Chapter Eighteen: Allies and Enemies
'In war trivial causes produce momentous events' -- Gaius Julius Caesar: The Gallic War.
Rogue rested her elbows on the balcony wall, propping her face up with her hands. Every now and then a zephyr would tug and bedraggle her hair further into resembling a rat's nest, but she made no move to fix it or return inside.
Three days had elapsed since her soul-searching conversation with Ororo, and it was only today that Teah had deemed her well enough to 'take some air'. Thus Rogue wasn't too keen on relinquishing such an outing so soon, even if it was just out on the Infirmary balcony. The smell of outdoors was helping to clear her head. She inhaled the evening scent with gusto.
Visitors had been few and far between, owing to chores and other preparations for the trio's journey to Belvedere. Ororo, Jean and many others had duties to perform around the temple, and Kurt and Kitty spent practically every waking moment practising their equestrian skills out in the paddock. Kurt was getting quite adept, from what she'd heard, though when he came to see her it was usually for the double reason of relieving his new bruises and saddle-sores with one of Teah's salves. Kitty often accompanied him, and Rogue took great pleasure in watching them together. Their little nuances intrigued and entertained her in her medicinal prison. She watched how close they'd become, contrasting the behaviour to when they'd first met at the bombsite of Kitty's house. More often than not she'd risk a sly smile and shake her head at their adolescent romanticism, each wary and waiting for the other to make the first move.
She was more convinced than ever that one of them – probably Kitty – held the soul part of Love. The naked adoration shining in her eyes was so strong that Kurt must have had a hide like an elephant not to acknowledge it.
Rogue sighed. They didn't talk much about Rei-Shima. When the topic did come up, conversations instantly became depressing and dour. Days had passed, during which Initiate McCoy had kindly sent up a copy of the Calorsiel prophecy for her to read. Yet after hours of quiet study, Rogue still had no clue how to call upon their soul parts to resurrect the gods' champion. They shuddered collectively under the great weight of the hopes pinned so faithfully upon them by so many people.
Somehow the news had leaked out, as news always does, and their true roles in the forthcoming conflict were common knowledge around the temple now. Ororo, Teah and Jean had fended off many curious voyeurs from the Infirmary once it was discovered who Rogue really was, but some had slipped through the net. It made Rogue's eyes narrow to have them approach, asking if the rumours were true, and she and her friends really were going to defeat the Silver Sword and save them all.
It surprised her a little that she could experience feelings towards them – guilt, mostly. Guilt that their hopes were misplaced. Despite her best efforts, Rogue's ice-queen exterior had been displaced. More than once she'd lied to those who questioned her – and it always seemed to be children who got in – and assured them that the Silver Sword stood no chance against her and her friends.
In truth, she didn't know if they were powerful enough to beat him. Kurt, of course, had waved all doubts away with a kind word and a smile, closely followed by Kitty and her dancing blue eyes. It seemed only Rogue wondered about the viability of their quest. The other two took it for gospel that they would win out in the end. The prophecy had said so, after all. Rogue, curse her practical nature, considered the reality of things and found her musings depressive.
An incongruous breeze to her left made Rogue raise her head. She found herself face to face with Jean. The redhead was sitting right next to her on the balcony edge like she didn't have a care in the world, swinging her long legs back and forth to kick against the stonework. She'd obviously levitated herself up from the ground far below, since there was no way she could've evaded Rogue's sharp senses crossing the room behind them.
"Hey," Jean greeted.
Rogue grunted.
Jean, however, was persistent. "How's it hanging?"
Rogue only shrugged. "Not bad, I suppose. Teah deemed me fit to breath fresh air, so that can only be a plus. How 'bout you?"
"Oh, average. Had to clean up a fight between two Underlings this morning. Not pretty, I can tell you. The tension seems to be really getting to some of them."
"I know." Rogue remembered the taunt, drawn faces of some of her guests. If anything spread faster than news, it was the bad feeling and tension that went with it.
Ororo's acolyte shot Rogue a curious glance. "I hear you'll be setting out soon. For Belvedere, I mean."
"Yeah, day after tomorrow, hopefully. That gives us time to get everything sorted. I still need a horse to ride, and it's doubtful either Kurt or Kitty have got around to packing anything yet. Not that we'll need much. Just a few essentials – food and suchlike. We have to travel light."
Jean nodded. "Although with Kurt's appetite that may be a problem. He'll probably want to take the entire of the kitchens along with him."
"Possibly." Rogue allowed herself a tiny smile. "Although with the Elf's uncanny knack of finding food anywhere, I don't think that'll be too big a problem."
Jean chuckled, tapping her feet against the surface of the wall in a ragged rhythm. "I see you're wearing the new clothes we had made for you. They're a nice fit."
Rogue looked down at herself. Quite honestly she'd forgotten the new jerkin and breeches. The temple seamstresses had made them especially for her. They must have been very comfortable indeed for her to do that, since most new clothing needed to be 'broken in' before that soft. Practical fabric was very rarely anything but coarse and scratchy, and often stiff enough to use as a weapon itself.
"Uh-huh. Better than that frilly white thing any day." She shuddered at the memory of the nightdress. "Gods, I was just about ready to shred that thing, burn it, and feed its ashes to the mountain-wolves." She pondered for a second, and then added, "Then destroy the wolves."
Jean laughed openly. "You know, you're very funny when you make the effort." Then she remembered her manners and politely covered her laughter with one hand.
Rogue quirked an eyebrow. "How do you know I'm not lulling you into a false sense of security so's I can slit your pretty little throat more easily?"
"Because your blades are over there." Jean jerked a thumb over her shoulder back into the Infirmary. "And I could stop you easily if you tried to make a dash for them." She tapped the side of her head.
"Shows what you know." Rogue quickly and casually removed Logan's hunting knife from her boot. The boots were virtually the only item left over from her Guild costume, and she'd staunchly refused to give them up, though she was constantly cajoled and bullied to surrender them.
The metal wolverine's head snarled silently in the fading twilight, fangs glittering as Rogue tossed it from hand to hand.
Jean gulped, eying the wicked blade. "You're not, are you?"
"No, but I had you worried for a moment there." Rogue threw the weapon up so that it spun in the air, catching it adroitly in one hand and snaking it round into a perfect jab. "And that's a good thing. Worry makes your senses sharper because you're looking for danger. So you're ten times likelier to spot it if it does appear."
Jean shook her hair from her face, tilting her head back to expose her skin to the chill of the approaching night. "Is that leftover from one of your lessons to Kurt and Kitty?"
