The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * Treaty * ~

The Amur Plains: a stretch of hills and fields that bridged the gap between those lands claimed by Zexen and the rest of the Grasslands. Skirmish after skirmish had been fought upon these valleys for the right for either side to expand their territory. In recent years the Amur Plains had developed into a sort of neutral ground, free land belonging to neither the Council nor any of the Clans.

So it seemed only fitting in a sense for the treatise meeting to be held in the heart of these prairies.

The representatives for the Zexen Council were the first to arrive at the appointed place, ironically enough. But then again, they needed time to set up the tents and supplies required to make their short stay a fairly comfortable one. Several regiments had accompanied the party, supposedly to ensure the treatise meeting went smoothly.

A mild breeze whispered through the campsite, gently tickling Chris's face. The captain's head was the only part of her body not clad in the ornate armor and robes that served as her knightly attire. The wind brushed against her cheeks, lightly tugging at her elaborately braided silver-white hair. Chris wasn't too concerned that the faint gust would mess up her intricate hairstyle. The complicated network of twisted tresses was braided tightly enough that it could only be unbound if she decided to do so herself.

The clank of iron alerted Chris to the approach of her comrades, and she turned to face them. Salome returned her thin smile, adjusting the royal purple jacket he wore over his armor as the mild current reached him. Louis, trailing at the tactician's heels, also offered his lady a supportive grin.

"Preparations are almost finished, milady," the strategist reported. "Most of our soldiers are already in place, ensuring that our camp is secure. Sir Borus and Sir Roland should return from escorting Sir Myriam and Sir Lanchet to their positions shortly."

"Good to hear," Chris nodded appreciatively. The female knight then sighed, shaking her head slowly. "I just wish the Council hadn't forced us to take all these soldiers along. It feels more like we're preparing for another battle instead of a peace treaty…"

"The Council is simply being cautious," Salome pointed out. With a mild shrug he added, "They may be concerned about appearing vulnerable. After all, they were the ones to propose this cease-fire to the Clans."

"Personally, I think it makes us look insecure." Another sigh escaped Chris's lips, and again she shook her head ruefully. "However, it hardly matters what I think…"

"Don't say such things, Lady Chris!" protested Louis. "You're our captain! Of course it matters what you think!"

(Not to the Council, it doesn't,) Chris thought. Aloud, however, she said, "You know I'm merely the acting captain for the time being, but thank you anyway, Louis."

"At any rate, it seems unlikely that the soldiers' presence is anything more than simple posturing on the Council's part."

Chris nodded agreement, adding, "Let us hope so…"

~ * ~

While Chris and Salome speculated on the reason for their armored escorts, two more members of the elite six were accompanying other generals to their respective destinations. Borus reigned his charger alongside Sir Myriam's gray steed, regarding the older knight with an irritated stare.

"Why did you let that lout off so lightly?" he asked -- not quite demanded, though there was more force in his words than politeness would dictate.

"Having to polish the equipment for everyone in the unit every day for two weeks seems appropriate enough to me," replied Myriam in a mildly amused tone. "Hopefully it will teach him not to think with his own…"

"Still, to propose that to one of those savages…"

Borus shuddered out of real revulsion. Myriam glanced sideways at the Swordsman of Rage, dark brown eyes narrowed.

"Is that really such a horrible concept to you, Borus?" he inquired gently. "After all…"

"Yes." Borus didn't allow the general time to finish. His flinty amber eyes flashed angrily as he glared at his companion, and he forged on in a tight, clipped tone, "It's wrong, that's all there is to it."

Myriam averted his gaze, loosening his grip on the reins long enough to run one hand through his short, neatly trimmed brown hair. Borus looked away, his own hair gleaming golden in the sunlight, mouth pressed into a hard line. His companion had pushed into a sore subject for the swordsman, and both were aware of it. Myriam had broached the issue many times before.

No more words were exchanged between the pair before the general spurred his mount to the right, guiding it toward the place where his unit was camped. Myriam waved goodbye, and Borus returned the farewell with a short wave of his own before turning his steed around and heading back to the main camp.

On the far side of the field, Roland nodded farewell to his own associate. Lanchet grinned broadly at the elven knight and clapped him on the shoulder, chortling when the archer favored him with a dry, unamused look.

"Best of luck with the negotiations, Roland," he said encouragingly. "Wish I could meet the chiefs myself."

