean. Captains were jumping up and down in anger, protesting that the customs tax was too much, and that they would not pay a dime. Curses drifted from the men still on the boats as they nursed hands cut by the ropes or as large barrels fell on their foot. Hopefully one of them was going to Malchadia.

"Belgard, look over there," Alamatar whispered up to him, pointing to a ship at the far end of the harbor. At first he did not know what he was looking at, but when a breeze blew past a flag on top of the crow's nest fluttered and displayed the Royal Sun Insignia of Malchadia. That would be the ship they would take. "How are we going to get onboard? I doubt we can just march up the gangplank or use our sigils."

A quick scan of boat was all Belgard needed. "Look there; do you see where they are loading the cargo? We can stow away in there. It should not be too hard to sneak on." It was not. Instead of using the pulleys or cranes that most every other ship used, they loaded their cargo by wheeling it into an opening on the side of the boat. Since the captain was no where to be seen and no one was really paying any attention to what was going on they easily sneaked up the ramp and hid behind a few of the larger crates. Fortunately they did not have long to wait; the captain arrived just moments after they had hidden themselves and the cargo doors were shut and locked. An hour later they were sailing out on the ocean.

Throughout the trip, the two made plans on what would happen should they be caught. Belgard thought that they would be killed on the spot, but Alamatar thought otherwise. "No, Xeros will do anything but kill us on the spot. Just because that is something you would do, does not meant everyone else would. Remember, someone has acted against the Royal Family of Malchadia, a 'horrible', 'unforgivable' sin, and he will want the entire empire to know that they have been caught. Remember when Selees was raped and killed? Remember what Xeros did? He had the man beaten and had the Hundred Sun March execute him. I don't think he loved Barain as much as Selees, so he might go easier on the beating, but he will send us to the Hundred Sun March. That is, of course, if we get caught; I don't intend on being found." A smile creased her lips and she said, "But why are we talking about this? Let's see what kind of food these people have; I'm kind of hungry."

The rest of the trip passed quietly and quickly. Neither of the two brought up the possibility of being captured; Alamatar did not want to talk about it, and if Belgard started on that topic he would either be yelled at or it would be brushed aside. Instead they waited for the boat to dock at Malchadia, eating chocolate candies and a lot of fruit--the only things they could eat without Alamatar having to use magic and possibly bringing sickness down on everyone on the two floors above. But after two weeks and a day, they heard the boat dock, and hid themselves behind two large crates in the back of the hold while sailors began pulling out the goods they were to sell onto the pier to have them priced for customs.

After two hours, the men began to enter less and less frequently, until they did not come in at all. Another half of an hour, and the sailors had left to go to a tavern, leaving only two men behind to guard their cargo. Silently Belgard and Alamatar crept up behind the guards and jabbed their fingers in the backs of their necks, sending them to the floor in a crumpled heap. Their unconsciousness would not last long, but hopefully the two Settings could be gone from the docks by then. "Come on," Belgard said, rushing down the pier and into the city, staying deep in the shadows. This was not a time or a place he wanted anyone to see two Setting Suns running down alleyway after alleyway, especially since he knew their cover would be gone if one did; every person in this city knew of Belgard's great height and weight, and a nearly seven foot tall man could only be one person.

As the two left the streets of the city and out into the country, Alamatar took a dirt path to the left, and Belgard to the right. Belgard did not have far to walk before he found what he knew he was going to find. His manor was burned completely to the ground--only charred timbers remained--his botanical gardens were uprooted, and the trees, or what remained of them, were ashes and coals strewn about. And what he saw even most that clenched his middle in knots were the heads of his attendants and grooms, maids and menservants, jammed onto pikes and stuck up high into the air for all who passed to see. With a silent snarl he turned around and stared into the eyes of a person he really did not want to see. Rather, the eyes of fifty people he did not want to see.