Of late, Rogue had insisted on teaching the Elf and Shrimp some basic aspects of swordplay and how to fight and defend themselves with a blade. Even when she was confined to bed, she'd rapped out orders, watching and pointing out faults as they parried and mock-clashed amongst the paraphernalia of the Infirmary. Teah hadn't been amused. Of the two, Kitty had taken to the training much quicker than Kurt, which was strange given her softer background. However, Rogue didn't think much of it, and simply thanked her good luck that both of them were so eager to learn. That eagerness ensured they made few mistakes, and always rectified those they did make swifter than any average pupil.
"Nah." Rogue toyed with the last memory of her mentor, running pale fingers along the curved line of the wolverine's gaping jaws. It was beautifully made, yet lightweight and perfect for combat conditions – truly a coup of craftsmanship. "That one's a lesson mah mentor taught me when I was a pipsqueak, barely big enough to lift a blade, let alone wield it."
Jean looked pensively into the sky, and suddenly changed the subject. Rogue looked up, wondering at the older girl's jitteriness as she wrung her hands and absently chewed her lip.
"We haven't really talked much, have we? Since the whole swapping bodies thing."
"What makes you think I'd want to? Or that we'd have anything to talk about?"
"I don't know. It was just an observation." Jean bit her bottom lip again, slightly flustered by the blunt response.
Rogue sighed and let her arm drop, leaving her head free to swivel an fix on her. "Why're you here, Jean? What's the real reason you came to see me? I know it's not just for idle chitchat, so don't give me any of that guff 'cause I can see straight through it. What's on your mind?"
Jean started, caught out. For a moment it seemed as though she was going to deny it. Then she also sighed, and stared at the ground far below. "I had another vision," she said flatly. "About the prophecy."
"What?" If Rogue had possessed the Elf's pointy ears, she would've twitched them as her attention was immediately grabbed. "When?"
"Just now, when I was taking some old scrolls to Initiate McCoy. I was walking along the corridor to the Libraries when it hit me, and I had to stop and lean against a wall until it was over."
Rogue turned to properly face her. "Have you told Ororo yet?"
"No. She's at prayer in the chapel, and nobody's to be disturbed there. Temple law."
"Then why come to me? Why not go to one of the other Initiates?"
"Because it involved you," Jean said with more than a hint of worry in her voice. "And I couldn't find either Kitty or Kurt. At least I knew where you were, since Teah has you on such a short leash."
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Don't I know it?" Then she leaned forward, expression grave. "So what did the vision say?"
Jean swallowed and cleared her throat. "It didn't say anything, per se. It was visual, as in made up of pictures – most of which I didn't understand."
Rogue tutted, her famous temper smouldering slightly at the correction. "All right then, what did you see?"
"I... I saw trees. Dark trees, like I was seeing them at night or something. And moving in and out of them were strange creatures, like wil'o'th'wisps, only somehow I knew they were solid. They were like pieces of silver, moving incredibly fast amongst the trunks but never letting me get close enough to see them properly. Then a great monster came out of the shadows, and all the odd creatures disappeared. It pushed its way through the trees, cutting a path with its own body. Everything it touched burst into flames, and faster than should have been possible the entire forest was alight. I could feel the heat on my face, and almost smell my hair burning as the flames got nearer to me, but I couldn't move away. I could only watch. Then suddenly, everything vanished, and I heard laughing. It was... I don't know quite how to describe it, except to say that it sent shivers down my spine. I doubt I'll ever forget it for the rest of my life."
Rogue nodded sagely. "Go on."
Jean took a breath and continued. "For the first time in the whole vision I could feel my physical body. I knew it was there, and yet... somehow... this is going to sound strange, but it wasn't mine. It was like I was borrowing it, seeing the world through someone else's eyes – from their perspective. But they were still in the body, too. They were there with me. Urgh, I'm not being very clear am I?"
"No, I understand what you mean. Go on. This might be important." Rogue made a pushing motion, illustrating that she should keep going.
"Well, I could feel something in my hands. But when I looked down, I realised that in actual fact they weren't my hands at all. They were wide and chunky, like a man's, and fitted over them were a pair of horrible metal gloves with spikes jutting from the wrists and knuckles. They were holding a long broadsword made completely from silver. I knew it was made from silver, even though the colour was covered blood. In the reflection of it I could see three figures. I couldn't make them out properly, but there were definitely three of them, and they were walking towards me... like, from inside the blade. Then they vanished just like the image of the forest, and all I could see was that sword dribbling blood onto the floor. Then I woke up."
Rogue stood up, stretching her back and slotting her vertebrae back into place. "Well I don't get it, but I never made any bones about the fact that I generally don't get prophecies and visions and the like. Mah mind's too practical to interpret them properly. But I can see what you mean. It sounds mighty similar to Calorsiel's prophecy." She let her arms drop to her sides and swung them back and forth. "When's Ororo supposed to come out of the chapel?"
Jean shrugged. "I don't know. It depends how deep into prayer she is. Sometimes she can be in there for hours, and sometimes she can be in and out in a few seconds."
Rogue pursed her lips. "And I haven't the foggiest where to find Teah. She got called away to another section of the temple because some Kaju fell down the stairs and broke her leg."
"I've always said those spiral staircases are a health hazard."
"That's not the point. The point is that we need to tell someone about this. Someone who'll know what it means, or at least have a fair idea."
Jean though for a moment, then asked, "What about Initiate McCoy?"
"Um... the Master of Libraries, right?" Rogue tried to remember the name of the huge blue behemoth who'd visited and brought scrolls for her to read. Sometimes he'd found time to discuss one or two things with her, too. He'd seemed quite interested in Guild culture, though her intrinsic sense of secrecy hadn't let her leak as many aspects of it to him as he would've liked.
"Uh-huh." Jean's head bobbed up and down, making her hair sway. "He's real smart. Perhaps he'll know what my vision was all about."
"I suppose..." Rogue scratched her chin thoughtfully. "If there really is nobody else we can ask. I'm only wary because I don't really trust scholars' judgement. It only takes one mistake in a scroll for an entire way of thinking to alter or change completely. Societies have gone through massive changes and wars have been fought over beliefs. People have died for something that was something different a hundred years ago, and something else a hundred years before that. Unpredictable beliefs don't really appeal to me much. If y'all die fighting, then it should be fighting for something y'all can prove, that's mah motto. Principles and a code of honour are one thing, but beliefs are another."
Jean stared at her after this little speech, struck by the cold sense of her words. Then she cleared her throat. "You want to know what I think?"
"Why not?" Rogue leaned back on the balcony wall, peering over the edge. "Shoot."
Jean shifted her body a bit. The blood supply to her legs was being cut off, and she was getting pins and needles in her thighs. "I think it means that trouble's coming this way. Don't ask me how, but I have the strangest feeling in my gut that you ought to leave sooner than planned. I think you should leave as soon as possible – perhaps even tonight."
