Just when you thought I was dead….

Okay, here's my lame-ass excuse for the looooong wait: it's Christmas break right now –in fact, today is Christmas day itself. Right after I finished the last chapter, the Magic Schoolwork Dump Truck pulled up to my school and emptied itself into my locker. I was doing hours of the stuff a night!! And then I got a new job. And then I had to get my shopping done. Needless to say, the typing sorta got shoved right onto the backburner. Geez. Anyhoo, thanks to all the Alaryan's Keep fans who wrote me in the meantime and reminded me that, surprise, I'm not the only one who reads this fic. Anyway, happy holidays and have a great new year!!! –Lady PhoenixDagger *//.^*

Me no own Gundam Wing. So no sue. Me yes own everything else. So no steal.

*****

Darien sighed, his eyes fixed on Walker's still form floating in the isotube. Aside from a neglected pack of cigarettes Dulcet had left behind and a cup of stone cold coffee, the dark-haired man was nearly alone with only his brother and the quiet buzz of the fluorescent lights to keep him company. Presently, he was having a one-sided conversation with his heavily sedated twin.

Do you remember grade eleven history? Darien mused, playing absently with the coffee cup. It was the Roman chariot race. Remember that?

Darien and Walker had been sixteen and in the same class at St. Mark's when the annual chariot race came up. The premise was simple: build a chariot in teams and race it around the track, one riding, the others pulling on the track outside the school. The winner got bonus marks. Walker and Darien naturally chose to work together, planning a chariot that would blow the rest out of the water. It took them all of three weeks, but they did it. It stood on race day among the throngs of wood and cardboard, a heavily spiked creation of iron accented with bronze; a favour from Glas and Ciaran in the Keep forge. Clad in flowing senatorial garb, Mr. O'Flaherty dropped his scarf and the chariots were off, the Broman twins' chariot going straight into the head of the pack. With a sizeable lead, the boys raced to the finish line, but it soon became apparent that they had overlooked a fundamental law of physics: the weight of a solid iron chariot does not allow for a quick stop. So, clad in a bed sheet toga and tiny for his age, Walker took matters into his own hands. Darien still remembered how the crowd had gone absolutely silent as Walker flared his wings to their full span and took the force into the muscles in his back, eyes blazing, minuscule fist raised, voice declaring "I AM CAESAR!!" as they crossed the finish line. The applause they got as they passed the finish line was incredible, although Walker didn't stick around to see much of it. He left with great royal dignity to the boys' washroom so he could groan about his torn muscles in private as they began to heal. And after that, a shy, dark-haired girl by the name of Amy Gagneir asked Walker later on if he was free for a movie sometime that weekend.

We scared our opponents shitless, bud, Darien grinned in spite of himself. You almost made Mr. O'Flaherty cheer himself to death.

A high-pitched beep to Darien's left made him glance over. Walker's intravenous feeding was complete. Although Dulcet had estimated it would be at least two weeks until Walker was strong enough to leave the isotube and perhaps a week until he could even open his eyes, Darien already knew what he and his twin would eat as soon as Walker's stomach was regulated again. Smiling slightly, Darien imagined a huge, greasy pizza with everything on it, a pound –no, two pounds- of extra spicy Buffalo wings, maybe some ribs –Walker and Darien both liked ribs- plenty of beer and Walker sitting in front of it all with a huge grin on his face.

I love you, bro. Darien's smile grew hopeful as he saw Walker's index finger flex slightly. He would have to tell Dulcet about that. Movement was always a good sign. Hang in there, bud.

"Lord Darien!!"

Darien whirled around, whipping his sword from the sheath at his waist. The blade whistled thought the air, the tip stopping barely a centimetre from the throat of a trembling, terrified Bhaarliad boy not more than twelve years old. Taking a deep breath, Darien fought the urge to scream at him and stepped away, sheathing his sword as he did. "What is it, Xaviro?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Had he not asked that no one disturb him?

The child took a deep breath and suddenly burst into tears. "Lord Darien!!" he moaned.

"Calm yourself, Xaviro." Darien took the quaking boy by the shoulders and sat him down in a nearby chair. The acidic scent of fear and adrenaline was thick on him. "What's wrong?"

"A rival mage has come through the Bond, Lord Darien!" Xaviro wailed. "He says he wants to challenge Lord Walker!"

Shit. Darien snarled in spite of himself, making Xaviro step fearfully back. Perfect timing, of course. "Which magic type is he?"

