Of Beast And Blade

by Scribbler

[AU] In a distant realm where sword and sorcery rule, unlikely heroes have been chosen to save their world. [Ch20: Ororo finally shows her true colours. Meanwhile, Tabby's dramatic appearance in the fight against Sabertooth may be a double edged sword]

3. And So We Begin

DISCLAIMER: X-Men:Evo belongs to Warner Bros. And Marvel Comics. I have never, and shall never own them, no matter how much I may want to. I've simply warped them to fit my own twisted mind. However, this fic and any original work herein is officially mine, and anyone trying to steal it will find out how painful a weapon a computer mouse can when used by someone with imagination.

WARNINGS: This is an AU (Alternative Universe) fic. Everything has been transplanted into a fantasy universe of my creation. Inspirations, despite what you might initially think, aren't actually from a certain Peter-Jackson-esque film, since I started work on this before I ever *saw* that movie. Influences rather include Internutter's spiffy fic 'Mein Teuful' (if you haven't yet read this then go do it *now*!) and various other sources I'll explain later.

CODES:
Hello = Narration
~ Hello ~ = Thought
"Hello" = Character Speaking
*Hello* = Bold

AUTHOR'S NOTES: And here we have it. I suppose you could say that this is the *true* start of this fic, since these were the first words I typed back in March. All I can say now is, forget what you think you know about X-Men:Evo, 'cause I will invariably have warped it somehow. If you have any queries at all throughout the course of this fic, then don't hesitate to ask in either review or email form ( emails to electric_hairdo@hotmail.com ), and I'll try to the best of my abilities to answer any questions you have without spoiling anything. *Please* review. I had such a fantastic response for the Prologue. It would be more than wonderful if those same people who reviewed last time could do so again and tell me what they think now that the fic has started properly. ^_^;; All translations necessary will be given at the chapter's end.

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'Of Beast And Blade' By Scribbler
Chapter One ~ 'And So We Begin'

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"Predicting the future is easy. It's trying to figure out what's going on now that's hard." -- Fritz R. S. Dressler

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She was being watched. Even before she'd finished descending the hillock, she was being watched.

The cheerful Summer morn bore witness to a strange sight. One lone female, trekking determinedly through the grasses. She strode with a resolute, purposeful gait, yet there was an air of stealth about her movements. An easy fluidity usually attributed to cats and other such animals.

This scene in itself was not particularly remarkable. Many came this way, usually alone, and always for the same reason. What was different about this person was her attire. A long hooded cloak swirled about her body, for the most part covering her in its dark folds. But, whenever an errant zephyr blew this protection away, male clothing and parts of male armour were revealed beneath. Curtailed and individualized into a smoother form, yet that of a man nonetheless. With this in mind, it was amazing to conceive how the wearer could move speedily at all, let alone in such a silent manner.

She knew she was being watched. It was difficult to sneak up on her. The fact that she was still alive was testament to the fact that she'd honed sensing enemies down to a fine art. Yet she did nothing. No movement, no falter in her step betrayed that she was aware of who followed her. Moments were precious and curious things. You had to pick exactly the right one if you wanted to strike properly. She'd learned that very early on in her chosen career, and still bore the scars from when she'd been less that perfect in her timing.

She crested the small hummock with ease, her pace constant and unchanging. On either side now was a thick mass of closely-knit trees. The turf was springy underfoot, but her footsteps left barely a mark, such was the speed and lightness of her step.

Abruptly she halted, and stared about her, as if gauging her position. She was sure this was the right direction. Those people in the village had been only too glad to tell her the way - not surprising considering her intimidating appearance. Rumours were rife recently, and suspicions grew twice as fast. It seemed she couldn't go anywhere without hushed whispers and pointing fingers following in her wake. Yet now, she wondered if those villagers had really sent her down the correct route. Her surroundings didn't match the descriptions she'd been given, and the air didn't smell right. Something was amiss.

This place truly was in the middle of nowhere, she mused. Behind lay the village she'd just left, (what was it called again? Padra, Podra... something like that) which bordered onto the great, open plain to the East. To the North rose the craggy peaks of the Esch Mountains, tipped with snow all year round whatever the weather in lower regions, and impenetrable to all but the most experienced climbers. The West and South were swallowed up by a huge expanse of thick woodland - the famous Black Forest of Germania. Yet none of these interested the female. Her goal was much closer.

The sound of a twig snapping somewhere to her left signalled her follower's presence. Whoever was there hadn't her silent tread, and the hooded figure let a hand stray to her belt.

"I know you're there." She called. "If ya'll wanna fight, then make yourself known and fight me properly. I ain't got time for games and other matters require mah immediate attention."

Silence. Only the sound of a distant nightingale betrayed that any living thing was abroad. The cloaked female might have been stone, her pursuer part of the trees. For several minutes nothing moved. Then came a small, seemingly insignificant shuffle, which could have been dismissed as no more than a shifting shadow among the trunks, had it not been for the decisive nature of it.

"I do not wish to fight you." A sudden voice cut through the stifling silence. Husky and soft, it struggled slightly with the Common pronunciation, and a broad Germanic accent clung to the words.

"Then why were you following me?" Demanded the female, her own voice staying level, devoid of any emotion.

"I was curious."

She seemed unsatisfied with this answer, and her fingers curled around the hilt of her blade, though she left it in its scabbard for the moment. "Show yourself."

Another pause, this time accompanied by faint scrabbling in the branches above her head. Smoothly, almost languidly, a figure unfurled itself from the shadows to perch upon a thick bough not twenty feet from the ground. If the female was shocked by its appearance then she didn't show it. Golden eyes stared down at her with unconcealed interest, framed as they were by a mass of indigo fur and unkempt hair. It gripped the tree branch with hands consisting of only three, thick fingers, and - though its feet were tucked carefully under it - she assumed its toes must be much the same.

A sneer tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Demon!"

At once the golden eyes became angry. "I'm no demon, Frauline, and I'll thank you to keep your accusations to yourself."

"If you're not a demon, then what are you?"

The creature leaped gracefully to the branches of a neighbouring tree, forcing her to twist her head in order to keep eye contact.

"A watcher. A member of the audience. And an acrobat. Will you watch my show, Frauline?" Immediately, it disappeared into the dense foliage with a mischievous laugh.

The cloaked female was less than impressed. A shower of leaves fell about her head as the unorthodox performer danced merrily on a precariously thin branch. She muttered a low curse beneath her breath.

"Kaju!"

The strange blue non-demon dropped to a lower bough, pointed ears twitching at this word. Its heightened senses had heard her clearly, and recognised the Guild origins of the insult. Her atypical garments and accent stirred a memory at the back of its mind, and its eyes widened like two new moons as, coupled with this word, it recognized the identity of the speaker.

"Oh, I know who *you* are. She said you'd be coming soon."

"Then you also know why I'm here." She replied brusquely, releasing her grasp on the blade hilt. Perhaps this strange one knew where to go.

It grinned, revealing sharp white fangs. "The same reason they all come. She's right this way." A long dexterous tail, previously unnoticed, snaked around the branch, and the blue figure toppled forward to swing, monkey style, into the leafy embrace of the next tree. The female followed, not increasing her pace. Several times the creature had to return for her, filling the air with useless orders like, "Hurry up, Frauline." "Go faster." And, "Pick up the pace." All of which she ignored. This was the speed she chose to travel at, and no immature, furry blue elf was going to tell her otherwise.