"It is hardly going to be a lengthy discussion," responded Roland in a cool, matter-of-fact tone. "The terms of the cease-fire have already been drafted by the Council. Hopefully the Clans will agree to them. That should not be difficult, since there is hardly anything objectionable within the treaty itself. It certainly isn't like anyone will be giving up the rights to land or anything of that sort."

"True, true," Lanchet nodded. His smirk broadened as he added, "But at least you'll be able to witness it. It's going to be boring sitting around out here waiting for the meeting to end."

"I'll send you a messenger relating all the sordid details later."

Roland's tone hadn't changed, but Lanchet chucked anyway, recognizing one of the marksman's rare jokes. He was one of the few people outside the elite Six Mighty Zexen Knights fortunate enough to be on companionable terms with the withdrawn elf. It mystified many of Lanchet's men how he, one of the most popular and friendly commanders in Brass Castle, could befriend the stern, seemingly aloof archer.

It didn't surprise Lanchet himself at all. He was one of the few capable of truly sympathizing with the archer's situation. They each had their own prejudices to face.

"Good, good! I'll be waiting for him, then!" he laughed, clapping Roland on the shoulder once again.

Then each guided their steeds in a separate direction, Lanchet waving back at the elven knight as he set off to rendezvous with his unit. Roland merely acknowledged his friend's farewell with a curt nod toward him; he did not wave back or bid him goodbye. It wasn't in his nature.

~ * ~

"It's about time," Salome commented as Borus and Roland tethered their horses and joined their comrades in front of the tents. It wasn't entirely clear whether he was referring to their arrival or to the impending rendezvous with the Clans representatives.

"How do we know we can trust those Lizard bastards?" Borus griped.

"I can see them coming," Louis pointed ahead, eager to distract the Swordsman of Rage from going into an ill-timed rant about the integrity of other races. "I think that's them."

It seemed the squire was correct, for Chris and her retinue could see a far more diverse entourage approaching the camp. Chris stepped forward to greet them, the other knights filing quietly behind her.

Borus narrowed his eyes distrustfully when he recognized one of the representatives present. Silently the swordsman cursed: it would be just his luck that the lizards would send the same warrior to serve as both their messenger to Brass Castle several days prior and their speaker for the treatise meeting.

If his recognition was returned in kind, the reptilian warrior gave no sign of it other than perhaps a slight narrowing of his own yellow slitted eyes. Borus wasn't familiar enough with their kind to be certain if that was real or merely a product of his imagination. The lizard's gaze rested on Chris -- again, Borus couldn't judge whether or not the glare he thought he glimpsed flickering in those inhuman eyes existed anywhere else other than his own mind. That didn't stop him from staring suspiciously at the hulking fighter even as he spoke in a deep, gravely voice.

"I am Dupa, the Left Fighter in Unit One of the Lizard Clan's Three Bodies Fighters," he stated. "I have a message from Chief Zepon, the chief of the Lizard Clan, one of the Grand Clans of Grassland. Until the moon disappears, he is the leader of the Six Clans. I will relate his message to the honorable fighters, the Zexen Knights, in accordance with our traditions."

Now it was Salome who studied Dupa's face closely, his own green eyes narrowed ever so slightly with thought. The tactician was almost certain the lizard's last statement in particular had been laced with undercurrents of deep bitterness. Still, perhaps he was reading too much into things: after all, Zexen 'ironheads' were not the only ones capable of feeling hatred toward other races.

"Zepon wishes that we, who are crowned with the crest of wisdom, do not waste time," Dupa continued in the same blunt fashion. "He will be pleased to see that we have completed his wishes."

Chris nodded politely in the reptilian soldier's direction, then turned her attention to the pair of Karayan warriors beside him as they stepped forward. Both men had deeply tanned skin and sunlight-kissed blonde hair, but the less muscular of the duo was also much more deeply scarred. Gashes of varying sizes and shapes crisscrossed his bare arms, and one long scar fell squarely over his left eye, though the eye itself appeared undamaged. Undoubtedly the speed of some tribal healer had saved his sight.

However, it was the other, larger man that Chris found her attention drawn to, despite the fact that he bore no visible marks on his copper skin. Perhaps it was because he smiled in a not-unkind or haughty manner toward her. Unlike his scarred companion, there was no sign of wariness or distrust in his bright, steel blue eyes. He seemed genuinely pleased to be present there.