Standing before him, their weapons drawn, were ten Setting Suns, each with two Rising Suns standing to their right and left behind them. Beyond were twenty mages, ten in white robes, ten in black, and amidst the group of whites was Alamatar, beating furiously on the white sphere that held her captive. A small flicker in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he saw nearly a hundred Rays appear out of the air. And beyond them, walking along on his large, armor-covered horse, was Xeros. The smile on his lips was anything but pleasant.

"Well, well, well," the king said, studying them as if he might an animal about to die. "You two are very hard to find. Very hard to find. With every bounty hunter looking for you from here to Siwann, I am surprised you got all the way back. A shame, isn't it? That you come all the way back here to try to save those who work for you only to find them dead and your mansions destroyed? Don't give me that look, Alamatar, I know that is why you came back. No matter. Settings, arrest him, and take them to the Castle; charge them with treason for killing a member of the Royal Family of Malchadia. You two might have killed my son, Belgard, but you will howl--both of you will--like dogs all the way to your graves. Take them away!" With that said, he wheeled his horse around and set out down the path that would lead him into Calystra.

Two Setting Suns approached Belgard to take his sword and sigil, but Belgard paid them no mind. His eyes were focused on Alamatar, still beating on her glowing prison and on the ten mages circling her. If only he could free her, they might have a chance of escaping. No Setting, Rising, or Ray wore any cloak to protect against black magic's Taint, and the white mages would be no problem if she were freed; Alamatar could easily overpower all of them in a moment, and the black mages….Belgard was sure they could find a way to kill those, too.

His sword being removed from his back brought Belgard back to the present. Instinctively he grabbed its hilt and yanked it free of the Setting's hands as he landed a fist in the man's face, sending him to the ground. The other one was nailed in the stomach by the sword's scabbard as Belgard bared the blade, and fluid as water he shouldered three more Settings out of the way and buried his sword to the guard in the chest of the nearest white mage. The knife Belgard wore inside his cloak flew from his other hand into the throat of a second mage. But that was all Belgard could do before knives of pain shot through his body, and unconsciousness flooded over him.

A while later, he did not know how long, Belgard woke in a cold, damp stone room, lit by four lamps, one in each corner. With the pounding in his head, he had no idea where in the Castle he was, nor did he care; all he wanted to do at the moment was get the straps of metal holding him upright to one of the walls off, so he could rest his tired muscles, and maybe put on some clothes. How did his muscles get so tired? He could not remember anything of what happened before he lost consciousness. "Hello, Belgard," a harsh, grating voice cut in from somewhere in the darkness. "I never expected that I would see you down here. Not strapped to my wall and on the Traitors' List." The figure emerged into the light, and cloudy head or no, he knew exactly where he was. In the Chesmle, the worst torture chamber in the entire Malchadite Empire, also on the lowest floors of the Castle of Light. If Belgard had not rid that sensation from his body years ago, he would have been afraid.

"You know," he continued, "when Xeros learned that Barain was killed he nearly burned his clothes off with anger. I believe he said something along the lines of 'Those scum! Those incompetent scum! Kill them; find them and kill them!' " He was quite angry--he still is--but he would have had put everyone to death if High Lady Arian hadn't been here to cool off his temper." He--Belgard still could not remember the man's name, though he was sure he had seen him many times before--he walked over to the right wall, where the light did not reach, and drew something off the stone with a loud scrape and emerged back into the light, holding a device with many sharp edges and points. "I recently created this, hoping to use it on someone who committed an act such as yours. And, I think, someone with your great stature would be a perfect subject." He advanced toward Belgard with a wicked grin, and the last thing Belgard remembered before his screams pierced his head was that the man's name was Shonile.

What seemed like an eternity Belgard was un-strapped from the table and led out into the hall. Two Lights had to all but carry him, for his body was so weak that breathing became a struggle. As he walked down an endless maze of stone halls and barred cells, down many flights of stairs, he passed Alamatar, probably on her way to see Shonile. She was as naked as he, but when she saw his bloody, bruised body, her red eyes held a look he rarely ever saw. He could not say it was fear, more of awareness of what was in store, but mostly they carried a silent apology. By the look on her face, she would have Cured him right there, Taint or no, but she could barely move toward him before the mage behind her pushed her forward. They walked down another few corridors before they came to one that broke off into two directions, one to the right and one to the left. Down either way each was separated by iron gate after iron gate, each segment with a pair of lamps and two Light Suns. As he walked into each segment, the one behind him was closed and locked, and the two Suns guarding their section gripped their hilts and stared at him as if he were a wild lion. After the seventh gate the two men carrying him dumped him on the wet ground and left without a word. Belgard could hear the sound of locks being undone and redone as they made their way out of the cells.