Eventually, the elf, too, came to this conclusion, and instead filled the silence with what seemed like a hundredfold of questions - none of which she answered, but which it asked regardless.

"Why have you come to see her? Is it something important? Did you visit the village? What's it like where you come from? Is it nice? Do you like this place? Did you have to cross the plain to get here? Is that male armour? Can I see your sword?"

"You'll be seeing mah sword in close-up in a minute if you don't stop jabbering!" She growled.

"But then you'd never find her." It quipped, flying gracefully through the air to land without a stumble on what was really no more than a glorified twig. "Das ist why I'm here. I show sincere people the way, and get rid of those who are only out to cause trouble."

"You're the keeper I've heard tell about, then." The female surmised. "There was talk of you in the village."

"Ach, I hope es war gut talk." It replied. "Nearly there now."

"How do you know I'm not here to cause trouble? Especially if mah reputation precedes me."

It halted for a second in an ancient Oak, and crouched, thinking for a while, before saying; "I can just tell. I don't know how, but I know your purpose is sincere."

It would say no more on the matter - though it said much more on others - and presently they arrived at what they were seeking. A small glade, surrounded on all sides by forest. In the centre of this tranquil place there stood a building. I say building in the loosest sense, for it was really little more than a hovel, with a brown tent stretched across the entrance in the manner of a fortune-teller's booth. The female peered at it from beneath her hood, disbelief evident in her gaze.

"*This* is it?"

"Ja." The creature answered from a nearby Elm. "You were expecting something a little grander, perhaps?" It added with a snicker. "This is all that was allowed for she and I. Nicht wunderbar, aber it's enough. Shall we go in?"

She replied by striding forward, leaving her guide calling from its treetop.

"Hey, Frauline, wait for me!"

But she kept on walking. Why should she wait for that little misshapen runt? A vague thump signified its jump from the tree to the ground, and a soft patter soon reached her side. The creature moved easily on all fours, slackening its pace as it fell into step next to her.

"Hey, you can't just go barging in there. She deserves her privacy like anyone else. I have to announce you. Please, wait."

The imp's whiny tome irked her, and she swiped absently at it as you or I would do a fly. The creature easily avoided her half-hearted blow, and increased its pace just enough to cross in front of her and sit down firmly in her way, arms outstretched.

"Frauline, I must protest. It is improper for you to simply walk into our home in this way."

For a moment the hooded individual was startled. This was their home? She'd assumed it was just some sort of booth reserved for business, and that they lived somewhere else. The expression lasted only an instant, however, and she schooled her features back into a mask of indifference with practised ease.

"Get out of mah way." Her voice was soft, dangerous. Anyone who knew her would have sensed the menace present there. But not the non-demon. It staunchly shook its head. ~So immature.~ She thought. "I'm telling you one last time. Move, or I'll move you." Once again it shook its head. "Very well." Her hand closed again on the handle to her sword. Noting the action with its quick, golden eyes, the furry being assumed a combat stance. Its slender tail lashed angrily from side to side as, with a metallic clink, she began to draw the blade.

Suddenly they were both stopped. A new voice from inside the tent cut across the scenario like a whip, causing the female to cease and the creature to visibly wince.

"Stop. I won't have violence at my home. Put away your weapon, stranger. You may enter if you wish. I was already aware of your presence."

The female sheathed her blade and started forward. However, a familiar blue bundle leapt into her path.

"But she hasn't been properly introduced, I - " It was cut off by the new voice again.

"It's fine. I'll accept her in, Kurt. Leave us."

The creature crouched down until its belly nearly touched the ground, and crawled respectfully away with much grumbling about rudeness. When its thrashing tail had finally vanished into the undergrowth, the voice came again, friendly and inviting from inside the tent entrance.

"Come in, stranger."

She did so, stepping through the tattered doorway to find herself in a dingy half-room. The air was thick and heavy, weighed down by the sweet aroma of incense. Little light was available inside the space, and she narrowed her eyes in an attempt to see its contents more clearly.

"You can't see." The voice came again, rich and musical. It was female, but much older than she, and had about it an intangible air of experience and knowledge.

"No, I can't."

"You don't seek only physical light." The voice stated, not unkindly. "A more spiritual illumination would be yours, I think."

"You think right, but a little real light would go amiss either. I can hardly see a damn thing in here."

Her comment was answered with a laugh, and then brilliance abruptly filled the room as a small, yet powerful lamp atop a small round table in the centre was lit. The hooded figure blinked as her eyes became used to the sudden brightness.

Before her stood a remarkable individual. She stood almost six feet tall, with robes of a faded magenta wrapped closely around her body, tied at the waist by a customary yellow belt. The gown was hooded, but the cowl remained down, exposing a shock of straight, orange hair. This was not the pallid ginger so often found in children from the East, but a vibrant hue that almost lit the room with its own personal lustre. The woman turned to her guest, revealing a face of flawless skin the colour of a clear sky.

The female didn't greet this bizarre, yet somehow stately woman with the same cries as she had the non-demon. Something about her, some impalpable force, erased the thought of 'demon' completely from her mind, and she could only stare like a gawping fish as the beautiful woman crossed the room towards her.

"Greetings, she who seeks the light. I am - "
"I know who you are, Mystique, the Seer." The cloaked female put in. She was suddenly painfully aware of how high-pitched and young her own voice sounded when compared to the Seer's more mellow tone.

The one known as Mystique smiled. "I see. You know of me, and now I would like to see the face of the one I am to do business with, if you don't mind. An oddity of mine, but one I'd prefer to keep alive. Your hood, please." She gestured with one slender blue hand.

The stranger lifted her hands and gripped the edges of her cowl, revealing calloused palms, well used to hard work and labour. In a movement as quick and fluid as all her actions were, she'd removed the fabric to show what lay beneath.

Compared with Mystique's, the stranger's appearance was positively mundane, though she did possess a harsh beauty all of her own. A thick mop of auburn hair sprouted haphazardly from her skull, mussed in places and damp with sweat from travelling under a hood. Two white streaks ran either side of her face, which was itself almost as snowy in colour, only lightened by sparse amounts of tint splashed here and there, creating an almost gothic quality. Her dark eyes were deep and fathomless - about as different from the Seer's white orbs it was possible to be.

A gasp caught in Mystique's throat. "So, my visions were true. You are the one."

"Yeah." The newcomer lowered her gaze. Mystique only continued staring at her, something akin to incredulity etched into her features.

"The Rogue of the Guild of Assassins."

"Yeah, that's me." The younger girl's tone was bleak and cold; plainly indicating this was a topic she wished not to discuss. Mystique quickly picked up on this, and swiftly changed the subject to something a little more neutral.

"You must forgive Kurt." She said, moving to sit down at the round table and motioning that The Rogue should do the same on the opposite side. "He's fiercely protective of me, and living alone as we do hasn't done much to improve his people skills."

"Kurt?" The sallow girl seemed surprised that the blue furry elf had a name, whilst simultaneously wondering whether the whole tent thing was just a gimmick for gullible tourists eager to have their palms read and their fortunes told.

"Yes. My son, and protector, as he'd like to be known."

Her son. Yes, she could see the family resemblance, although the question of where Kurt's fur and tail had come from refused to be quelled within The Rogue's mind.

"Isn't he a seer too?" She asked.

