[ 18 ]

"Good night, Master Folken."

"Good night."

Though his unlimited budget and, according to most, proper sense required that he use human labourers for his experiments, Folken preferred to employ the beastmen that were kept around the Zaibach fortress. He knew that among the sorely uneducated slaves there would be none or few who could understand the complexity of the Device, and therefore reduced the likelihood that one of his jealous colleagues had slipped in a spy or a saboteur. He also knew that his unique camaraderie with the twin catgirls gave him a measure of respect in their eyes; the other humans in the fortress treated them as purely animal or worse. Most of them bore scars as a result of such discrimination. As a result of his kindness, the beastmen laboured more efficiently and with far more effort than anyone in the fortress had ever seen.

More than that, as Folken looked upon the new variety of life around him he felt nearly at peace. These canine and feline men and women were at home when things were green and living, not here where it was gray and artificial. When they spoke to one another their accents brought to mind tall, ancient pines… the sweet smell of recently bloomed spring flowers… the crunch of dead leaves… the skitter of unseen wildlife… the distant roar of a dragon…

Folken sighed, watching the last of them leave. He looked up at the monstrous device sitting before him. Another few days and it would be ready. Then… what? Return back to the stink of lab chemicals with Dineer and the rats? Pretend that he didn't know what they were using his research for, and continue on as if that's what he'd been bred to do? After all, he hadn't even heard the barest of whispers from either his former friend or the resident creature keeper. Perhaps he'd taken Jajuka's words to heart too soon. Perhaps they hadn't been planning anything at all. Perhaps Jajuka, a mere tool for his Zaibach superiors, was just trying to ease his mind so that he could finish his work.

"Master Folken."

"Yes?" Folken turned. One of the men had stayed behind. Unusual. The slave strode forward; a wolvish, older man that was fingering the strings on his tunic nervously.

"Master Folken, there's something I must address with you."

Unusual, again. The beastmen were, if not content, at least quiet regarding their captivity. Pride kept them from vocalizing dissent, but traditional thinking and a dollop of sensibility kept them from taking their own lives. "What is it?"

The wolf was before him. Natural to his race, he was taller than the average human, and gray in his fur marked him as an older man. Folken looked comfortably at him at eye level. Normally passive, normally calm, it was still odd that the other would appear so nervous. He'd toyed with the ties on his shirt so much that the strings had unraveled. "Will you forgive me, Master Folken?"

"Forgive you? Whatever for? If anything it is we who should ask for your forgiveness for forcing you into our service." We. Zaibach was a they not a we. Disgust played across his face for a fraction of a second.

The slave smiled and relaxed. "I knew you thought so. You are a good man, not like - " he jerked his head towards the door, " - which is why I know that I will be judged well in the afterlife for what I am about to do." Odd words - and a deadly implication. Folken realized both a moment too late as the wolfman's strong paws shot forward and wrapped around his throat.

The former prince slipped on his robes and fell hard onto his knees. He managed to choke out an astonished query. "What are you doing?"

"I am saving you." The grip around Folken's neck loosened only slightly. Still, the beastman's natural strength, the claws biting into the cloth around the boy's neck, and his advantageous position looming over him gave no question as to who still had the upper hand. "I am saving you from a life of slavery, a life where your decisions have no meaning. I am sending you outside of this place where life is choked by the will of man. Now, Lord Folken, you will scream."

To scream was to alert the guards and certainly seal this poor man's fate. "No!" he whispered defiantly, pulling helplessly at furry wrists.

"I know, Folken," the beastman sadly murmured, "that you are trying to protect me. But there is nothing to save. I am an old man now, and I was young when I was taken, my wife and children sold as slaves and curiousities. Only in the next life do I hope to see my loved ones again." Tears filled his eyes and moistened the grizzled fur underneath. "I die sooner this way. Now, my Lord, please scream so that you may help the little girl."

Comprehension dawned. The wolfman's face transformed into a terrible, bestial visage as Folken cried out for the guards, who were undoubtedly waiting for the final slave to exit the workroom. Their angry shouts and hard, booted steps echoed in the large chamber. The slave tightened his grip, stealing the last of Folken's precious air, and then hurled the man to the floor.

Before darkness engulfed him, before one spear, and then another, claimed the wolfman's life, Folken saw a proud smile beaming down upon him from the former slave's face.

"Folken. Folken, you must wake up."

His throat was raw, everything ached, and he was so very tired. He muttered something incomprehensible and clenched his eyes tightly shut.

"Folken. Folken! For God's sake - Eriya, hand me that bag. Here we are..."

The minute the ice-cold thing hit his forehead Folken shot up from his bed. Two heads clocked together as whoever it was hadn't moved out of the way fast enough. Folken hissed and clutched the growing lump on his forehead.