Day after day Belgard sat in his dank prison; no one came to visit him except for the guard to give him his morning and evening meal--even then, the Sun said nothing. The silence was beginning to get to him. His wounds began to heal, some with hideous scars where that spiraling screw gouged his flesh, others too faint to see, although in this cell, Belgard could see virtually nothing. The stench of mold was nearly suffocating and made no better by his waste lying in a corner. He almost wished that Xeros would just kill him and be done with it.

But days later, whether one week or three, an assemblage of three Suns and ten white and black mages walked into his stone prison. One of the Settings dropped his clothing--his exact same shirt and pants, same cloak, and his Setting Sun Sigil--on the floor and said in an accent almost as heavy as Belgard's, "Get dressed." In silence he slowly dressed, watching the men grow more and more impatient, and when he was done, he was led out of his cell, half of the guards in front, the rest brining up the rear. One of the Risings was carrying his sword and assortment of knives, though he refused to hand them over. Belgard did not know what was happening, but he guessed they were leading him to a cart that would take him to the Coliseum. He was going to die at last.

The cart was little more than a metal cage tied to a team of horses. The bars were almost completely rusted, and the door squeaked loudly on its hinges as two Lights wrenched the door open. It slammed shut as soon as Belgard was through. He sat down on the rough wooden floor and leaned against the bars, waiting to leave. For over an hour, Belgard sat there, eyes closed, waiting for the Suns to return. Another half hour passed, and no one showed up. Where were they? The Hundred Sun March was rarely used, but the few times he could remember it being used, the prisoner would already be at the Coliseum, probably already hacked into hundreds of pieces. Belgard had no want to die, but he also had no want to delay it any more than it had to be.

Finally, footsteps echoed into the hall and made their way to the cart. One set made its way up to the driver's bench, and the other set stopped in front of the cage door. Once it again it screech opened, and Belgard opened his eyes to see Alamatar thrown in by a white mage before the cart made its way down the road. The mage sat down in one corner and completely ignored the two.

Alamatar's hands were bound in the small of her back, and a purple bruise surrounded her left eye. Even like that, she seemed as regal and commanding as any king. Belgard got up and sat down beside her so he could undo her hands. "You just had to give them trouble, didn't you?" he asked, smiling down at her. "I'm surprised they only gave you a black eye. What did you do, anyway?"

But she did not answer. Her face was apologetic, and her mouth worked wordlessly as she tried to say something. Instead she traced her fingers around his chest and stomach, feeling the wounds Shonile had given him, before the words finally came. "Belgard, I…I am so sorry." Her red eyes stared unblinkingly into his, looking for any reaction. "I've thought about it a lot during the week, and I know that I was…I was--"

Belgard placed two fingers over her lips. "You don't have to say anything, lass. It's already passed, anyway. We should be more concerned about now than anything else."

Alamatar's faced brightened, causing the bruise to tighten painfully. She moved over to the corner opposite the mage, joined by Belgard, and whispered, "Those Suns don't much enjoy being tossed around like a rag doll, you know? It's quite entertaining watching them scream and flail their arms like chickens with their heads chopped off."

Belgard roared. "Those idiots lowered their guard to a Setting! Goats have more common sense! Malchadia will go straight to the--"

An invisible fist slammed into Belgard's ribs. From the look on Alamatar's face, it hit her, too; she cast a dark glare at the mage, but to no avail. "Keep quiet, you two. You will talk enough at the Coliseum." They left his attention as soon as he had finished talking them, and he resumed staring off into nothing. Belgard always wondered what mages did that caused them to look at something yet not see it.