"I am Jimba," he introduced himself, "chief of the Karaya Clan of the Six Clans. I'm pleased to have a chance to meet the legendary Silver Maiden and her knights somewhere other than the battlefield. I would hope this treaty prevents such an incident."

"Oh?" One delicate silver eyebrow raised. "And why is that, exactly?"

"I've seen enough blood shed on both sides," Jimba stated bluntly, most of the humor leaving his tone. "I would hate having to tell my warriors to relieve the Zexens of any more of their treasured knights."

Chris flinched inwardly. She hadn't needed that reminder of their previous captain and vice captain, both of whom had been all too recently lost during skirmishes with the clans. It was no coincidence that the Council had proposed this treaty after the deaths of Sir Galahad and Sir Pelize. Obviously the Clans were aware of this as well.

"Of course," she replied, a bit more stiffly than she would have liked. "I, too, look forward to an end to the bloodshed on both sides."

An elderly woman dressed in artfully woven robes stepped forward. Wisps of surprisingly richly colored copper hair peeked out from underneath her white shawl, and her deeply lined oval face still held a beauty defying her obvious age.

"We, the Chisha Clan, would like to thank our spirits in heaven and earth for this temporary truce," she said simply, expertly deflecting the conversation away from more unpleasant paths.

"We share your sentiment," agreed Salome with a nod in her direction. "Although we thank our goddess instead."

The conversation swiftly turned to the terms of the treaty, already placed forward by the Zexen Council. There was remarkable little need for negotiation, for as Roland had pointed out before, the cease-fire was uncomplicated and concise, with no real concessions made by anyone other than the mutual agreement to lay down arms and warfare for the time being. It seemed simple enough, and soon it became clear that the celebration the Clans planned after the official agreement were likely to take far longer than the actual discussion itself…

~ * ~

It wasn't that Lanchet was shirking his duty, exactly. It was more the fact that he felt the pressing need to move around. Lying in wait with his men at the far left flank of the meeting site was boring business, and if he hadn't decided to take a closer look at the campsite of the Clans he would have cracked up.

If the Council called him on it later -- presuming they found out somehow -- he would just label it reconnaissance. If any of the Clans happened to pick up his presence, he'd call it trying to get to know his roots better.

Lanchet's sun-blonde hair and lightly tanned skin were visible marks of a mixed heritage. Though he'd been born in Brass Castle, the Zexen general was partly Karayan on his mother's side. For all the bad blood that had been formed between the 'Ironheads' and the 'Grassies', their kinds weren't always mutually exclusive.

All the same, it was difficult to find officers with mixed blood whose roots showed as clearly as Lanchet's did. His skin wasn't as dark as 'true Karayans', but was still noticeably deeper than that of the pale, fully armor-clad, sheltered Zexens. While he was popular enough in his fortress hometown, he was far too used to hearing whispers from those less familiar with him and his reputation, and deep-rooted bias from some of the more intolerant of the very people he protected.

He'd grown used to it, though, sad as it was sometimes. Finding others who knew how it felt to be considered different helped a lot.

Leaving his steed waiting safely outside the settlement, Lanchet moved with a practiced ease through the camps of the Six Clans. He wanted to at least see the representatives before the rendezvous was finished, particularly the Karayan Chief. Catching sight of a deeply scarred man and a muscular fellow in somewhat richer-seeming leathers, Lanchet carefully made his way over to the tent he witnessed them entering and listened carefully to the conversation inside.

"Dupa, I must admit… I have reservations about this plan of yours," murmured the larger of the Karayans, falling into a seat with a sigh.

"Chief Jimba, I'm not asking you to take our revenge for us," responded a deep, surprisingly understanding voice. Its owner paced back and forth, tail lashing behind him. "All I need to know is whether or not we can count on your support to help keep the Zexens occupied."

(Revenge?) Lanchet wondered, a grim shadow falling over his normally cheerful features as he picked up unpleasant concepts from the way the lizard spoke. Rather than flee immediately to warn the rest of his fellows, however, Lanchet chose to remain, hoping to pick up more information about what exactly was happening before heading off.

"Believe me when I say that I empathize with your loss," Jimba was saying. The Karayan chief had his head bowed, shoulders slightly slumped. "Zepon was a wise leader. To hear of his fate -- especially at this time -- is sorrowful news indeed."

"Not to the Council, I bet," snorted his scarred companion. His features were twisted into a revolted mask. "Breaking a treaty they proposed themselves by sending their knights to assassinate Chief Zepon… have they no shame?"