"Tonight?" Rogue repeated. "We ain't ready. I don't even know where the Elf and Shrimp are!"
"I could find them for you." Jean placed an index finger on her temple and closed her eyes. "And I could get a message to the kitchens to cobble you together some packs of food in a hurry. There's so much going spare down there they'd fill up some knapsacks in no time. Rogue, I meant what I said." She gripped the wall with both hands, knuckles blanching. "I've got a horrible feeling something's going to happen soon that'll change all of our plans, and not necessarily for the better."
Rogue twiddled her thumbs indolently, perusing her nails, which were the cleanest they'd ever been since coming under Teah's care. "Not that I don't believe you, but you don't seem to understand the situation properly, Red. It ain't just about food and setting out as soon as possible. The Elf and the Shrimp need more time to prepare themselves mentally for what's to come. I'm used to it 'cause of mah Guild training, but they're not. What we're about to do is singularly the stupidest thing anyone has ever done. But even with that in mind, we're still doing it. But that don't mean we can just plunge straight in without a second thought. They need more time. We leave the day after tomorrow as planned. It's the only way they'll be ready to do this."
Jean ticked her eyes downward. "It was just a thought. A gut feeling."
Rogue let a whistle of air escape her lungs. "Well, I've learned to trust mah gut and the feelings it gives me. Tell ya what; when I see those two for their lesson later I'll broach the idea to them and tell them about your vision. But you gotta understand that even if they do say yes, then we probably wouldn't actually move out until tomorrow at the earliest. Missing out on a good night's sleep don't do nobody no favours."
"I guess," Jean conceded. "I just wish you could feel what I'm feeling. Then perhaps you'd understand." She sighed. "Gods, sometimes it's hard being a Changeling."
Rogue looked up at her, and opened her mouth to say something. What, exactly, will forever remain a mystery, for at that moment the heavy wooden door to the Infirmary burst open and crashed against the opposite wall with such force that it cracked the stonework.
Both girls whirled, Jean nearly toppling from her perch in surprise. A large brown... something flew through the doorway with a lethal grace, landing with a growl in the centre of the room. As it raised its head, Rogue saw with shock, and then anger, that it was in fact a rather svelte - yet no less powerful looking - wolf, legs splayed and tongue lolling. The anger was at herself for leaving her weapons where she couldn't get to them easily. Her muscles tensed as she automatically slipped into a hand-to-hand-combat posture.
The wolf cast about, still growling. There was something far to intelligent about the way it looked around the room.
Rogue was considering making a dash for her sword when it fixed on the entryway to the balcony. The wolf emitted a high-pitched whine and took a step forward. Rogue also stepped towards it and brandished a fist threateningly, hoping to intimidate it long enough to get to her blade. No way it could stand up to cold, hard metal. She'd have it dead and gutted before it could try anything. Then they could turn to the matter of where it came from and how it got up here.
Jean's head snapped towards her at this thought. Apparently Rogue hadn't been concentrating on shielding, and she'd picked it up loud and clear. An expression of abject horror crossed Jean's face. Rogue missed it completely, so focused was she on the wolf – which in turn was staring somewhat confusedly at her. She did notice, however, when an urgent, voiceless voice echoed inside her head.
Rogue, don't! You're confusing her.
Her? Rogue thought briefly. Then her jaw dropped open in surprise.
Jean hopped off the balcony and went straight to the wolf. She showed no signs of fear – in fact, quite the opposite. One slender hand extended in greeting, and she spoke to it like some long lost friend.
"Rahne? Is that you? What is it? What's wrong?"
Rahne? Rogue blinked. Ain't she that little Highland kid? That sure don't look like no kid to me.
The wolf gazed up at Jean and nodded. Rogue goggled. It actually, consciously nodded, almost as if it understood her. Her puzzlement gave way to curiosity as it then did something even more peculiar – something no ordinary wolf could do, nor would never be able to. Something that erstwhile had only been confined to legends and sagas told round a fire in deep midwinter.
The wolf drew its feet together and closed its eyes. At first there was no discernable change, but after a moment an odd rippling began to spread across its pelt. The fur shifted, coarse hairs sinking away as pale skin appeared. Its skull began to round and shrink, imperceptibly at first, but gradually speeding up as the transformation progressed. Its limbs lengthened and thickened, a waist began to pinch, and opposable digits hove into view past sharp claws. The half human, half lupine creature lurched to flattening feet, bones audibly cracking as joints reversed and muscles stretched and reformed. A faint slurping filled the air, and Rogue realised that this was the sound of organs remoulding themselves and rearranging to better fit their new body.
Lycanthrope, she realised. Some distant part of her brain knew that what she was seeing was impossible – wolves most definitely did not become humans – but then, she'd seen so many strange and wonderful things recently; why was this one any more difficult to accept? I've probably suspended disbelief so far I can't even reach it any more.
Finally the figure straightened up. A mass of untamed red hair sprang around her head. She gazed at the two older girls, unperturbed by her own nakedness (of course, her abilities didn't stretch to morphing clothes). She opened her mouth, and Rogue caught a glimpse of rapidly receding fangs even as she spoke.
"Jean... I been... looking for ye... all over," she panted. Had her human tongue been far too small for such a task, it would most certainly have lolled from her mouth. "Had to... had to..."
Instantly, Jean swung into action. Assuming a mien not slightly reminiscent of Ororo's motherliness, she raised her hands and shushed the smaller Changeling, at the same time guiding her to a nearby bed with a gentle hand. She yanked off the sheet to use as a shroud.
Rahne, however, had other ideas. She batted Jean's well-meaning hands away, rounding on her with a desperate cry. "Och, no... have to tell ye, Jean - it cannae wait!"
"Have to tell me what?"
"The dogs got a funny smell... came to me - couldn't find Ororo, but I needed to... so I thought, here!" she gabbled, too breathless and agitated to make her meaning clear.
"Hush now. Get your breath back and then tell me," Jean chided, swathing Rahne's shoulders and pulling the sheet tight enough to preserve what was left of her dignity.
Rahne didn't seem too concerned with dignity, however. She stood sucking in lungfuls of air like a drowning man, until her speech was coherent enough to make sense of.
"Now then, start from the beginning. What's wrong?" Jean plopped down on the stripped bed, patting the space next to her in an effort to seem comforting and in control. Yet Rahne remained standing, pacing back and forth as she talked. Her tone was earnest, her eyes serious.
Rogue leaned against the balcony entranceway, watching with interest. Though her demeanour seemed casual, she was poised for action, and listened intently to what the little Highlander had to say.