Belgard leaned back against the iron bars of the cage, and Alamatar rested her head on his shoulder. Before I die, I will make sure that mage comes with me.

The cart rumbled on for two hours along a small, winding dirt path up to the Coliseum. It was a large building, made out of the same material as the Castle of Light, that overlooked a cliff. Rarely ever was it used, but when it was, almost every person within a day's ride showed up to cheer on the execution of the poor man to cross the king. Today, especially, at least two hundred thousand men would watch him die.

"Hey, you, get out." Belgard, lost in thought, had not realized that they were already through the gates, below the stadium floor. Alamatar stood amidst a group of white mages, and a group of Suns stood waiting for Belgard just outside the door of the cage. With all the dignity of a Setting, Belgard stood and walked down into the circle the Suns had formed and let them guide him down the passages he had guided others before they were executed. The mages walked just behind. Once again Alamatar's white prison surrounded her, and remained until they stood behind the barred door that would lead them out into the center of the Coliseum.

Their weapons stood propped against the stone wall--Belgard's sword, Alamatar's staff, and all of their knives. When Belgard picked up his weapons, he caught a glimpse out into the stadium's seating. Just as he expected; every seat was packed with men and women and children hip to hip on the rock seating. The king was there, sitting on a balcony in the very middle of the seats with a clear view of the floor. There was a glint in his eyes that said he would expect nothing less than a total butcher.

"Are you nervous?" Alamatar asked behind him as she came up and laid a hand on his arm. Her eyes held a look in them he rarely ever saw--in fact, has seen only one other time: fear. If she had not been holding her staff till her knuckles whitened, Belgard thought her hands would be shaking. He did not blamer her; if he were only eighteen he would be scared, too. He squeezed her hand and smiled down at her, hoping to comfort her, but to no avail.

"When we go out there, fight. Take as many men with you--with your magic, you could probably take out most of the field if you were careful. This place has never seen a Setting on this side of the March, and they would never expect it. Who knows, we might be able to take half of the March with us." Belgard pulled his sword out of his sheath and held it down at his side. If he was going to die, he would be death itself until he could no longer move. "And one more thing I want to tell you--"

The clanks as the gate cranked to the top cut off what he was going to say. "Move," one of the Risings said to Belgard and Alamatar as he prodded them into the center of the stadium. The people up in the seats shouted and screamed at them, and some of the ones close to the wall around the dirt floor threw rocks. But that was not what caught his attention; to his left stood one hundred men--ten Settings, twenty Lights, twenty Risings, and fifty Rays, all with weapons drawn and in charging position.

Xeros rose from his seat and held a black kerchief in his hand. With a flutter, it went flying into the air and floated slowly to the ground at Belgard's feet. The moment it landed the shouts and hollers of the audience grew and a heavy thud, thud, thud, started. The Suns were marching ever closer, the Settings with wicked grins. Any moment now, they would charge, but he was ready. And out of the corner of his eye, Alamatar took her stance; she, too, was ready. This will be a day well remembered, Belgard thought.

In the blink of an eye, all the Settings who had been walking suddenly bolted. They ran one hundred feet over the dirt floor; two hundred; three hundred. As they neared less than one hundred feet away from him, Belgard and Alamatar themselves charged, and the first Setting fell as Belgard's sword cleaved off his head and the body rolled under the feet of the Setting and Rising following behind. Both Suns died by a jab in the ribs. And then just about the strangest thing Belgard had ever seen in his life happened.

The crowd became eerily silent, and the March stopped and stared at the men dead on the ground, as if amazed that trained killers had the gall to kill their executioners, or amazed that the Hundred Man March was not nearly as invincible as it seemed when it was against skilled fighters.

Brief as the confusion was, it was all the two needed. In a flash, Alamatar had cracked five Lights' skulls and broken both legs of a Setting, while Belgard cut the throats out of the four nearest Rays and planted his knife in another's eye. The screams of the audience turned to cheers as they realized that they would be watching a total slaughter instead of simply two bodies being hacked to thousands of pieces. Belgard could not help laughing as he saw the king shouting and waving his arms at his men to stop wondering what was going on and to just kill them.