Mystique shook her head. "His talents haven't properly developed themselves yet, but it's usual among the Pella-Azul - our people - for only women to possess the gift of prophecy. Men's abilities vary. Sometimes they have no powers at all. Sometimes they have too many to be contained in a single mortal body, and perish in the flames of their own gifts." She sighed. "I dearly hope Kurt isn't to be one of those poor individuals."

"Look, Mystique," The Rogue began. "I think you know why I'm here, so why don't we just get this over with." She hated having to be rude to this wonderfully exotic woman, but the situation called for it. They would pick up her trail soon, and she wanted to have this done with before They could find her.

The blue-skinned woman nodded. "You wish to learn whether what the texts say is true or not."

She knew about the texts? Of course she would, she was a seer, after all. "Pretty much. I can pay you whatever you want, I got money right here." She patted her belt purse in the confident manner of one who knows she can defend herself. "So, tell me what you want, then tell me what I wanna know."

"The charge is irrelevant." Mystique said softly. The Rogue narrowed her eyes.

"Look, I ain't no thief. Just tell me how much and then we can get started." She detached the drawstring purse and opened it up. Several coins chinked together melodically into her hand, and she held them up for the woman to see. Yet again, Mystique shook her head. Light from the lamp bounced off her vivid tresses, creating watery shadows on the tent walls, which danced like drunken fireflies.

"Look," The Rogue laid out three coins on the wooden tabletop. Two golden Liones and a silver Kistril. The standard charge for a Seer's services. "Either you take these damn coins, or else I'm walking. Right out of this tent, and right off to find another Seer who *will* take mah money!"

Mystique stared at the three circles of metal, then up into The Rogue's determined face. "Once again, the visions have been proved truthful. They spoke of you being righteous, despite your profession - albeit, they didn't mention such unconventional means of demonstrating it."

"I have mah own code, which I live by. Now, are you gonna take mah money or what?"

"You're not going to let me refuse, are you?"

"Nope."

"I'll take them, then."

"Good." The Rogue nodded, as if this closed the matter. She leaned forward in her chair - which was actually proving to be quite uncomfortable for her spine. Perhaps it had been designed with a certain tailed individual in mind. "Tell me, how do you know all this stuff, anyways?"

"I don't *know* anything." Mystique sniffed. "I am only brushed by possibilities. Prophecy is one-tenth visions and nine-tenths interpretation. Now, let us begin with your questions. I will tell you what I can, but don't press me for more information if I don't have it or it could be dangerous. A seer's searching spirit too far from its body-anchor is the easiest to sever and be lost in the abyss."

The Rogue bobbed her head. Mystique quietly rose from her chair and crossed the small room to a battered bureau on the other side. From it, she extracted a leather bag; drawn tight with a rawhide thong - almost identical to The Rogue's purse, save for its size. The seer sat back down and unfastened it, carefully removing several objects and laying them down on the table before her. A crucible, the dried leaves of some unidentifiable plant, and a strange yellow candle soon rested on the wooden surface. The auburn haired girl watched, intrigued, as Mystique lit the candle, and then extinguished the lamp, plunging the room into an eerie semi-lit state. She then took the leaves and closed her hand into a fist around them, crushing them to dust, which she trickled into the tiny, white crucible. The Rogue marvelled at how not one of the many miniscule fragments failed to go into the bowl, and peered intently as Mystique dripped hot wax from the candle on top of them. She'd never seen a real seer at work before. These were secret and private rituals, reserved only for those who chose to consult the women blessed with the gift, and forbidden to be spoken of outside their company.

Mystique continued, oblivious to the girl's patent curiosity. She appeared to be working herself into some kind of trance. The viscous wax did indeed have a somewhat hypnotic quality about it as it dribbled over the leaves, and the faint smell of sulphur soon became apparent. A low rumbling permeated the thick air. The Rogue almost started when she realised that this abnormal growling was in fact Mystique's voice - completely different to her usual dulcet tone. She was muttering alien words from an unknown language in a voice that balanced on a knife-edge between soothing and savage. The ancient language of the seers! Jealously guarded and taught to no one but those of pure Pella-Azul seer blood. Even their own males had no knowledge of this archaic tongue.

Mystique raised her eyes. He gaze was unfocused and distant, and when she spoke, it was in a voice that could only be compared to brittle leaves on an Autumn breeze.

"We are the those who have no name, yet are called everything. We are all, yet we are nothing. Creation and destruction, blown across the mists of time and space since the millennia before this land was born. Speak now, stranger. For what reason have you called upon us, keepers of the secrets of ages?"

The Rogue cleared her throat. Suddenly her mouth felt dry, and she cursed herself in all the languages she knew for her weakness.

"I am the one known as The Rogue. And I would seek you counsel, Great Ones."

"The Rogue of the Guild of Assassins? For what reason call you us hence, oh she who is spurned from her own?"

"Do y'all know of the Texts of Calorsiel?"

"The scrolls scribed by he who possessed the gift not his own. We do. How dare you ask such a question, mortal! We know all that takes place in this universe. It is our domain, our creation. To think we would not know is an insult of the highest calibre." A gust of foul smelling wind sprang up from nowhere, buffeting the girl's face and causing the candle to flicker. She blinked, her eyeballs suddenly dry.

"I'm sorry, oh Great Ones." The Rogue apologised hastily. "I didn't mean no disrespect. I only wanted to know, well.... I've been having such strange dreams of late, and recently I came across an extract from those there scrolls that seemed awful similar. I've found nobody in this realm who I could ask about this. Oh Masterful Beings, I'd just like to know, what does it all mean?"

"You ask things which are none of your concern." The hissing voice replied. Every utterance seemed to ooze power; so fierce that it made the mind boggle as to what kind of authority such entities possessed who could convey command from only a borrowed mouth. "The knowledge you seek is not yours to possess, outlaw. Yet we shall tell you this. Seek not what is in the light, for it is only in darkness that all may be made well."

"I don't understand." The Rogue said plaintively. At once the wind blew so strongly that the guttering flame vanished, and she was forced to raise her arms in order to shield her face.

"Do not trouble us with mortal trivialities such as understanding. Go now, and do not call upon us with questions not yours to ask, you who are pursued by shadows."

The wind howled, drowning her in its stench as it drove its way into her nose, her mouth, her throat. Then all at once it was gone, leaving only a bitter aftertaste like that of sour milk on her tongue.

Mystique's head dropped onto her chest, her breathing coming in short laboured gasps. Her entire frame shook with each shuddering intake of breath, and it took several minutes for her to return to normal. When she did, she raised her face, white eyes scanning the table with no regard for the encompassing darkness smothering everything from sight.

"I do so hate it when they leave a mess behind." She sighed. "Deities they may be, but they're still awfully untidy things." There was a quick 'ch-chish' as she relit the candle, revealing that the crucible had been turned over, spilling its sticky contents all over the work surface. "Did you find out what you wanted?" She asked; reaching into the leather bag for a cloth she'd already set aside for this very purpose. Apparently this kind of thing happened a lot when she worked.

"Kinda." The Rogue answered vaguely. "At least, I think so."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, they said - "

"No! You mustn't tell me." Mystique said quickly, holding up a cerulean hand to stop the girl's comment progressing any further. "A prophecy is meant only for the ears of the one it's given to. To tell someone else is to invite disaster on both them and you."