Xaviro shivered. "Black magic. You can tell by all the occult charms hanging off his belt. And he's an arrogant one at that. He just popped out of nowhere when the men were going to the Gateways to tend the fields and demanded to battle 'this so-called great mage known as Walker Broman'. We managed to get him in a guest room under the pretence of letting him rest up, but we only have so much time before he gets bored and…and…." The little Bhaarliad boy shivered, his ruby-hued head glinting in the florescent light. "Laylia was walking by with Maaler when the mage was being taken to his apartments, Lord Darien."

Darien nodded. Laylia was a female human mercenary who had recently come through the Bond while pregnant. The child, named Maaler, was born at the Keep not more than four months ago and was already a favourite among the citizens. "Yes?" he pressed.

"Well, she was walking by when Maaler began to squall and that mage, casual as can be, said something about noisy bastard children, hefted his staff and whipped a fireball about twice the size of my head at them."

Darien's eyes narrowed. "Are they-?"

Xaviro shook his head. "No. Laylia dove out of the way. And then that damn bastard mage just threw back that ugly head of his and laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. Then he said that we have only a few hours before he 'reduces this piece of shit excuse for a Keep to a smoking pile of rubble'."

"Really." Darien's eyes narrowed further as his mind whirled in rapid thought. "The wizards, Gaelin and Declan and I might be able to hold him for a little while if we need to." He pursed his lips. Gaelin and Declan were a set of fully human twins Darien and Walker had known since first grade. Both were very talented bards, much like Misty, and Walker and Darien's oldest and most trusted friends. "I'm sure the other magic users in the Keep would help us out as well."

Xaviro shook his head again. "No Lord. He's a very powerful one, this new mage. I could feel his power from where I was standing. Ugh! It was a feeling that would make you retch. Black magic mixed with the occult."

"Mmm. Evil magic." Darien tapped his lips. "This is not good."

"How can you be so calm!?" Wild-eyed, Xaviro almost screamed at him. "This man had resolved to fight Lord Walker or make pebbles out of the Keep!"

"Indeed. That would be why I'm remaining calm." Darien stole a glance at Walker, his form still motionless in his 'tube. "I'll run around screaming like a scared little girl when I have the time. Right now I want you to run and get Dulcet, the wizards, Gaelin and Declan and tell them to come here." The young man cocked his head in the direction of his brother's isotube. "We need a way to wake Walker up."

*****

"You stupid bitch! How many times must I repeat myself!?" The young mage screamed. Lashing out, he struck the Bhaarliad woman across the mouth, hurling her to the floor. "I wanted Arjunan red! Not this rancid sow's piss you call wine!" The mage accentuated his point by throwing the brimming pitcher over the woman –hardly more than a girl, really- who was trying desperately to keep herself from crying.

"But we haven't any Arjunan red!" She cried, not daring to sit up. The way the man's eyes flared coupled with his immense power was enough to keep anyone still. "I don't even know what Arjunan is!"

Regally, the young mage drew himself up. "So be it, little whore. Bring me a pitcher of your best wine. White this time. Perhaps it may be a fraction more palatable than the shit you just gave me, though I doubt it." He eyed her. "Well? What are you waiting for? Move!!"

The girl bolted to her feet, snatched up the pitcher and ran from the room in a blind panic.

"Stupid bitch," the mage murmured and glanced out the narrow window of his room. Judging by the passage of the sun, he had been kept waiting for three hours. He narrowed his eyes.

Mortis Gour, all-powerful mage, did not like to be kept waiting.

Pitiful excuse for a Keep, he decided, sauntering to the huge gilt mirror on the wall and inspecting his reflection. Meticulously, he smoothed back his coal black hair and stroked the errant hairs back into his closely cropped beard. I'll have to remember to destroy it after I kill that Lord Walker fellow. Mage Gour sniffed. For the last couple of years, all of his colleagues had been whispering about some all-powerful keeper of the Bond –whatever that was- and how it was rumoured that he could not be beaten. Gour sniffed. Just wait. He would destroy this weak young man; a child, no less, of twenty-three! Granted, Gour was no more than forty himself, a mere baby in the eyes of other centuries-old magic users, but he was so much more educated. He was a mage devoted to black magic, raised and trained by the best. Where he was from, laymen called him the "Blood Lord" and as Mortis Gour thought of all the times he had waded in the blood of innocents, laughing for the pure sweetness of it, he supposed the name suited him. Needless to say, Gour knew the battle would be short-lived. Meditating on this, Gour wondered idly how his colleagues liked the little "gift" he'd left them before he had departed. A very nice job, if he did say so himself, although it was a pity she hadn't screamed as much as he would have liked her to.