"It weren't more than half an hour ago. I'd been on kitchen duty and finished my chores early. I was already on my way back to my room, when suddenly the kitchen dogs mobbed me. At first I thought they were just hungry – sometimes I sneak 'em bits of old meat and stuff from the leftovers – but almost right away I knew different. They were all restless, not at all like themselves. They were trying to tell me something. Kept trying to drag me outside with 'em, but for the life of me I couldn't work out why."
Jean nodded. Rogue found herself doing the same. During one of their conversations Kurt had informed her how the dogs of the temple – and there were many different packs, according to which section and building you were in – all seemed to gravitate towards Rahne whenever she appeared. It wasn't often she could be seen without at least two of them trailing around her ankles as she went about her daily work, and now it was evident why. Being a Lycanthrope, they must have felt some kind of primal bond with her, despite her customary human form, and consequently stuck to her like flies round a dung heap.
She smirked at the metaphor.
"They seemed to insistent," Rahne went on, bare feet slapping the floor. "I knew it was real important when their Alpha bit me." She extended her hand to reveal several neat puncture holes in her skin, each an even distance apart. They weren't deep enough to cause serious injury, but showed just how 'insistent' the dogs had been. "I followed 'em outside, but they just clustered around the base of the wall, sniffing the bottom and pawing at the ground. I couldn't make out what they wanted, so I took a look at it from their point of view."
"You transformed?" Jean inserted.
"Aye. Good thing I did, too. Never would've known the wiser in human shape."
"What in Earth-Realm are you talking about?"
To illustrate, Rahne tapped the side of her nose. "The nose knows," she said portentously. "Soon as I morphed I knew something really was up. Foreign scents on the air, coming from outside the temple, and I tell you now, it didn't smell good. There were some stone steps nearby, so I went up to the battlements for a look outside."
"Which side?" Rogue asked suddenly, startling them with her sharpness.
Rahne blinked. "North, I think."
"Could you see forest?"
"Aye. North and East are surrounded by forest; the other two – where you came from when you arrived – are plains. Virtually desert," Jean supplied
Rogue nodded, but said nothing else, gesturing instead that Rahne should continue. After a few bemused seconds she did.
"At first I could nae see a thing, but after a while they made a mistake. I suppose because I was in my wolf form I must've just looked like a dog silhouetted against the sky to them. Nothing to worry about. That's when they let their guard slip. It was only for a fraction of a second, but I saw them nonetheless. I ran straight inside with the news, looking for Temple Mother. But I couldn't find her. I couldn't find her anywhere, and since I could go faster in my wolf form I found you instead, Jean. I had to tell someone about them, and I thought you might know where Temple Mother is."
"Ororo's at prayer in the chapel." Jean sounded suitably confused. "But who's 'them'?"
Rahne looked at her with rounded eyes, wide with a mixture of trepidation and knowledge she didn't want. "The Silver Army," she breathed in a sepulchre whisper. "Scores of them. They're outside the temple."
"Yept!" Rogue swore.
"Oh gods!" Jean's hands gripped the bed in tight, claw-like fists. "They've come for - "
"Me, Kurt and Kitty." Rogue was already crossing the room to where the old chest lay open. "The Silver Sword must have found out where we are and sent his goons after us, though gods only know how."
"Magic." Jean tried to keep her voice level. "It can only be magic. And you're wrong, Rogue. Ororo and I have suspected for some time that The Silver Sword sees the Temple of The Way as a threat to his rule. We Changelings are too powerful for his tastes. He never meant to create us; we were an accident. It was only a matter of time before he made a move against us. Your presence here has only acted as a catalyst to make him act sooner. His intentions were always the same."
Rahne gasped with sickening insight. "He wants to destroy us. All of us."
Jean placed a comforting arm around the smaller girl's shoulders, drawing her shivering form close for warmth – both physical and metaphorical.
Rahne stared up at her for a moment, face bereft as the information sank in. Rahne was such a friendly little soul it was virtually incomprehensible to her that someone – anyone – would hate another so much to wish their destruction. Her eyes took on a sad look, and burned with a profound sadness at her discovery that such evil and discontent could exist in the world, and that it could be directed at such a peaceful haven as the Temple of The Way.
However, Rahne was by no means a pushover. She didn't dissolve into tears and sob about the unfairness of it all. To match her hair, a fire burned in her belly that simply wouldn't allow her to accept defeat so easily. Her expression switched from sadness to righteous indignity that someone would dare to threaten her home so.
"So what're we gonna do?" she asked curtly. "We ain't gonna just sit around and wait for them to come and get us, are we?"
Jean opened her mouth to answer, but it wasn't her voice that spoke. A sturdier, worldlier tone rode the anxiety in the room like a wave, coming to rest in their ears with an air of unquestionable finality.
"No," said Rogue. "We ain't."
She was knelt before the open chest. Jean crossed the room towards her, Rahne pattering along behind.
"So what do you propose we do? Escape them whilst they think we're unaware of their presence?"
"No." Rogue lifted a large, swaddled object from the chest. "We fight them." Carefully, almost reverently, she carried the package to a table and set it down. It was easily longer than her arm, and made a metallic 'chink' as it touched the wood. She unwrapped the contents, peeling back layer upon layer of dark fabric – cleaned, but old. Soon the sheen of metal shone through its folds, reflecting the light and refracting it into rainbow patterns across the ceiling.
Rahne and Jean gaped when they saw the sword. Though neither of them was a warrior, they could admire the craftsmanship that had gone into making it. The tiny intricate swirls of metal on the handle blossomed, vine-like, to curl around the bright gem set into the hilt. The dagger was no less impressive, with its shorter blade seeming all the more deadly and sharp.
Yet it was Logan's knife that made the biggest impression. Rogue ceremoniously pulled it from her boot and laid it next to its fellows. It glinted, the wolverine's head seeming to come to life the moment it spotted the sword and dagger. Starshine played in its glowering eyelets, and bolts of pure lightning were its wickedly curved fangs. The three weapons fairly sang as they were reunited with their mistress at last, and, looking at them, it was easy to understand the Guild ideal that part of a person's soul is contained within the weapon they wield.
Even Rogue was taken aback. Her weapons were more polished and well cared for than she'd ever seen them. If after every assiduous cleaning she gave them they shone, now they positively glowed. A half-smile graced her lips as she mentally complimented Kurt and Kitty on their work.
Picking up the dark fabric, Rogue swirled it about her frame, clipping the edges together at the base of her throat with the same clasp she'd used since the day she received her title. Her old cloak had been retained and cleaned by Teah despite all her complaints about germs and 'useless sentimentality'.