"Oh." The girl responded. But how was she supposed to figure out what it meant if she couldn't ask anyone about it? Those damn Powers That Be. Figures they'd make this more difficult then it should have to be. They couldn't even answer a straightforward question without promising death and destruction. Typical!

She got to her feet. "Well, I'll be on mah way then. Thanks for your help, and all."

"I did nothing." The colourful woman said softly. "You were the one who conversed with the Powers, not I."

"Yeah, well, whatever." She said, hastily pulling her cowl over her head. She had to leave, now! She'd stayed too long already. They would be coming soon. "I'll see y'all around sometime. Goodbye, Mystique the Seer." She gave a curt nod, and then was gone through the door with all the silence of a butterfly's whisper, and twice the immutable grace.

Mystique watched the fraying hole that served as her doorway. A small smile pulled at her azure lips. Not a happy smile, or even a malicious smile. But a sad smile, born of sobering knowledge.

"But you won't."

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Kurt lay stretched out across a tree branch. A gentle breeze ruffled his fur, and the sun beat down, deliciously warm, upon his hide. His eyes were closed, and he was - to all intents and purposes - asleep. That is, until you noticed his tail, dangling over the side of his perch, actively flicking this way and that with a mixture of impatience and irritation at the flies that insisted on swarming round it. He wouldn't have minded, but it wasn't as if he smelled bad enough to attract them. He was very clean - having blue fur all over your body to which dirt insisted on clinging did that to a person.

The day was balmy, yet not uncomfortably so, and Kurt bathed himself liberally in the sunshine. Waiting had never been his forte, so he'd decided early on in his vigil to make the most of his day and get in some sunbathing. Yet now time was telling upon his restless nature. He was twitchy. The slightest hint of a fly, and he would either inadvertently lash his tail - honestly, that thing seemed to have a mind of its own! - or open one golden eye and glare murderously at the winged intruder.

Finally he turned over, draping both arms and legs over the sides of the branch. His tail remained in the air, waving to and fro of its own accord. Physical evidence of his growing impatience.

It had been over an hour now. He could tell by where the sun was in the sky. What were they doing in there? He knew his mother sometimes took quite some time to prepare herself, but surely their conference should have ended long ago. Kurt sighed loudly, breath blowing back in his face as it bounced off the tree bark.

Not for the first time, he contemplated the strange visitor. The figure had been wearing a deep hood of the kind that hid one's face, but he'd been able to tell from the voice that it was female. Quite young too, probably not more than a year or two older than him. People had always interested him. Aside from Mystique, he only ever saw them when they came to visit the Seer. For some reason, they seemed doubly curious about him, a little fearful too. Many times he'd introduced himself, only to receive screams and insults in return. Several times people had tried to hurt him, but he was too quick and agile for them to do any real harm. The forest was his home, and as long as he stayed here, nobody could ever catch him. These experiences had taught him much, though. When to make himself known, and when to stay hidden. How to read body language, and differentiate between those who were simply harmless travellers and those who posed a potential threat to he and his mother. He learned more from simply watching people then from conversing with them, and was an expert in the art of silence.

This new girl interested him. She seemed so harsh and savage. Yet in her he could also read sincerity and honesty. These conflicting signals confused him, and he was eager to find out more about her. Mystique would never tell him what went on when she worked for a client - she was very professional about things like that. And it was absolutely forbidden for him to listen in during a consultation! Since the very beginning, when his distant ancestors first roamed the land it had been the women who were seers, and the men whose powers varied in form. Usually, talents manifested themselves around adolescence, but as of yet, Kurt's had failed to do so. He wasn't worried though. Being a rather relaxed individual, he simply accepted that they'd appear with time. Right now, there were other, more exciting things to think about. Like who this visitor was, and why she gave off such contradictory signs.

She was from one of the southern realms - that much was discernable from her accent. They'd had visitors from the South before, but they were all soft-bred merchants and traders, anxious to see the future for their businesses, or try to pre-ordain the outcome of some money related venture or other. She definitely wasn't any softhearted merchant's daughter. Her edges were much too abrasive for that.

Kurt blinked as an errant piece of dust blew into his eye. He pawed at it for a moment with one tri-dactyl hand, but only served to make his eye water, dampening the fur around it with clear liquid. He sighed again. When would they finish?

Abruptly, he sat up, scratched himself behind one elfin ear with his tail, and gathered his feet under him. Though slender and sickly looking, Kurt's body hid a tremendous strength, and he utilized it now to leap from his roost into the leafy branches of a nearly Elm. He'd barely landed when he propelled himself forward again, taking a single bound into the heart of the next tree, then the next, and the next, and the next, until he at last found himself enfolded in the verdant embrace of an aging Birch overlooking the hovel he and his mother called home. Pointing his nose downward, he proceeded to shin vertically down the tree's thick trunk until he was level with the roof of the tent. Here he found himself a thick bough, and settled down to wait from a considerably better vantage point then he'd previously held on the other side of the glade.

He didn't have long to wait. Several short minutes passed, and then a figure exited the tent. Clad in a swirling mass of dusky fabric, Kurt identified it as the southern stranger, and focused his sharper-than-average golden eyes upon her retreating form.

She carried herself confidently, yet delicately, and the furry boy was somehow reminded of a puma he'd come across in the forest a few winters ago, when it had descended from the desolate mountains in search of food. That food had almost been Kurt, and he'd only escaped by the skin of his teeth. The memory of the puma's snarling jaws were etched into his memory for all eternity, but he also remembered its grace. The almost noble way it bore itself, as if daring the world to take it on. The same aura surrounded the hooded girl, and, rather than quell Kurt's intense curiosity, it served only to fan the flames of his inquisitiveness. Here was another conflicting signal to add to the mix. Just who was this girl?

He watched as she disappeared into the undergrowth. She'd avoided the path she used to enter the clearing, choosing instead to battle her way through the thicker part of the forest. She certainly can take care of herself if she'd going that way, Kurt mused. Even he thought twice about straying too far into *that* part of the Black Forest. Stories abounded about the strange and terrifying creatures to be found in that area, and though he didn't always believe these tall tales, he avoided venturing in there where he could.

He stared after the girl, watching the bushes until they finally stopped moving and he was sure she'd gone. Raising himself from where he'd been arranged across the branch, he stretched, groaning slightly as he extended his stiff muscles, then jumped - nearly toppling off the limb altogether - as a voice cut through the encircling silence.

"You're a regular little peeping tom, aren't you?"

Kurt stared down into the face of his mother. She stood beneath his perch, having left the tent through the back entrance, and thus avoiding his sight. She was smiling, and didn't appear angry with him for watching one of her clients. Rather, her comment was made in jest, a smile tugging about the corners of her cobalt mouth. She spoke in Germanic, their native language, incongruously pronouncing each syllable with all the enunciation of an aristocrat.

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all. As long as you remember not to interrupt or spy on me when I'm working. I don't know if I can say the same for *her* though." She indicated to where the cloaked girl had vanished.

Kurt swivelled his head to stare back at the bushes. "Who was she, Mother?"

"Kurt, you know I can't tell you that." Mystique wagged a finger at her curious son. "All things that pass between me and a client are strictly private."

He shrugged, smiling. "It was worth a try."