"Agreed," Dupa nodded, a similar expression of disgust on his reptilian face. "I watched the Silver Maiden closely while I spoke of my late chief. Shiba reported her presence during the murder. She showed no remorse. Either she is a damned fine actress, or she truly is a queen of ice as so many report…"

As he spoke, the lizard tightened his claws around the huge polearm he carried. The viciously curved triple-pronged blade pointed towards the heavens, looking just as ready as its carrier to mete out glorious revenge. Lanchet swallowed as quietly as possible in an attempt to moisten his dry, constricted throat.

"As Zepon's successor and new Chief of the Lizard Clan, I will do everything in my power to ensure those responsible for his death suffer," vowed Dupa. "All I ask of you, Chief Jimba, is to support my Clan. With the aid of your warriors, we can ensure that none of the ironheads leave these plains."

Jimba, eyes shut and head still bowed, was silent. His escort and advisor leaned over to whisper in his chief's ear.

"This may tie in to what we know, my chief," he murmured. "Those recent reports of strangers near the village could very well be scouts sent by the Council to plot your own demise."

Lanchet couldn't pick up the words, but sensed that the battle-worn warrior was likely advising him to assist with the raid. Deciding he had long overstayed his welcome, the general crept away from the tent, making his way back to where he had hidden his horse as quickly and quietly as possible.

(Chief Zepon dead?!) The Zexen's thoughts churned wildly. (And Lady Chris spotted at the scene? But how could that be possible? Lady Chris has been at Brass Castle for the past few days! Besides, it isn't her style to be involved in some lowly assassination attempt. But then, how…)

A shout from behind him shocked Lanchet back to reality: he'd already been spotted, and several Lizard troops were already giving chase. Muttering a vile curse, he spurred his steed to go faster.

Heading back to where his men were stationed wasn't an option; it would only lead the enemy straight to them. Making matters even worse, more shouts and cries swiftly filled the air, and Lanchet realized the attack was already being launched. There was no more time to think, only react.

Spitting another curse out, Lanchet charged toward the first group of troops he saw engaging their unexpected enemy. As his mount closed the distance rapidly, the general unsheathed his sword, and the blade immediately found its first mark in the back of a lizard's neck, slicing through dusky scales mercilessly.

Lanchet gripped the reins tightly with one hand while dealing death with the other, using the speed of his well-trained charger to his advantage. The added height of his mount put him in a better possession against the naturally larger, stronger lizards. His broadsword lashed out repeatedly, turning aside a pike here, slashing leathery hides there, and cutting down those who attempted to swarm the rider.

However, he couldn't hope to avoid every blow. The lizards continued their ruthless assault until finally one of their grides hit the mark. A triple-pronged blade slammed into his chestplate at just the right angle to send the commander crashing to the ground. His horse whinnied loudly, only to have its scream cut short as two of the lizards fell upon it, ensuring the steed would aid the ironheads no longer.

Lanchet parried his assailants' blows as best he could, until a well-timed slash forced his sword to drop from bleeding fingers, two of which were nearly severed. A scaled hand gripped his neck, shoving him to the ground, choking off the general's gasp as air was driven from his burning lungs. Blurring hazel eyes beheld only a flash of descending metal before everything was consumed by a reddish haze -- then, darkness.

~ * ~

A small shudder ran down the spine of Chris's squire, and Louis absently brushed back his soft tan bangs, which were being tousled by the breeze.

"Brrrr. The wind's picking up," he observed.

"Poor Louis. He misses the Brass Castle already," commented Borus with a smirk.

"I do not!" Shaking his head violently, Louis jabbed an accusing finger toward the swordsman and proclaimed, "You must be talking about yourself, Lord Borus."

Chris giggled into a discretely raised hand at the flummoxed look Borus shot her squire. Beside her, Salome also smiled, glad for the small distraction.

Roland ignored the prattling of his companions entirely. The elven knight could frankly care less about their lighthearted chatting. His sensitive hearing was picking up uneasy whispers from nearby soldiers, and a heavy sense of disquiet was spreading through the air.

"Lady Chris, something is not right," he finally reported, cutting into the conversation coldly. "The soldiers are agitated."

"What do you mean?" asked Chris.

"Grassland troops are on the move. We'd be wise to depart at once."

"We can't be so rude as to leave before the ceremony ends…"

"I'd worry less about pomp and more about circumstances with these barbarians," Borus cut in.