Sitting down in a chair, Gour reclined slightly, bringing his staff, an ornately carved wooden masterpiece that was ten feet long when fully extended, into his lap. Rumour had it that Lord Walker did not even bother with using a staff, let alone with carrying one! Gour grinned, already imagining the sweet, hot wetness of this young mage's blood staining his hands. I suppose I'll take his head with me a souvenir, if he's handsome, he decided and looked again at the sun shining through the window. He would give them one more hour. And after that….

Mortis Gour smiled. For the people of Alaryan's Keep, there would be no "after that".

*****

"I'm telling you for the last time! I can't just make Walker magically wake up!" Dulcet's voice was getting shriller and shriller each time he said again what he had been trying to get across for the last five minutes. "I'm not Hou-friggin'-dini, dammit!"

"Then it's been nice knowing you, Dulcet," Talon said dryly from the empty isotube he was leaning on. "Perhaps we could bunk together in Heaven."

Dulcet swore angrily under his breath. "I'm not saying I won't, I'm saying I can't!"

From where he stood by the doorframe, Zach whipped around to look at the catlike doctor. "Bullshit!" he snapped. "There's a black mage with enough power to destroy a small solar system and as sure as I stand here, cat-boy, you are going to figure out something and you are going to wake my grandson up!"

"Calm yourself, Zach," Gil said gently. "Losing your temper –not to mention your voice- won't help us now." He made a "calm down" gesture with his hands before folding them behind his back and pacing the length of the room. "Okay. We need Walker to be up and functioning, correct? Well, then perhaps all we need is an alternate power source for him to operate on instead of making him rely on what little energy he has."

Dulcet face brightened a moment before darkening again as he thought the idea over. "Not possible," he said finally, shaking his head. "I haven't got a power source even half large enough for what Walker would need to do."

"Dammit, we need to do something!" Nat suddenly exploded. "I refuse to just sit here and watch as some pompous three-year-old with too much power punches a hole through the Keep!"

"But what can we do?" Gaelin said quietly from the console he and his brother were sitting on. Walker and Darien's best friends, they were both fair-skinned with brown eyes and deep auburn hair that just barely brushed their ears. Unlike most of the human who worked and lived at the Keep, they chose to remain in their normal street clothes and leave off the more Keep-ish clothes for special occasions. The only real physical difference between them was that the front part of Declan's hair was bleached platinum blond so others could tell him and Gaelin apart. He often joked it was that or tattoo his name on his forehead.

Gaelin bit his lip. "Couldn't we reason with the guy?"

"Nah, he doesn't sound like the type that talks," Declan said with a wave of his hand, lightly callused with years of coaxing beautiful music from various instruments. Louder and bolder than his gentle twin, Declan normally spoke a lot more. "I say we all just go and blast this guy's ass to bits."

"It's not that simple, child," Zach disagreed, shaking his head. "Look, if we put our powers together we could only destroy an area from here to about Toronto."

"Yeah?" Declan frowned. "That's nice, but I fail to see-"

"Estimates show that a typical mage's full radius of destruction is much larger."

"Oh?" murmured Gaelin. "How far does it reach from here?"

"Saturn."

"Ah."

"Ooookay, so maybe ganging up on him was a bad idea," Declan conceded. "Who's up for getting him really drunk and chucking him headfirst into the Moat?"

Gaelin groaned and put his head in his hands.

"He's arrogant, not a simpleton, dumbass." With this withering rebuke, Talon began to tap a hollow tattoo on the plastic casing of the isotube he was leaning on. "Face it. We're doomed."

Declan's face turned red. "At least I'm trying!" he shouted.

"Not very hard, obviously," Talon shot back.

"I have an idea," Darien said from where he was sitting, in a chair next to Walker's 'tube, calm as could be. The wizards and bards looked to him in surprise. So far he hadn't volunteered so much as a single word.

"You know a way to make this Gour fellow spare us?" Gil queried, his curiosity piqued.

Darien smiled and stood, stretching lazily like a cat. "Nope. But I do know how we can get Walker in on the fight. Listen up…."

*****

Don't worry, folks, I'm already almost done with the next chapter. It should be up for the new year. Until then!

Ja ne, minna-san!

L.P.D. *//.^*