Kurt lay back down on his front, and then rolled sideways off the branch. A strangled gasp escape Mystique's lips at the sight of her son plummeting to the ground, but she needn't have worried. Kurt's agility had never been known to fail him, and it didn't do so now. Turning a showy somersault in mid-air, the indigo boy landed, cat-like, on all fours, bending his elbows and inverted knees to cushion the impact. He sprang up onto two feet, a giddy grin plastered to his face. He knew he'd scared her, if only for a moment, and took adolescent pleasure from her concern. She in turn lovingly cuffed him around the head. To anybody else watching, this might have seemed a rather violent action, but that couldn't have been farther from the truth. Mystique was careful only to brush Kurt's flyaway hair with her palm, and in doing so she demonstrated her concern for her son's safety, whilst he showed his trust that she wouldn't actually hit him. Essentially, it was affection portrayed as aggression.

"I've never seen one like her before." Kurt stated, dancing around the older woman. She struggled to keep an eye on him, and he laughed with glee as she twisted this way and that whilst he easily evaded her eyesight.

"No, me neither."

"She was The Rogue, wasn't she?"

Mystique abruptly looked startled. "How did you know that?"

"Her armour gave her away. Plus she called me 'Kaju'. I don't know what it means exactly, but I do know that it's an Assassin's word. I heard two travellers talking a while ago - "

"Gehín."

Kurt blinked, confused. "Excuse me?"

"The private language of the Guild of Assassins. It's called Gehín. And before you ask, no, you don't want to know what 'Kaju' means!"

Kurt stopped his prancing long enough to stare at Mystique. "But if it's a private language for the members of the Guild, then how do *you* know what it means, Mother?"

Mystique didn't answer, and Kurt noticed how she suddenly averted her gaze, refusing to look him in the face. He tipped his head in the manner of a bemused puppy, told off by its master, but not knowing what it had done to receive such harsh words.

For what seemed like the billionth time, Kurt reflected on his mother and her oddities. They started small, like how she hadn't the pronounced accent he possessed when speaking Common. Probably, this was because she'd been speaking it for longer, but sometimes he played with the idea that it was actually because Germania wasn't the land of her birth. Usually he discarded this idea as soon as it entered his brain, but he couldn't help considering it from time to time. Mystique was fluent in several languages. Common Tongue, Germanic, and now it seemed he could add Gehín to the list. He reflected on how little he knew about his mother's life before this modest glade in the forest where he'd been born and raised. What he did know had been gleaned in total secrecy, and solely from various objects and paraphernalia stashed away in their home. She thought he didn't know about the fragments of yellowed parchment he'd discovered when - trying to be helpful - he'd rolled up her sleeping mat. Or the pendant she kept anxiously locked away with her seer accoutrements. Little things, insignificant to the naked eye, but which spoke volumes to his searching mind.

Or did she know? Was she aware of the knowledge he carried, so sketchy, with the numerous blanks largely filled in by his own imagination? It was very difficult to tell, when one's mother was a seer, just exactly what she did and didn't know.

Mystique gazed at her son. Her one and only child. The fruit of her womb. She cherished him more than anything in the world, though she'd seldom told him that. Her heart prevented her from expressing such intense emotion any more, even to her own offspring. Ironic, that a muscle which used to beat such fiery and ardent passion should now be the cause for her keeping her love locked away. True, she displayed affection for him, but that was all it ever was. Affection. It had never gone beyond that pathetic flavour of an emotion. She'd never said she loved him. Ever. She'd tried, but the word had caught in her throat. Clogging in her gullet like some evil mordant gas.

Now, as she gazed into his questioning golden eyes, she realised the true extent of her love for her son. Her pride in him. He'd been so badly treated by people who came up here to see her, but it never seemed to faze him. He always retained that elated, carefree attitude, shrugging off insults like water off a duck's back. It panged her inside that she should only appreciate him when it was too late. For she had seen what was to come. Kurt had so much to offer the world. So much.... life. It wouldn't be right for her to take that away simply because she didn't want to be alone when They came. If she couldn't say it, then at least she could show her love for him by sparing him that.

"You're curious about her, aren't you?" Mystique broke the tense silence at last. Kurt paused for a second, a little bemused by the sudden reversion in subject, before nodding vigorously.

"Oh, yes. She's so... so different. I can read so much from her movements, but I can hardly understand any of it. It's like.... it's like she's not complete. The glue which should be holding together all the different signals I see isn't there, so they're floating freely, with no place to go and no purpose to serve."

"You saw all that just from how she walked?"

"No, Mother. How she *moved*. It's something quite different."

"But you spent less than fifteen minutes in her company." His mother protested, "And from what I could see, she was just about ready to cut you up into tiny, furry, blue pieces. You sound almost sorry for her when you talk like that."

"I see what I see." Kurt grinned. "I can't help it." Unexpectedly, he chose that moment to perform a spectacular back flip. It was as if his body had decided of its own accord to lighten the oppressive atmosphere that had sprung up. Mystique marvelled at his impressive gymnastics - all self-taught - and felt another swell of maternal pride. He was good enough to make lots of money in a circus if he'd wanted, not that the notion of him joining one had ever crossed either of their minds.

"Kurt."

He ceased the flaunting of his talents. A sober note had crept into Mystique's voice, and it gripped him in an intangible iron embrace, forcing him to obediently listen to what she had to say.

"Yes, Mother."

The blue skinned woman steeled herself for what she was about to do. The magenta sleeves of her faded robes engulfed her arms, and beneath the cloth her hands clenched into fists so tight that a thin trickle of blood began to ooze from where her nails pressed into her palms. Oh, curse this mortal weakness!

"I want you to leave."

"What?" He hadn't been expecting *that*, and her remark threw him off balance a little. "What do you mean?"

"I want you to go with The Rogue. Follow her, and join her in her travels."

He was shocked at such an order - for an order was what it was, there was no mistaking that - yet at the same time, he was also intrigued.... and delighted. To travel with The Rogue herself, and with his Mother's blessing too. He'd often wondered what it would be like to leave the Dark Forest, and as a child, had imagined himself having swashbuckling adventures in distant lands, accompanied always by an equally piratical companion. To journey far and wide, interacting with new people and experiencing new cultures. Now it seemed his childhood dreams were to become a reality. He was almost lost for words - a rare occurrence indeed!

"You mean it?"

His eyes were shining, Mystique could see. If any qualm was going to try and overtake her resolve, the sight of Kurt's happy beam banished it utterly. She gave a wan smile.

"Yes. You're old enough now, and it's high time you made your own way in the world, away from my apron strings."

These last words pierced Kurt's euphoria, and his furry brows knitted hastily together. "But what about you? I can't leave you here alone."

"Kurt, I'm quite capable of tasking care of myself. I've taken care of you single-handedly for the last sixteen years. It'll be like a vacation."

"At least, until I get back." He grinned mischievously.

That small, sad smile broached her lips again. "Yes. Until you get back."

"Oh thank you! Thank you! I'll just fetch a few things I'll need, and then I'll be off." Kurt started bounding towards the door to their tent.

"No!" Mystique exclaimed, stepping in front of him. He pulled up just in the nick of time, skidding to a halt mere inches from her face. Even so, the two ended up almost nose-to-nose, and probably would have done had it not been for the boy's diminutive height next to his mother. His expression became quizzical. Did this mean she didn't want him to go after all? Had she changed her mind?

Mystique folded her bleeding hand in on itself to staunch the flow of blood. Not that it would matter soon.