Unfortunately for Alamatar and Belgard, the tables began to turn to Malchadia's favor. The eight remaining Settings formed a human wall, with Lights and Risings joining on either side and Rays filling in behind or rushing ahead to surround the two like wolves surrounding a wounded deer. It was fun while it lasted, was Belgard's last thought as he charged forward to meet death.

But, he only took a step before he bounced off an invisible wall followed by a dark flash of light. At least ten men fell to the ground with pure black spikes jutting from their necks. Alamatar let loose another barrage, but they bounced harmlessly off a solid white wall that shielded the Malchadites, and immediately closed in on itself around Alamatar to form an anti-Casting barrier. With a curse, she beat upon its smooth surface with her staff again and again, but did not succeed in breaking it. Her eyes were deep crimson as she tried to break it with magic, but all she did was expand its boundaries so that she had about a five-foot radius all around.

"What are you doing?" Xeros's angry voice drifted in from the audience's cheers . "You're backing up! Kill those scum now!" Belgard had not noticed that the ring surrounding him had slowly enlarged until there was about twenty feet between himself and any one Sun or Ray. The faces on some of the soldiers were pure terror, and some could not move from their spot, which was fortunate for Belgard, because he could not protect himself and Alamatar if everyone charged together. He could handle three or four from different directions, but any more and he would be overwhelmed. Already he had cuts from knives or swords he could not parry, and wounds from spears he could not dodge, and Alamatar was near enough in the same condition.

A loud crack and thud of a body hitting the ground seemed to break everyone from their petrification as they streamed in to attack in the threes and fours. At first Belgard had no problem keeping everyone away; a swipe here and a jab there and no one got very close. Even Alamatar took some down if they strayed into her barrier. But as three groups of three attacked all at once or four groups of two, being able to defend from all directions became harder and harder, and because of it a knife was dug almost hilt-deep into his arm. That soldier went down with a scream.

If Belgard believed in luck, right then he would have claimed that it was what caused him to glimpse in Alamatar's direction. While she was busy parrying the sword thrusts from the men outside her bubble, she did not notice the Setting creeping up behind her, almost ready to thrust a knife in her neck. As fast as he could, he cleared a path with his sword, and when he neared Alamatar, Belgard stuck his hand through the barrier and secured it around the man's throat. He garbled some curse, and Alamatar wheeled around to deliver a blow right between his legs which sent him to the ground unconscious. And the crowds only cheered louder.

Movement in the corner of Belgard's eye sent him spiraling around--

And he almost ripped his arm from his socket. What is this? The arm he had reached into the barrier was solidly stuck up to the elbow; no amount of pulling would free it. "Alamatar!" he shouted as he brought his sword down on a Ray's head and received a cut along the back of his leg from a Rising. "Get my arm free!" Another Ray went down, and he received three cuts along his back and side. "Now!"

As he gave his attention to keeping away swords and spears, he felt Alamatar slip her hand into his and whisper two words: "I'm sorry."

What came next, Belgard could never describe. Fire flowed through his body, trying to freeze him to the core, and ice rushed through his veins, trying to sear him to ashes. Light darker than the darkest shadow and darkness brighter than the sun blinded his vision, and the only thing he heard was the roar of water breaking on rocks. He did not know if he held his sword or even stood; his entire body was numb. The pain he had received from the battlefield was swept away by the torrent of pain that wanted to tear him apart. Belgard. The word cut through the bellows of the ocean and rang as clear as crystal. Belgard, extend you sword.

His sword? He had a sword? Yes. You have a sword. Now extend it. Belgard had know idea what he was doing, but he felt something very far away being lifted up, felt it stop when it was perpendicular to his body. Good. Now swing it. The same distant sensation as he felt that something move from left to right--and he could see again. The pain and light and roars were still there, but he could feel them being guided from his body to his hand and into his sword. He could see again, though it was as if he were looking up from underneath a surface of water; he could hear the roars of the audience again, despite them being very soft and far away; the pain lessened as it was put into his sword.