It was the work of mere moments for Rogue to reattach the belt and scabbard around her waist, which had also been kept with the three blades. With a practised hand she replaced the knife in her boot and the dagger to its rightful place by her side, but she kept her sword in hand.
Turning back to the two Changelings, they both emitted strangled gasps at her metamorphosis. In the space of a few short minutes she'd transformed from the once-sick girl who sort-pf conversed with visitors and stared wistfully out over the balcony, to a lithe killing machine, face set and jaw grim as she prepared for battle. She'd gone from invalid to combatant in virtually no time at all.
"Let them just try to take this place," she growled, raising the sword to hold it vertically before her nose. A fraction of a slip and it would have sliced into her face, but somehow they both knew that she wouldn't slip. Such an idea was utterly, yet inexplicably, incomprehensible. "I'll kill them one by one if I have to."
There was no doubt that she meant it.
Suddenly, an anguished expression flared in Rogue's face. Her eyebrows arched in awareness, and a groan escaped her mouth.
"What? What is it?" Jean asked.
"The Silver Army will be looking specifically for us. They'll do as much damage as they can to the temple and Changelings, but their orders have to include flushing us out and putting an end to the threat of the prophecy."
"Ye mean Kurt and Kitty?" Rahne asked.
Rogue nodded. "But y'all know how big this place is. It could take hours to find and get to them, and by then The Silver Army might've already attacked, and it'll be too late."
"Rogue, what do ye mean? Why's that bad for Kurt and Kitty?"
Rogue punched the tabletop with her fist. "Because I have absolutely no idea where they are. And if the Silver Army finds either of them first, then everything's finished. Everything!"
Ororo's knees were sore and her legs were cramped from being stuck in the same position for so long. The stone floor was hard and cold, but she hardly noticed. After many hours of fruitless praying, her requests had finally been acknowledged, and she wasn't about to interrupt her reverie because of a few pins and needles.
In front of her was an altar. It was a simple affair, small and made of roughly hewn stone, unlike the sumptuous efforts found in specialized temples. Such altars, and indeed the chapels they were found in, were designed with a specific deity in mind, and so had been crafted to reflect what that deity stood for or represented. Yet since the Temple of The Way wasn't dedicated to any particular god or goddess, all its altars – and there were many, since so many people had to use them – were simplistic, devoid of anything that could be considered favouritism to any one god.
Sometimes, if one wished to make it completely clear to whom one was praying, an offering could be place on the smooth surface of the altar. Ororo had done this, so desperate was she that her prayers be heard, if not answered. The offering she'd placed was one that was rarely made, and never invoked lightly. A token really, rather than a real offering, but the meaning behind it was insurmountable, for nobody contacted this god unless they truly wished for him to listen.
On the alter-top was a tiny drop of blood, still fresh and wet, even though it had been dripped onto the stone hours ago. It was barely the size of a fingernail, and had taken the merest prick with a knife tip to produce. Yet it stood for everything Ororo held dear. It stood for life – the lives of those Changelings and temple members she was committed to protecting, and to a lesser extent her own. But mostly, it stood for three particular lives, which she wished fervently to keep safe and well in the hard times ahead. Three lives that were to prove crucial to all Earth-Realm - the Soul Bearers of Rei-Shima.
Lifeblood, the sign of Ajudan, King of the gods.
Ororo knelt, head bent and hands clasped before her. From her mouth came a muttered string of words, inaudible to any but the most sensitive of hearing.
She'd known he probably wouldn't answer her, not after what she'd done. Still... that had been over a millennia ago. Surely he could forget the past just this once. Especially since it concerned Earth-Realm, his very own creation, and its people – the people he'd spared before at the pantheon's insistence. Now she was asking him again. She wanted nothing for herself – her paradise had long since died, and she was reaping the consequences, just as he'd decreed – but prayed he would swallow his pride and help her protect something they both held so dear.
Then again, this was Ajudan. The King of the gods was renowned for his uncompromising temper, and even more for his ability to remember anything and everything that displeased him. After all, he'd created grudges in the first place. In some degree of warped logic, it made sense that he be so proficient at holding them.
And Ororo had certainly given him cause when she left. She'd gone against his direct orders and broken his heart by abandoning the life he created for her in favour of the life made for his creations.
Mortals.
From the very beginning, deities were allowed to take lovers, but they were unquestionably not allowed to fall in love.
Ororo's hands tightened their grip on each other, nails cutting into her skin. Her words came faster, more zealously, as she willed all the harder for him to hear her.
Please forget the past. Please, listen to me. Just this once, I'm begging you.
A breath of wind, no more than the ghost of a whisper, brushed her ear. It blew softly, gently, like a parent who blows into a baby's earlobe to make it giggle. Ororo's eyes snapped open, and for a moment she looked squarely at the altar, at the drop of blood she'd placed there, squeezed from her own flesh.
It was gone.
It had been accepted.
He'd heard her prayers, and, more than that, he'd heeded them.
She smiled the smile of one who has just had a great weight lifted from her shoulders.
The three chosen ones were not alone in their fight. Though it wasn't for her to say how or when, or how much they would consign to do, the gods would be with them.
He would be with them.
Ororo tilted her face upwards. "Thank you," she murmured, a solitary tear sliding down her cheek. It cut a path through the dust that had settled on her skin, and she fancied she could feel incorporeal fingers wiping it away again.
A voice like that of a quiet person talking far away whispered into her ear, finding her hearing on the back of an insignificant dust mote.
"My... daughter," it said, torn between sadness and joy. "My... daughter..."
The forest was dark. The forest was quiet. Yet what most people neglected to remember was that the forest was also alive. It pulsed with life that had inhabited it since the dawn of time, and would remain until the very last blade of grass vanished from the world.
Tonight, however, the life contained within the forest didn't extend just to plants and animals. Tonight it contained something more.
At first glance the movement could have been mistaken for just a flickering shadow. The wind blowing against a tree branch perhaps, making it move and cast eerie shadows. However, upon closer inspection it became clearer that these were not mere shadows. Upon even closer inspection it was apparent that, what could easily be mistaken for common nighttime noises were actually voices.
Silvites watched the temple.
Silvites waited for the order to strike.
In a small patch of undergrowth, a head popped above the foliage and surveyed its surroundings. It was not a very attractive head. The mop of greasy brown hair was unkempt, and its skull was flat and rather squat. There was an almost pugnacious quality to it, and the eyes were a curious shade of yellow that instantly reminded one of cheese gone bad.
After a quick scan of the area, the head disappeared again. Only a few shaking leaves said it had been there at all.
The owner of the head crawled along on his belly, shifting through the thick undergrowth with all the grace of a jungle cat that had broken its leg in several places. His movements were quiet and swift, though, and he soon reached the side of another male, taller and patently more graceful, who also crouched beneath the waist-high fauna.