He couldn't stay! Every moment wasted here was a moment of advantage given to Them. He had to leave. Now! But how to make him understand without telling him all that she knew? Mystique was aware that if Kurt knew what was coming then he wouldn't leave her, and she wanted him to have the chance at a life.

"What's that matter, Mother? Have you changed your mind?"

"No, no." What to say? What to say? Ah, got it! "It's just that, well, The Rogue must be moving pretty fast. She seemed in an awful hurry, and you don't want to lose her and be left behind, do you?"

"But, my clothes...."

"Kurt, you only have one other set. Think of it as a crash course in taking the initiative."

He stared up at her, golden eyes filled with warmth. Her insides panged again, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out for him to stay. Instead, she grated; "Go now."

"Thank you, Mother." He whispered. Then he did something totally unpredicted. He reached up and planted a kiss on her flawless cheek, before turning tail and bolting across the glade in the direction The Rogue had taken.

Mystique touched her skin where he'd pecked her. The nerve endings still tingled where his fur had brushed against her, and her white eyes filled with unshed tears.

She wanted to run after him, wanted to scream and shout. To call him back to her side and tell him everything, so that they could face what was coming together.

But she didn't.

She didn't move a single muscle. This was for the best, and she knew it, however much it hurt. In a low voice, she murmured a few short words, which were caught by the breeze and flung into the air where no one but the birds could hear them.

"Goodbye, Kurt. Don't forget me."

*******************

The Rogue stalked through the undergrowth, a growl bubbling deep in her throat. She sounded so much like a savage animal that several woodland creatures retreated down their burrows at her approach, leaving the way clear for her to stalk through.

She was aware that she should be covering her trail, and that the path of broken foliage she was leaving in her wake would be easy enough for a baby to follow. But her exchange with the Powers That Be had left her feeling disgruntled and cheated. She'd gone to a seer against her better judgement and this was what she got in return? Usually she didn't trust such people, believing their practices to be, as she put it, 'a load of mumbo-jumbo'. It seemed that now she'd been proved right. Only somehow, this information didn't improve her mood any.

The girl paused a second to collect her thoughts. Bad humour was no reason to go forgetting all her training. She was being stupid, and letting her emotions take over. Just like she'd done the last time, and look how that had turned out....

A surge of anger welled within her breast at the memory, and she only she stopped herself from hacking at the nearest available object with her sword. It was only her inner voice that halted her errant movements. That sane, sensible voice which had followed her all her life, guiding and directing her skills so that she might better master them in a shorter amount of time. It wasn't a conscience; she doubted she had one of those. No, this was something different. Her own personal equivalent, only without the cumbersome morals and ethics to hamper it. Now it activated itself in her psyche, telling her to calm down and get a grip of herself before she blew everything. The auburn haired girl released her grip on her sword-hilt and took several deep breaths. She drew upon her warrior's schooling, and at last found her still point, just as she'd been taught to do. Her face instantly became a mask of indifference, whilst her mind became clear as ice.

She continued on her way, silent as a shadow. Rabbits grazed harmlessly as she passed, unaware of the death incarnate only metres away. She was as the wind; present, but unseen. A flickering darkness, half perceived and then gone. Yes, this was much better then allowing her precision to become disrupted by messy emotions. She preferred things this way. Clear-cut and clinical. Her elegant strides ate up the ground at an astronomical rate, and soon she was deep in the heart of the Black Forest.

She'd been travelling for about an hour when she first heard it. A faint swish, like the beating wings of a flock of startled pigeons. Any other person would have dismissed it, but not she. Her training and profession would not allow it. It was her business - no, her very nature to notice danger signals, no matter how slight or insignificant to the rest of the world. These skills had saved her life on an exponential number of occasions, and had successfully ended the lives of many others.

Right now, her senses were screaming at her.

Danger. Danger. Danger.

She froze. Even her cloak seemed to wilfully cease it's swishing, and a deathly hush descended on the scene. For several minutes nothing moved. The forest remained still as a graveyard, and half as lively. The Rogue regulated her breathing, as she was apt to do, so that not even the rise and fall of her slender chest beneath the folds of black fabric could give her away.

Eventually, the silence was broken. An inconsequential mouse, nostril's quivering with the blatant mistrust of its kind, poked its nose out of its bolthole. It sniffed. Once. Twice. Three times. Before tentatively pushing the rest of its head out, and then its body. It crept forward, inch by painful inch, knowing that if its judgement were misplaced it would mean death. There are no such things as second chances in nature. The mouse scurried further forward. Then, with a burst of speed, grabbed at some indistinguishable rodent-delicacy from the woodland floor, and darted back into its tunnel labyrinth.

As if on a timer, the rest of the forest suddenly came back to life. Birds called to each other through the trees, rabbits nibbled docilely on clover here and there, and various types of rodent hurried hither and thither collecting food and scuffling between themselves.

The Rogue waited longer than the rest of nature until she moved again. When she did deem it time, she unfolded herself from the shadows and wrapped the cloak about her before carrying on. She'd wasted precious time here, and couldn't afford to wait any longer lest They came and found her. She wasn't ready for them yet. Soon, but not yet.

She'd taken but three steps when the forest roof above her seemed to explode, raining down debris and broken foliage in a thunderstorm of green, brown and.... blue?

In one fluid movement, she'd drawn her sword, settled into a fighting stance and was awaiting the first move. Her sharp eyes made out the form of a person amongst the falling fragments of leaves. He or she was crouching, as if injured on the ground. A lesser, more compassionate person may have assumed this person had fallen and hurt him or herself. But not The Rogue. She saw only a potential threat and treated it as such.

She took a tentative step forward. The body was covered in green wreckage, partly obscuring it from view. She thought she could see peasant's clothing, and lightly touched it with the toe of her boot.

At once the 'body' sprang up, emitting a high-pitched cry. The Rogue reacted by expertly plunging her blade forward, and would have impaled the person.... except that there was nobody there. She blinked, the only indication of her surprise. There had definitely been somebody there a moment ago, and she scanned the surrounding terrain for any signs of this wayward individual.

"Missed me, Frauline!"

The voice came from above, and she tilted her head to stare up into a pair of merry golden eyes. Her lip half-curled into a sneer. It was the non-demon from the seer's place. He must have followed her. Deftly, she wrenched her sword from where it had buried itself into the ground, twisting it in one hand whilst using the other one to remove a smaller knife from the opposite side of her belt. In a single graceful action, she launched this up into the branches where the blue elf crouched laughing. Her aim was true, and would have struck his heart, had it not been for the unbelievable swiftness with which he moved. In the space of a few seconds, he'd vanished from his perch, only to reappear in a tree behind her. She spun round at his voice.

"And again. You're a little slow today, I think. Care to try again?"

The Rogue growled. What did he want? He didn't want to attack her, it seemed. He'd had plenty of opportunities, and gained many advantages over her, but had yet to strike a blow.

The odd creature stood up on his branch and leaned nonchalantly against the tree trunk. He folded his indigo arms, a veritable picture of calm and serenity. When he spoke again, she could hear the barely retained giggling tincturing his tone, and repressed a sneer at his.... ghastly immaturity.

"I would like to speak mit you, Frauline."

The Rogue gripped her sword tighter. Talking wasn't her way. She preferred things to be done quickly. Efficiently. She had no time for chitchat, and stayed silent, her facial expression inscrutable. Apparently, the elf took her silence for agreement, and carried on talking in that nauseatingly husky voice of his.