"He may be right," conceded Salome. "This bothers me."

"Sir!" A recruit clad in the thick leather armor of a light infantryman jogged toward them, eyes wide and wild underneath the brim of his metal helmet. Grinding to a halt in front of the knights, he reported, "There's a Lizard Clan unit at our rear and they're attacking! There're more Lizard Clan troops on the right and the Karaya Clan troops are advancing!"

"What?!" Chris exclaimed.

"There's been a surprise attack, and it claimed the lives of both Lord Myriam, defending the right flank, and Lord Lanchet, who was trying to break through enemy lines to free the allies."

"S-Sir Myriam?" Louis paled, eyes widening at the report. (Sir Myriam and Sir Lanchet… dead?!)

The squire scarcely heard the astonished replies of those around him, too engrossed in his own shock. The boy's gaze traveled from the babbling messenger to where the archer stood. As always, Roland's expression was unreadable, though his eyes seemed harder and colder than usual.

"Damn those barbarians!" cursed Borus, spitting out the phrase Louis sensed weighed heavily on the minds of all those present.

"No time to waste! We'll be surrounded soon," Roland announced curtly.

The knights hurried to where their horses were stabled, and Salome pulled Louis up behind him on his steed. The strategist was the only one of the knights who didn't specialize in combat while riding, so having the squire share a mount with him would hinder him the least. Salome pulled up alongside Lady Chris, already formulating a plan.

"Captain, contact has been lost with the rear," he reported gravely. "Our units risk being outflanked one by one. We could break through and enter Grassland to escape…"

"No! That would consign the other knights to death!"

"The captain is right," Borus agreed. Pointing his charger toward the heart of the conflict, he spat, "I'll rip right through their pathetic line. Follow me!"

"Borus, wait!" Roland interposed his steed between Borus and the front line. He matched the Swordsman of Rage's heated glare with a cold stare, ordering "Listen to Salome."

"I have a plan, but first we must break out of this tightening noose," Salome announced.

"Then so be it." Drawing her sword, Chris proclaimed, "Let's fight our way out!"

Louis clung to Salome's back for dear life as the knights charged. The boy squeezed his eyes shut, trying futilely to shut out the sounds of the struggle surrounding them. The screams of the dead and dying rang horribly in his ears, and Louis prayed none of them belonged to people he knew in the service.

"We're through," Salome finally announced.

Louis opened his eyes and sighed with relief, resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder. Though they'd left the immediate battlefield behind, he could still hear muted echoes of the struggle, and knew he'd only behold more bloodshed should he turn around.

"What next, Salome?" Chris asked the tactician urgently. "We cannot retreat to the Brass Castle now. Time's running out!"

"There is a Karayan village not far from here. We will raid it!"

Salome felt Louis tense behind him, the squire's body going stiff from shock. He didn't look down at the boy, knowing he was likely on the receiving end of a startled stare from wide, confused green eyes. Regrettably, this plan was the only one he could conceive to save their soldiers.

"Have you lost your mind?" Again, Borus spoke for others without even realizing it. "Now's the time to get back and help our men in trouble, not seek new foes!"

"Once they learn that their village has been attacked, the Karaya Clan will retreat," explained Salome. "Then our men will be able to escape from the enclosure."

"It might work… if we have enough time," Roland murmured thoughtfully.

"We must try. We have no other choice."

Chris nodded swiftly. There was no time to argue the logistics of what their next move should be. With every passing minute, Zexen soldiers were dying at the traitorous, scheming hands of the Lizards and Karayans. She could think of no reason why the Clans would turn this treatise meeting into yet another engagement.

(I'm pleased to have a chance to meet the legendary Silver Maiden and her knights somewhere other than the battlefield…) The Karayan Chief's words echoed in her thoughts. She clearly remembered his smile, his clear blue eyes glinting like steel in the sunlight. (I would hope this treaty prevents such an incident… I've seen enough blood shed on both sides…. I would hate having to tell my warriors to relieve the Zexens of any more of their treasured knights…)

Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe his smile had not been as friendly as she'd wanted to believe. Maybe he had been smiling with pleasure at the thought of deceiving the 'legendary Silver Maiden and her knights'.

Disgust filled Chris's heart, not all of it aimed toward the Karayan Chief. Her lavender eyes were cold and angry as she faced her knights.

"Agreed! Let's ride!"