His sword began to change colors from its normal silvery steel to death black, and then it erupted. Lightning poured from its tip and cut through men and armor; fire shot from its flat side, torching everyone it touched and scorching what got too close; ice flowed from the hair-fine edges of the blade, freezing all it covered. His muscles were seized by the same force that wanted to rip him to shreds, and he watched as they pointed up to a section of the seating near the very top. Mages, both white and black, fell from their benches with tendrils of lightning wrapped around their bodies. None got up.

Point your sword at the grate. The iron grate in the center of the Coliseum blew apart as liquid fire danced from the entire blade of his sword. The molten metal splattered on the ground, the stone walls, and two Suns who were too close to the explosion. Now run. As fast as his legs would carry him, Belgard bolted for the opening he had created, only to stop short by a sensation that nearly sent him to the ground. Over all the pain drifted a deep and utter sorrow that nearly swept away everything but consciousness. And as he looked up into the crowds, he understood the meaning of the sorrow. A shadow was twisting and contorting like a tornado everywhere he could see--over the dirt floor, in the air, and in the seating. Men were lying everywhere he could see, some vomiting, many dead, and the rest dying. As the last person fell in death, the feeling only grew.

But that was nothing compared to the grief he felt as his eyes fell upon a certain woman with black hair covering half her face, lying up near the top of the stadium. The shackles tied around her ankles and neck were the only things that kept her lifeless body from dropping to the ground. The Taint was flowing around and through her, too, and Belgard knew that Alamatar would never enjoy the company of Artaemia again.

We are not safe yet. Run. The words were not as clear as before; they felt…full of a deep sorrow. It was not wonder, either; after seeing all the deaths of innocent citizens and the death of a most beloved friend, Belgard was amazed that there was not more grief.

As he made his way to the opening, lightning broke the ground around him, and the earth itself shook violently . And then he was over the edge, falling the ground miles below. As he neared the forest at the bottom, darkness engulfed him.

"Wow," Jesika said, amazed by the story. Other than that, she did not say anything. Link and Gywan, too, were speechless. "That's a lot to go through….Did all those people really die?"

"Yes, lass. Every person who was not a mage or did not wear Charmed clothes could not withstand the strength of the Taint. It was just a shame Xeros was spared." Belgard stared off into the red embers of the fire for a long time. "We should be getting some sleep; it is almost dawn."

As Jesika laid back down in her leaf bed, her thoughts drifted to the party member who was not present. "I wish I knew how Alamatar was doing," she sighed.

"Alamatar will be fine," Belgard said lightly. "She's already stopped crying and is sleeping right now--has been for some time. Same as we all should be doing. Hopefully she will come back tomorrow."

"How do you know?" Jesika asked, laying down in her heap, shifting her cloak to serve as a blanket.

"That is for another time, lass," Belgard answered and fell quiet.

She let out a sigh, and fell asleep. Yes, hopefully Alamatar would come back tomorrow.

Unfortunately, Alamatar did not show up the next day. Nor did she all of that week. Belgard said that she was okay, but just needed some time to herself at the moment. And he still would not say how he knew these things. Link and Belgard went out every morning to hunt a few rabbits, Jesika would cook them in a stew, and Gywan would bring back firewood and kindling. Everyday they would do this, and Jesika felt more and more ready to burst with anxiety and worry for her friend. Until the eighth day, when she finally came back.

Alamatar stumbled--more of a standing crawl--into camp. Clearly she had eaten very little, if at all, and what sleep she did get did little good. Which was why she would have fallen on her face had Belgard not caught her.

He picked her up and carried her over to a log that sat close to the fire. Setting her on his lap, Belgard fed her spoonful after spoonful of stew, and had to refill the bowl three times before she would eat no more. At that point the exhaustion just put her into a deep sleep, and for the rest of the morning and afternoon, the two sat there, Alamatar with her head on Belgard's chest and Belgard, combing his fingers through her hair. At nightfall he gently set her in his bed of leaves and stretched out by the fire before he fell asleep.