"You're The Rogue of The Guild of Assassins, aren't you?" Still silence. "Well Frauline, I have a proposition for you."

"I don't deal with elves." She spat.

"Oh, ha, ha. Very funny, meine Freundin." He laughed. She very nearly hurled her sword up at him too.

"Look, fuzzy. I'm in a hurry, so if you don't have anything worthwhile to say, then I'm leaving. I'm very grateful to your Mom and all, but our business is done. I paid mah dues, and I would suggest you go now, 'afore I get to thinking about getting me a new blue fur cloak!"

She turned and made to leave, keeping her blade drawn just in case he *did* decide to become hostile. Just let him try to get the drop on her.

"Kann ich mit euch mitkommen?"

She whirled around, but he wasn't where he'd previously been in his tree.

"What!?"

"Ahem." The cough came from behind her again, and she swivelled her body around to see the non-demon draped across the original branch she'd spotted him on. In his three-fingered hands he was toying with the knife she'd thrown at him. Evidently, he'd had time to change position, find the knife and arrange himself in the tree before she'd even finished yelling. She cursed him vehemently under her breath.

The elf smiled benevolently. Mistaking her exclamation for not understanding him, he switched to Common and repeated himself.

"Can I come with you?"

"What kind of a question is that?" She demanded.

"A valid one." The thing replied. "I want to travel with you. Kann ich?"

The Rogue snorted with ill-concealed disgust. "No!"

His face fell. He looked like a child deprived of its favourite toy. "Warum?"

"Look, kid, I dunno what you hope to gain by trying mind games with me, but they won't work. I've had much worse then some Kaju in a fur-coat asking stupid questions before."

"Oh, no, Frauline." He shook his head. "This is no mind game. I'm serious. I wish to travel with you, and I fail to see the problem with that."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're really serious, aren't you?"

"Deadly." He answered, and then giggled at his choice of words. "So, does that mean I can?"

"Did I say it did? That answer's still no. Go home to Mommy, fuzz-butt."

"Can't. She sent me." He balanced the knife by its tip on the end of one chunky finger. The finely honed blade failed to even make a scratch on him.

The Rogue was surprised, despite herself. "She *sent* you? After she knew who I was?"

"Ja." He flipped the weapon, catching it deftly by its hilt in one hand and thrusting it at an invisible enemy in the air. His technique was terrible, but she had to admit, there was certainly potential in the way her handled a blade. Clinical she may be, but she could admire talent when she saw it.

She shook her head. Now was not the time to be talent spotting! Besides, what good would it do? She couldn't exactly recruit anyone into the Guild anymore, especially not a blue hairy *thing* who had less common sense than a loaf of stale bread.

The *thing* in question peered down at her. A grin split his waiflike face, stretching almost from ear to pointy ear, and he shouted; "Catch!" before flinging the knife down at her.

His aim wasn't perhaps as good as hers, but there was definitely power behind his throw. He was no match for The Rogue, though. Years of ruthless training and lethal work had groomed her skills to near-perfection, and she had only to stretch out one arm and catch the hurtling blade's hilt between her fingers as it cleaved through the air, swinging her arm around to jam it back into its mini-scabbard without ever moving her feet.

The Seer's son clapped his odd hands. "Bravo, Frauline, bravo. Perhaps you can teach me that trick sometime?"

"I'd sooner cut your throat out then teach you, elf." She snarled. " Fighting isn't about *tricks*, it's about staying alive and making sure your opponent doesn't. And you're a damn fool if you ever think otherwise. Now leave me alone and run along home. I'm busy."

But it seemed that, whatever gifts life had bestowed upon the elf, the ability to take a hint wasn't one of them. He staunchly refused to depart, and doggedly followed the cloaked girl as she continued on her way, raining down a hailstorm of questions and senseless remarks as he went, safe in the knowledge that she couldn't get to him as long as he stayed in the treetops.

The Rogue tried her best to ignore him, but it's very difficult to ignore someone who constantly insists on jumping in from of you, and then springing away before you could get a good strike in. She found herself keeping her sword constantly in hand, hoping for an opportunity to shut that gaping mouth. But that opportunity never presented itself, and his questions seeped into her ears until, eventually, she could no longer disregard them.

"Where are you going?" He asked at last, hanging by his tail from a nearby low branch. He'd started to get a little cocky at his own swiftness as they travelled, and often hung mere inches off the ground, confident he could get away before his irate companion was able to strike at him.

The Rogue, who was several feet in front, kept on walking, but graced him with twist of her head and a rarely given answer.

"If I tell you, will you shut up?"

He nodded.

"I'm going to Zanninsa."

"Ich komme mit dir mit."

In a flash, she'd turned and barrelled into him where he dangled, tearing his tail from its purchase and pinning him on his back in the fallen leaves. Her dagger was at his throat before he even saw her reach into her boot for it. Its blade was smaller then the others she'd used so far, sharper too, and she held it close to his skin.

"You. Are. Not. Coming. With. Me." She growled.

Kurt gulped, his Adam's-apple bobbing dangerously close to the keen blade.

"OK. Maybe I'm not."

The Rogue stared down at him. So helpless. Where was all his big talk and infuriating callisthenics now? He was at her mercy, totally. She had only to move the dagger a hairsbreadth and she would prick the great vein and release his life. She could see it beneath his downy fur, pulsing with lifeblood. The power she held over him was intoxicating, like some heady drug. Yet she retained her calm clarity. This mastery over another's essence was a dish best eaten with a clear mind. To give in to emotion was to become the one mastered.

This sensible thought gave rise to another. Her calculating brain took heed of it, and - much to Kurt's surprise - she abruptly sheathed her blade and stood up. With no more then a casual brush of her cloak, she turned on her heel and stalked away from where he still lay in the dust. He scrambled to his oddly shaped feet and took a standing leap into the nearest tree, anxious not to be in range should the perplexing female decide that she did actually wish to kill him.

Once more he was confused. Why had she let him go? Not that he was complaining, he'd been an easy target and she'd obviously wanted to finish him off. He'd seen it in her eyes. Those twin pools of liquid fire inside her deep hood, burning with the same bloodlust as the puma from long ago, but mixed with a shrewd human coldness that sent shivers convulsing down his spine to the tip of his tail. The eyes of a true killer.

However, despite that frighteningly eerie fire, he found himself continuing to follow her. His curiosity was already forgetting how close to death he'd come on the tip of her dagger, and he bounded gracefully through the trees after her swiftly moving form - albeit at a safer distance than before.

The Rogue heard him coming, and snarled low in her gullet. Didn't that freak know how to take a hint? A flash of blue caught her attention, above and to her right, moving speedily through the tallest branches. He was being careless as he tried to catch up to her. He was open and vulnerable, not looking for danger and an easy target for a well-thrown knife, she was sure. She half considered killing him on the spot. It would be so easy. That soft indigo fur offered no protection. One quick slice and it would all be over. She even got so far as curling her fingers around the hilt of the small knife in her belt under her cloak. But then she stopped.

No, this journey called for an altogether more secret approach. As satisfying it would have been, leaving a body in the woods - especially one so noticeable as the elf's - would be like setting up a complimentary signpost for Them. Showing Them exactly where she'd gone. Her training called for the burial of all incriminating evidence, but she had no time. Plus, They had received the same schooling as she, and would be on the look out for any such marks.