The taller one watched as the squat youth scudded over, settling himself next to him with much fidgeting.
"All clear?"
"Yup," replied the twitchy one.
"Good."
Silence stretched between them. Evidently, a silence the smaller youth felt uncomfortable with. He scratched behind his ear with one grubby finger, bringing the results round to study before wiping them off on his jerkin. He sniffed, swivelling his head this way and that in an effort to relieve his boredom. Woods and plants and trees and stuff were all very nice, but they didn't do much.
"Quiet night, huh?"
No answer. The taller youth continued to stare at the side of the wall surrounding the temple.
"I said, quiet night, huh?" the smaller one said, a little louder.
"Shhh!"
He frowned and pouted. "Well sor-ry!" he muttered rebelliously. "Just trying to liven things up a bit, y'know. Lighten the atmosphere. S'like a graveyard out here, yo."
"Well don't," the other boy snapped. "This ain't any old mission, Dung-For-Brains. This is important work we're doing here. Emphasis on important. You can't just go shooting your mouth off all the time. Gotta be silent, like me."
His companion snorted. "Silent? You're about as silent as my left buttock, yo."
"At least I don't stink like it."
He gave a wicked smirk. "Now that's the kinda conversation I'm talking about."
"Well I'm not, so shut up and keep watch like you're supposed to."
Another smirk, this time accompanied by a pudgy finger thrust up his nose to the second digit. "Always could get you riled easy, eh Lance?"
"Don't call me that! I've told you before, it's not Lance anymore. It's Sir Lancelot." He sniffed primly, raising his nose into the air. As the moonlight filtered through the undergrowth, it was revealed that his looks were as different from his companion's as was possible to be. His long shaggy hair had been snared at the nape of his neck, his face long and angular - infinitely more pleasing to the eye.
The squat boy removed his finger from his nostril and absently chewed at one dirty fingernail, spitting it out into a patch of particularly nasty-looking nettles. "Too good for us now, are we?" he sneered. "Too good for the name your parents gave you? Face it Lance, you were nothing before His Nibs gave you that title and put a sword in your hand. Just another peasant. And underneath it all, you're still a nothing. Another stinking nobody in a monkey suit." He spat out another half-masticated nail with a seditious 'phut', as if challenging the other boy to dispute his words.
The youth known as Lance – or, as he preferred since his ascension to Captain on this mission, Sir Lancelot – snorted derisively. "Look who's talking, Toad." He used the old nickname given during their childhood. Having grown up in the same watered down village, only two huts apart from each other, Lance knew how to push his friend's buttons exactly the right way to get him riled. "You could cause drought all by yourself, because your unholy stench would dry up all the water."
The one now identified as Toad, or Todd Tolenski, formerly of the village of Inlé, now of the Silver Army, hunched back on his heels with an incensed 'humph'. Despite having been teased for most of his life about his smell, the insults and barbs still stung, especially when hurled by his friend. It wasn't his fault his body odour outstripped practically any man alive. And it wasn't his fault his peculiar aroma had been likened on occasion to the corpse of a dead cow, left rotting out in the sun for three weeks and then rolled in manure and fetid guano. If anyone was to be blamed, then by rights it should have been his mother and her dalliance with that troll.
The term 'friend' should be used in the loosest possible sense, since the two boys hadn't really been on speaking terms until thrust together by fate's fickle hand. Todd's lineage made him an outcast in Inlé, and it was only his aunt and guardian's elevated status that ensured he wasn't tossed out on his ear as an abomination. When he and Lance had discovered themselves to be Changelings – with the added jaunt of being the only Changelings in the entire of Inlé and the surrounding area – they'd found a common ground. Yet it wasn't until Inlé mysteriously burned to the ground one night that they became 'friends'. As the only two survivors they'd travelled together over miles of rough terrain, basically keeping each other alive until they happened upon a place called Belvedere, which neither of them had heard of until that moment. Political astuteness wasn't a trait much valued in Inlé. Having nowhere else to go, they'd enlisted in the army there, offering their manpower and Changeling abilities to their new lord and master, the Silver Sword, in exchange for shelter and food.
It was sheer, dumb luck that had brought them here tonight. The battalion originally assigned to this kind of mission were away in a far-distant land dealing with an uprising in several of the conquered cities there. Their absence left nobody else suitably trained enough to deal with the task.
Lance and Todd had been so excited at being put on 'special manoeuvres' that the true nature of what they were doing had seemed insignificant and paltry. Pleasing the Silver Sword was all that mattered to them now, just as pleasing their respective parents and guardians had been all that mattered in Inlé. It was doubtful whether they even realised they were going to be attacking other Changelings, and even more doubtful whether they would've cared had they known.
Todd traced a finger through the dirt at his feet. Allegiance to the Silver Sword didn't stop him being fidgety. He shuffled about aimlessly until Lance rounded on him with a furious growl.
"Look, will you just keep still!How am I supposed to keep watch here if you keep interrupting me?"
"Sorry," Todd mumbled, sounding not at all penitent. "M'just bored, is all."
"Aren't you supposed to be keeping watch too?"
Todd made an indistinguishable noise.
"Excuse me?"
"I said, why bother? There are plenty of us watching 'em. Something goes wrong, they call us, we go running, yo. No biggie."
"Maybe not to you," Lance retorted. "But it's a 'biggie' to me. I take my work very seriously."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Then how come you didn't spot that, yo?" Todd thrust a filthy finger, daubed in grime of who knows what origin, under his friend's nose as he pointed at the battlements of the temple. Lance whirled around.
"What? What?" he demanded, searching the skyline as fast as he could and cursing both his lack of attention and Todd in equal measure.
"I thought you were very committed to your work, yo," Todd smirked. "Why would some hot-shot captain need a little Toad to tell him things, huh?"
Lance counted to ten under his breath. "Just. Tell. Me. What did you see?"
Todd folded his arms. "Say it."
"What?" Lance feigned ignorance.
"You know perfectly well what I mean, yo."
"No I don't - "
"Just say it."
Grinding his teeth, Lance bit out with very bad grace, "I'm sorry for commenting on your smell. I realise now that my words may have caused you great hurt and emotional damage, and I apologise from the bottom of my worthless little heart. There, that good enough?"
Todd wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "Excuse me, but I always get all teary when you say stuff like that. Beautiful, man. Just beautiful. I didn't know you cared."
"Toad...." Lance bunched a fist threateningly, to which Todd held up his hands in surrender.
"All right, all right, I give." Sniffing loudly – too loudly for Lance's tastes – he proceeded to grab his friend's chin and point his face towards the top of the temple wall. Lance narrowed his eyes, studying the spot.