Jesika stayed up late into the night, watching the small flames lick into the air. Belgard was sound asleep in a small ball on the opposite side of the fire, Gywan and Link were dreaming in their bundles of leaves, and Alamatar was sleeping so heavily that an earthquake would not wake her.

For another hour or so, Jesika sat on her log, throwing small sticks on the embers, thinking about everything that had happened. In less than a month, her town was destroyed, she had to leave her own country, and has to hide in the forests of Malchadia from almost the entire empire. Quite enough for any one person, she thought. She would not deny that she was scared stiff that one day they would find her and kill her or Link or anyone who was with her, and she would not deny that at least with Link, there was some comfort. But how she wished that they would find a nice place to live, a place well away from Malchadia, so she could be at peace.

At long last, Jesika finally headed over to her bed and laid down. Her bed was near Link so for a few moments she watched his sleeping face before turning on her side and falling fast asleep.

The next day when Jesika awoke, everyone was already up--even Alamatar. She was sitting by the fire, cooking another few rabbits on rocks. Man am I getting sick of rabbit, Jesika thought sourly. She would rather have the gristly meat from a cucco than another rabbit. Link and Belgard were practicing in a small clearing they had made while Gywan watched from the trees. From what she could see, no matter how fiercely they attacked, neither of the two were gaining any ground on the other. What a boring hobby.

Jesika got up and sat down next to Alamatar. "Good morning," Alamatar said, smiling. "You sure slept late." She seemed to be doing better than she did the day before; the bags under her eyes were not nearly as dark, and her eyes were not bloodshot--though with red eyes, that was hard to tell--and she had much more energy. "Breakfast?"

"No, thank you," Jesika said, standing up. "I think I'm going to go take a nice bath. You want to come? The spring isn't very far away."

"Sorry, I can't. I have to finish making breakfast for these two endless pits," Alamatar said, pointing to a still fighting Link and Belgard. "But take care. Not everything in this forest is friendly."

Jesika waved goodbye and headed off into the woods. The path quickly became rugged, and she had to start watching where she put her feet, or some of the vines would tangle them up. After a few moments of walking, crawling over fallen trees, and unwrapping vines off her feet and legs, she finally reached the hot spring.

As Jesika stood at the edge of pool, she could see through the crystal-clear water all way to the bottom. Small fish colored in reds, yellows, oranges, and pinks swam near the dirt floor, nibbling on weeds. Fortunately, none went anywhere near the surface. In certain parts of the spring, bubbles broke through the water and drifted away into the air.

After she had folded her clothes and put them on a nearby log, she dove into the water. It was slightly warm, and felt good since she had not taken a bath in over a week; her hair felt less grimy, and the oils on her arms and legs and face that were washed away made her feel almost totally clean again. If only she had some soap, then she would be totally clean.

For about the next hour, she swam around the little spring, swimming to the sandy floor, diving headfirst from a tree trunk that stuck out into the pool, sticking her feet in the little stream of bubbles so they would tickle her toes, and anything else she could think of. After more than an hour, she was tired of being in the water and moved to a patch of grass on which the sun shone. Stretching out on the soft green, she let the sun dry her body while she lay there with her eyes closed. Or she did until she heard a deep growl from the water.

Immediately her eyes bolted open, searching the area around the spring for the animal but did not see anything. Quickly as she could, Jesika made her way over to where she had placed her clothes and had grabbed her skirt when she heard it again. This time much closer. Slowly, very slowly, she turned around, and stared directly at the ugliest lizard she had ever seen.

It had eight short, stubby legs, scales plated all around its body, a long tail, and a muzzle which looked more like a beak than a mouth. For a moment the beast stood there, nostrils flaring in the air, before it slithered-crawled to where Jesika stood, a hungry look in its eyes.

The second it had started moving Jesika screamed at the top of her lungs and backed up so quickly that she did not notice that the log was behind her until she had tripped over it and fallen on her rear. She screamed again as the lizard crawled onto the log, and it made its own shriek as its beaked mouth lunged for her throat.