Dineer staggered backwards holding the side of his head. "Agh! Folken! Ow!"

Naria had one of her beloved master's arms. "Master Folken, it's time to go."

Eriya had the other. "We need to move swiftly."

"Where are we?" he mumbled. "And what are you doing here?"

"Yes, w-well," stuttered his former friend, "it's a daring adventure, actually." The younger man pushed at his spectacles. "You're in the Hospital Ward of the fortress, conveniently located at the bottom floor nearest to the main entrance. The guards carried you down here."

Folken placed his feet on the floor, was overcome with a wave of dizziness, and was forced to sit on the side of the gurney. "Why?"

"We have her," Naria announced, looking joyed but wary.

"Jajuka will meet us soon," Eriya continued. "But we need to get you out."

Dineer shoved a load of heavy, foul-smelling clothes into his arms. "Put as much of these on as you can. The dredges are leaving soon and we need to be among them."

For the first time Folken noticed that the twins were dressed in rags, reminiscent of the slaves that had been working on the Prognostication Device, and that Dineer's Sorcerer's robes had been traded for the overlapping browns and grays of a menial labourer. "Friends of mine are working in the Hospital. They write a lot of pamphlets against the Sorcerers and such and they were happy to hear I wanted out. We're going to slip into the lines of workers that are heading back to the heart of the city."

"What do you mean, that you 'wanted out'?"

"Well, what do you think? I'm going with you!"

"You are not."

"I'm here aren't I?"

"I can't trust you."

A sigh blew through Dineer's lips. "You can't, but there really isn't anyone else here, is there? Folken, I'm trying to help, and I'm trying to say sorry. More importantly, your little friend has been scheduled for the last round of Fate injections - the round that most of those children didn't pass."

Folken's heart lurched. "No."

"However," said Eriya, "Jajuka slipped her into the cart where he stores the dead experimental beasts on the day that it was set for removal. Once it was outside, Nisset found her and is now hiding her in his home."

"She was quite brave," Naria added, "and she was eager to see you."

Serenity's smile, empty eyes…. "Was she coherent?"

The twins exchanged puzzled looks. "She was awake, Master Folken. She's quite impatient to see you again."

He breathed a sigh of relief. If they had no idea what he was referring too then perhaps the state he'd seen her in before had only been temporary. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible," Dineer said, scratching vigorously at his collarbone. "After you change clothing. Try and ignore the fleas."

Dineer folded his hands and closed his eyes. "Folken had yet to gain the facial tattoos that made him even more distinguishable and I looked relatively typical, though a closer look would have revealed that I was cleaner than I should have been. Anyone would have thought that we were two young men out for a tryst with a few of the local female slaves - a common enough occurrence in those days. The beastwomen found it easy to make a few coins selling themselves since most Zaibachian women were either too well-bred or too modernized to offer themselves in such a way.

"We slipped out easily, more easily than we had expected. It was not because we were let go, but because the guards were as lax outside of the palace as they were inside. A mere dozen herded the hundreds of slaves that populated the Zaibach Fortress and most slipped away into the night to hopefully find their way home. The borders were abnormally fortified, however, and most didn't make it past the gates. They were then given two options: a return to the workforce or immediate death. Almost all took the latter.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Zaibach looks as if it's rather small, being clustered together as it is, but it has become quite heavily populated since Dornkirk first arrived upon our lands. Getting lost within the maze of railways, roads, and buildings was quite easy. We managed to plot a twisted pathway to Nisset's home, a soldier's flat in a rather nondescript area, and settled there to plan our escape.

"I can hardly describe the look on Folken's face when he first saw Celena..."

Serenity's smile...

The last time he'd seen her she'd devoured a glittering insect, licking its juices from her fingers as she swallowed its paper-thin wings. Her soulless eyes had gazed upon him in a longing that she herself had no understanding of as she unconsciously reached out for one of the few things that had offered her sanity in all her years of imprisoned life.

Now her expression was full, bright, loving. The beauty that would later stop his brother's heart in that fateful moment in Asturia's royal ballroom sent a flush of colour to cheeks and shortened his breath. Her hair curled to her ears, and when she removed the hood to her slaveworker's cloak the locks gleamed white-gold in the candlelight. Tears from full blue eyes flowed unabashedly down soft, pale cheeks and her lips moved up and down as she fought to find the right words to say.

"Celena?" he uttered finally, his voice choked with sudden tears of joy.

"Folken," she whispered, throwing herself upon him. "How often I dreamed of you."

The two held each other close, and he was nearly careless in his embrace. The metal in his arm bit into the coarse cloth upon her back. Rather than push him away she held him closer, relishing in the warmth of his embrace, her head laying upon his chest and his face buried in her hair. Years of unknown hardship and forced separation lay between them. To let go now was to perhaps lose each other again...