"I don't see anything."
Todd peered upwards. "Aw man, s'gone now. You should've been quicker, Lance." One glance at the taller boy's murderous expression made his press on with his gabble. "It was a dog. Big one, too. Bigger than me, even. It was staring straight at us, yo. Watching us, I think."
"A dog?" Lance sounded disgusted. "How the heck is some dumb old dog supposed to be a threat to us? We're the Silver Army, you idiot. We're taking down a whole temple when we get the order. It's people you should be worried about, not dogs! Why I oughta - " He raised his fist and Todd shrank away.
"Careful, Lance. Lotta good it'd do us if we start killing each other. We're the only two Changelings in this battalion, remember? We're both of us real important to the mission – as in, not killable."
Lance grunted, but let his hand drop. Todd let out a sigh of relief, as he went back to watching the temple wall.
A few minutes passed. Eventually Todd deemed it safe enough to crawl back to his place.
"What exactly are you planning to do when you get in there?" Lance hissed out of the side of his mouth. "Lick them to death? Jump on them? As far as I can see, your 'powers' don't stretch to much in a fight, so you're not completely indispensable. I don't know why His Lordship even drafted you in the first place."
"Hey, I can't help it if my great talents caught his eye." Todd flexed his somewhat diminutive muscles.
"You've got all the talent of a rotten turnip. Now shut up and let me think."
Todd sank into a sulky quiet. "Ooh, big man," he muttered. His long, prehensile tongue absently flicked out to snare a passing insect, and the argument was forgotten while he cracked it open and crunched it with his teeth.
Lance looked sickened. "Ugh, do you have to do that?"
"Can't help it, man." Todd swallowed, licking the spilled juice appreciatively from around his mouth. "Mmm, tastes like chicken. You should try one sometime, yo."
If possible, Lance's face matched Todd's pallor at the idea. "I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon," he spat.
Todd shrugged. "Suit yourself. More for me." And he promptly caught a sizable beetle that had ignorantly scuttled over his hand.
Lance shook his head, not sure whether to be more disgusted that Todd's dietary requirements meant that insects were fair game to him, or that he actually seemed to be enjoying their flavour. Either way, he couldn't watch the smaller boy anymore. It was bad enough he could still hear him, munching away at midges, without having to see him at it. Instead he stared up at the imposing building, boredom and waiting giving rise to contemplations of his own Changeling powers.
Finally, he said aloud, "I could bring this place down, easy. Bit of a jolt, it crumbles, leaving them with no defences. Looks old enough."
Todd nearly choked. "Are you kidding'? Bring it down? And us along with it! You use your powers and you'll cause an avalanche!"
Lance sneered at the remarks – didn't he know you only got avalanches on mountains? – but stopped as a notion crossed his mind. "Avalanche," he repeated, rolling it around inside his mouth. "Avalanche. Hey, I like the sound of that. Maybe that's what I'll call myself from now on."
Todd rolled his eyes. "So, what? You're Sir Lancelot Avalanche now?"
"Hey, it's better than Lil' Lance Alvers. Or Toad."
"That's Sir Tolenskivius to you, bub." Todd folded his arms. "And don't you forget it!"
Lance snorted. "Seriously, though. I was wondering; why should we even bother attacking this place at all?" He gestured at the temple with one hand. "I mean, my powers could collapse the place in no seconds flat, and the troops wouldn't even have to break into a sweat. Anyone who survived the rubble would be easy enough to eliminate without any stinking walls to protect them, doncha think?"
Todd rubbed at his chin. "I suppose," he conceded, much as he hated having to do it. "It would be simpler to do it that way, yo. But then again, His Nibs did say he wanted us to wait for his orders. Perhaps we'd better ask him first."
"Pish-posh." Lance waved the idea away. "Think about how pleased he'll be if we get the job done quicker." He smiled at the thought of the Silver Sword's praise when he found out that his 'best soldier' had taken down the Temple of The Way single-handedly. The notion made his chest swell with pride. He'd probably give him a reward, as well as a new, even better title.
Poor Lance. He wasn't to know that the Silver Sword was planning to kill both he and Todd the moment they returned to Belvedere. The tyrant had about as much love for Changelings – even his own – as fish do for a fisherman's net. He was willing to keep the two boys alive only as long as they were useful. The faster Lance 'took care' of the Temple of The Way, the faster he hastened his own death.
"I dunno." Todd was still unconvinced. He had a modicum more fear of the sorcerer than his friend. "Perhaps we should wait. No point in rushing things if they're just gonna blow up in our faces, yo."
Lance snorted derisively – a snort turned into a yelp as a new, rumbling voice suddenly broke into their hushed conversation.
"An excellent philosophy, young pups." Even though it was no more than a whisper, it seemed to boom around the undergrowth with surprising force. Todd all but leapt into Lance's arms in panic.
"Who... who's there?" he whispered.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" mocked the voice, this time from a different direction. Both boys spun round, but saw nothing.
Lance cleared his throat, yet his voice came out as nothing but a strangled whimper. "I... I demand that you show yourself, stranger. By... by order of the captain of the Silver Army."
"The entire Silver Army? Or just this motley band of troops?"
"Well... yeah..." Lance looked embarrassed, but was stopped from saying more.
"I can see why His Lordship wasn't willing to leave everything to his armies if you're the best he had. I could've slit both your throats just now, and you wouldn't even have noticed with all the noise you were making." The eerie voice slid into their brains like a noxious gas, prying into crevices and making them cringe with a mixture of terror and shame.
Lance stuck his chin out. "You know the Silver Sword?"
"Know him." Laughter floated from nowhere. "I'm his most loyal subject. He made me what I am, and I'm his to command for all eternity."
Taking a deep breath, Lance kept his whisper steady. This stranger must be on a par with him, then. It wouldn't do to look cowed by an equal. This was probably the messenger with the orders they'd been waiting for.
"If you're truly a subject of His Grace, then show yourself at once. We have much to do this night, and little time to do it in." He hoped he sounded more commanding than he felt.
"As you wish, peasant."
Lance winced, but remained silent.
Todd licked his lips, which had gone dry with fear. Since his Changeling power had enhanced his senses like an animal's, he could somehow tell that the owner of the mysterious voice was not someone to be taken lightly. There was an authority to him, some intangible force that demanded attention and servitude like no other he'd ever heard – save, perhaps, for the Silver Sword himself. Todd shivered in anticipation, torn between curiosity and dread.
For a few moments nothing happened. The forest was unnaturally quiet, and even the breeze seemed to have stilled as it waited for the appearance of the rumbling voice's owner. Not a creature stirred. It seemed as though everything and everyone – including the soldiers waiting all around – had been spelled into quiescence by some greater power.