An old Gehín saying popped into her head, and she muttered it under her breath to remind her why she was leaving the fuzzy irritant alive.

"Aeth thiwnha no Heptbin dekiru henka om khra Niphineb."

"What does that mean?"

His voice. Filtering through the branches. So grating. Please, just one quick stab?

No, the sane almost-conscience replied. Maybe later, but not now. You have too much to lose now. Too much at stake.

"Aeth thiwnha no Heptbin dekiru henka om khra Niphineb."

Kurt scurried, squirrel-like, across a slender branch that bowed under his weight. Before it could snap, he jumped from it to land safely in the next tree. He cast a wary glance down at The Rogue. She was muttering something, and his heightened senses could hear her perfectly, but it was in no language he recognised. Abruptly he remembered what his mother had told him just before he left. She'd said that the official tongue of the Guild of Assassins was Gehín. It wasn't difficult to guess that these were the strange words the hooded girl below him was muttering.

He thought of his mother. How was she doing? Was she going to be OK on her own? He'd never been away from home like this before, nor gone so far into this particular part of the Black Forest. His imagination began to recount the stories he'd heard about this place, constructing them into hideous pictures in his mind. He shook his head, nearly missing a foothold as he did so.

Whoops! He was worrying too much. It was affecting his judgement. In an effort to distract his mind from the horrible images playing across it, he tried once more to initiate a dialogue with The Rogue.

"The city of Zanninsa? That's on the other side of the Black Forest isn't it, Frauline?"

"Shut up, elf. You're not going with me. I travel alone. There's no room for you on this trip."

"It's a free forest, I can go wherever I please, danke. Maybe I was planning my own trip there, and I just happened to be on the same road. The world doesn't revolve around you, meine Freundin."

She only grunted in return. He was insufferable, but perhaps this was for the best. At least this way They wouldn't catch him and torture her destination out of him. She knew They'd find her eventually - They always did - but maybe this would buy her a little time. Besides, there many more places to stash a body in a city and have it go unnoticed then in a forest.

Kurt watched her. Silence stretched between them. He cleared his throat.

"So what's so interesting in Zanninsa?"

Silence.

"Frauline?"

Nothing.

"Ach, you sure are a fountain of conversation!"

A few more moments passed in strained quiescence. Kurt's brain filled almost to bursting point with images of dancing troll circles, or horrifying lizards as tall as a man with needle-like teeth and cavernous jaws. Fairytale monsters that seemed so much more real when thought about in this dark, creepy part of the forest.

Too late, he noticed that the unfocused leap he'd just made was going to fall short. The branch he'd been aiming for hovered tantalisingly out of his reach, and he brushed it with his furry fingertips before falling like a stone. His body crashed through the leafy boughs, twigs jabbing him as he plummeted past, or else breaking off and falling with him. He turned over in mid-air and reached out, trying to gain a hold on something, anything! But he couldn't, and landed with a heavy thump on the ground.

His natural instinct was to immediately right himself, but as he struggled to stand up the figure of The Rogue loomed up over him and he found her sword tip resting against his throat. A yelp of fright escaped his mouth. This was it; she was going to finish what she'd started earlier.

But instead of driving her weapon into his yielding flesh, The Rogue held a finger to her mouth in a gesture for quiet. He froze. The way she moved betrayed something to his expert eyes that made him think her action was not due to maliciousness. A certain wariness. Suspicion, almost. She turned her head away, as if listening to something. Kurt too strained his pointed ears, exerting them to hear what she heard.

A deep rumbling permeated the air. It sounded foreign, and yet familiar. Almost like breathing, and yet not like breathing at all. It was too low, too resonant for any animal he could think of.

The Rogue's blade quivered. She recognised that sound. A cold knot of dread manifested itself in her stomach, and she carefully took a step backwards, away from the direction it was coming from. The elf looked bewildered. He didn't understand, didn't know what the noise of his descent had attracted the attention of. Oh, damn him. Damn him down to the end of his blue fuzzy tail! Her deadpan expression never wavered, but she continued to take step after chary step backwards.

The trees to their right rustled, swishing back and forth with no help from the wind. Kurt stared at them, wondering what was going on. Abruptly, his queries were answered.

A repulsive head thrust through the tree trunks. Almost feline in appearance, yet huge beyond belief, it eyed the two figures through luminous yellow eyes. A second head appeared next to it, this one resembling a goat, or some other such horned livestock. It bleated, a mutilated sound coming from its fang-filled maw. A third head butted its way into view on the other side of the feline one. This head looked like nothing Kurt had ever come across in his short lifetime. With its massive scaly snout, wicked teeth and blazing red eyelets, he was reminded of a picture book he'd once 'borrowed' off the child of a merchant who'd come to see Mystique when he was five. The dragon's head was twice as ugly and a thousand times more fearsome in reality then any artist could depict it in a book, and all the fur on his back bristled at the sight of it.

The three heads each fixed their pupils on he and The Rogue. For a moment nothing moved. Then, almost languidly, a mammoth paw - easily the size of Kurt's head - pushed through the bending trunks to be placed on the ground only metres away from his feet. Another joined it, unsheathing five sharp claws as it did so. Once this too was in place, the body they were attached to heaved itself into view.

Kurt gaped at it. The trio of heads were all attached to the same body! Their three separate necks joined together at the base, leading onto a wide chest covered in a mottled mixture of brown fur and greyish scales. Cresting their shared back rose a pair of wings, pathetically small for such a large frame, and covered in a thin grey membrane latticed with nauseatingly visible veins and arteries. The hind legs, he could see, were absurdly slight and cloven, and he wondered how such thin limbs could support such a massive frame.

Three different noses snuffled the air, tasting the scent of the duo before them. A globule of saliva oozed from the lower jaw of the felinehead - which looked a lot like the lion inscribed on the back of every golden Lione in the land, only without the magnificent mane it wore so well - to splatter noisily on the woodland floor, covering everything around it in thick greenish spit. A resonant rumble started up from the throat of the dragonhead. It was actually growling at them.

Kurt swivelled his face to look at The Rogue. She stood a few feet away, sword drawn, but making no endeavour to use it. Surely she would know what this beast was. He swallowed. Suddenly his throat was incredibly dry, and when he spoke his voice was raspy with fear. A million questions swirled inside his brain, but only one made it to his tongue.

"What do we do now, Frauline?"

She took another step back, staring at the scaly hide which had never been to known to be successfully pierced by a mortal blade, at the smoke beginning to waft up from the dragonhead's twitching nostrils, at the wings which were flexing, ready for airborne pursuit of the meal it had found.

The dragonhead opened its mouth. A small ball of churning flames appeared at the back of its throat, growing larger with every passing second.

The indifferent expression on her face remained rigid, but her voice rose to an urgent shout.

"Run!"

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To Be Continued....

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TRANSLATIONS:

*GERMANIC*:
'Kann ich mit euch mitkommen?' ~ Can I come along with you?
'Warum?' ~ Why?
'Ich komme mit dir mit.' ~ I'll come with you.

*GEHIN*
'Kaju!' ~ Fool! (This is only a rough translation into Common Tongue. To an assassin the actual meaning is much worse, as Mystique indicated.)
'Aeth thiwnha no Heptbin dekiru henka om khra Niphineb.' ~ The silence of the dead can become a wild chorus.