A single shadow detached itself from the gloom. Towering above the captain and his companion, it dwarfed them into submission without uttering a word, whilst simultaneously remaining unseen by anyone who might have been watching the trees from the temple.
"You wished to see me, and now you can."
Lance swallowed. "Come into the light," he ordered, but the shadow only laughed.
"Do you think me a fool, boy? I would be seen in an instant by the temple inhabitants."
"How do you know they're watching, yo?"
The shadow turned to him, and though its eyes were hidden, Todd could still feel its gaze burning into his flesh like pinpricks of molten darkness. In that instant he knew that there was a monster hiding in that shadow – some mind-numbing terror from the cold regions that had come to claim them. His legs trembled, and his heart beat wildly in his chest.
"An assassin knows these things."
Both boys gasped. An assassin? As in, from the Guild of Assassins? They'd known about the Silver Sword's allegiance with the Guild, but the idea that he'd actually employ their services was terrifying to say the least. There were far more legends about the Guild than there were facts.
A harsh chuckle sounded from the enshrouded being. "At least you have sense enough to fear me." Then its attitude became harsh and businesslike. "Now listen, you worthless whelps. Your task, and that of your men, is simple. You force your way into the temple any way you can and kill as many people as possible. In the Guild, you are what are known as 'Cripplers'. You will cripple their numbers as fast as you can whilst they are still disorientated."
"What'll you be doing?" queried Lance, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. It was a dangerous action, but fortunately not one the assassin was willing to take up.
"I have my own orders. I am to sneak in before the alarm is raised and put paid to certain targets His Lordship particularly wishes to be rid of. He doesn't trust the likes of you, so I am here instead to make sure they don't escape your bumbling efforts."
"How're we meant to know when to attack?" Todd asked in a small voice. "I mean, if you want the element of surprise, how much time do we give you until we go in, yo? Just so we don't ruin it for you," he added by way of explanation and apology.
The assassin extended one hand and pointed towards the temple. Even in the dark, it was easy to see the raw power and muscle in to that arm. It made both boys shiver - Todd even more than Lance, for he had seen what his friend could not with his puny, human vision. He had seen the coarse, inhuman fur lining the flesh; the savage claws tipping the fingers. He had seen but a portion of the monster they had been ordered to trust. It made him tremble down to the marrow in his bones, and imbued his bladder with a sudden urge to relive itself in his breeches.
"When the moon reaches that tower there and shines behind it, that is when you and your forces will strike. Then, and only then."
"You sure you can get in?" Lance asked. "I mean, I take it you're not gonna use force like the rest of us if you wanna keep the element of surprise and all. But how else would you gain entrance without force?"
"An assassin can gain entrance anywhere if he so chooses. Neither walls, doors, nor magical defences can keep the true hunter out. But I warn you now, weaklings. If by any way I lose my prey, then I swear to you now, by all the gods in the pantheon, I will hunt the both of you down and slit your gizzards while you sleep in your beds. Do you understand me?"
The petrified duo nodded meekly, frozen into place by the near palpable venom poured into that voice. They were in no doubt that it belonged to a true killer - the kind of man fated to have a black heart and tainted soul from the moment he was brought screaming into the world.
Neither of them said a word as, soundlessly, the assassin melted back into the shadows. Try as they might, they couldn't make out his silhouette, and were left tingling with the sense that they had just looked the Angel of Death himself in the eye and escaped unharmed.
After a substantial amount of time had passed, and they were both sure the lethal behemoth was gone, Todd haltingly turned his head to his friend and captain. Lance was as white as a sheet, brown eyes wide and fixed on the spot they'd last seen the assassin.
"D'ya think he meant it?" Todd asked.
Lance never broke eye contact with that riveting patch of undergrowth. It wasn't a case of wouldn't or couldn't, he just didn't, and the lack of emotion in his voice startled Todd into a whimper.
"He meant it. We can't screw up, Todd. We just can't. We do," there was a loaded pause, during which all the hairs on the back of Todd's neck sprang to attention, "and we're dead."
Todd looked at Lance and then back at the temple. Suddenly their mission seemed all the more daunting, thanks to this new death threat hanging over them. What had once been a cosy jaunt where they could show off their powers had now become a deadly game of cat and mouse with their own side. There were no rules to speak of, but gods take pity upon their souls if they should break them.
To Be Continued...
Review Responses
Quill of Mollimon -- Ah, Pietro. But that'd be telling, no? Suffice to say, he'll made some kind of appearance in the future. And that's all I'm going to tell you.
Me -- Another Spirit fan! Yay! Ironically, I ended up getting the soundtrack before I saw the movie (was on a Bryan Adams kick at the time), so I fell in love with the music before the movie. But yes, love the film, too. Blinks Hunka Southern Meat? But what about the Adorable Blue Fluffball? Argh! Choices, choices...
UncannyAsianGirl -- Yes! Let the Sam/Rahne fly free! Though I'm also partial to a little bit of Jubilee/Rahne, but that's neither here nor there. You're right, though. Sam would make an excellent boyfriend.
Hootild -- Sprit: Stallion of the Cimarron. I love that movie. I got an absolutely appalling write-up, but like I ever listen to Christopher Tookey, anyway?
Cheesy Monkey -- Yes, you found the Shrek reference. I think I was channelling Mike Myers that day. It was so long ago, I can't remember now. Brings out hypnotists' swinging watch You will like Sam. You will like all the New Mutants. When I snap my fingers, you are going to go write a hundred-chapter epic about how great and wondrous and lovely they are...
Koriaena -- Thanks. But I wouldn't reserve too much sympathy for the Guild. They're predominantly chauvenistic killers with a side order of nutzoid bastard. So... yeah. Interesting, but not nice. Nu-uh.
Aaronexus -- Yup. Those pints you noted were/are intended as an homage to the Redwall series. I grew up reading that, so it was bound to have a big influence on my writing style. Though I have to say, I was disappointed by Marlfox when I read it. That's the poorest, in my opinion, while the best is still a struggle between The Bellmaker and Mossflower. Oh yeah, old school Brian Jaques rules. The parts with Kitty's accent were written when I had only the barest exposur to the show in Season One, when virtually every other word out of her mouth was 'like'. The scriptwriters toned it down after that, and I did too in later chapters, but the early stuff... yeah. Extreme Valley Girl (tm). Argh! No, don't come anywhere near this fic if you know how to speak good German. Though I'm part German, I'm always too embarrassed to ask my grandmother for help because then I'd have to explain what it was for and... no. This is Babelfish German, which is quite a different beast.