The candles around Xena's sarcophagus had burned low, casting pools of darkness over the room, by the time Callisto rose from the bed. Careless and taunting, her voice fell like rain: "Is that all you've got, slave? Well, well…what did Xena ever see in you?"

The object of her address made no response, lying limply among the bed's silken covers. Only the long, rasping, tortured sound of his breathing told that he still lived. Callisto glanced back at his motionless form. A teasing smile flickered across her face, there and then gone.

"I would have expected more of the one who managed to hold the interest of the Dark Conqueror….Well, if that's all you've got then I have no further use for you, slave. You can join your mistress and her little friend on her funeral pyre tomorrow. Guards!" Her voice rang in the confines of the chamber. The door opened at the sound of her voice. "Take that away. Confine him to the dungeon until tomorrow's festivities. We wouldn't want him to miss the big day."

He did not react. Perhaps he could not, anymore. Callisto's eyes gleamed as the guards hauled his battered body from her chamber.

"Success!"

Gabrielle, who had been keeping watch down the corridor, looked up at Autolycus's claim; it was followed by a loud snapping sound from the lock of the door he had been working on. "Did you get it?" she asked.

"Sure did. Went pretty quickly there at the end, too." The King of Thieves stepped back and gave the barred door to the cell a push; it swung open with a screech and a shower of rust flakes. He stepped out of the cell into the corridor beyond. "You made this yourself?" he asked, holding the lockpick up to the light from the dim and sputtering torch.

"Yes, out of a piece of wire," Gabrielle said. "Now you're going to open my cell, right?"

Autolycus was still examining the pick. "This is not bad. Better than my first one, in fact. Pretty nifty implement." He tested the pointed end with a finger. "Would work better if this end was the slightest little bit hooked, though."

"I'll keep it in mind," Gabrielle leaned against the bars of her cell. "You're going to free me now, right?" she repeated anxiously.

He lifted his head and looked at her. In that moment, Gabrielle's heart sank. Autolycus's brown eyes went as flat and hard as glass. "Wrong," he said matter-of-factly. "Sorry, Gabrielle. I need to get out of here, and you'd simply be in the way. You'd wind up getting us both caught." He lifted the pick again and with a flourish, vanished it up his sleeve. "Later," he said, and turned his back on her.

This can't be happening… But with a sinking sense of despair, Gabrielle knew only too well that it could. If her own parents could turn their backs on her, if her friend could hold a dagger to her throat, if the man she had protected and killed for could strike her and turn her in, why had she ever thought that a stranger would lift a finger for her?

"You said you'd help me!"

Autolycus glanced back at her. "So I did. Here's a thought: I lied," he said with a shrug. "Tough luck, kiddo."

I knew it. I knew it! I knew he was going to do this—why did I ever trust him? How could I ever have thought he would help me? She could have kicked herself out of fury at her own stupidity. As he started down the corridor she shouted after him, "At least leave me the lockpick so I can have a chance! Please—"

"No can do," he replied over his shoulder as he walked away. "The guards took all my other tools. I might need this to get out of the castle. Sorry."

"Please! They're going to burn me to death tomorrow!" She was almost sobbing from terror, frustration and helpless rage. "There must be something you can do for me! You have to help me—"

He stopped. As if struck by a thought, he turned back toward her. I've reached him, Gabrielle thought. Please gods, I've reached him—

But she hadn't. The King of Thieves frowned briefly, as if ordering his thoughts; he came no closer. At last he said, "I'll tell you what I can do for you, Gabrielle. You seem like a clever enough girl, and I think it's not entirely impossible that you could manage to figure another way out of here. So on the off chance that you do, I'm going to give you a piece of advice. It's a good one—one that I wish to the gods someone had given me when I was your age. It would have saved me yea grief." His voice was suddenly thick with an unexpected depth of emotion.

"The man they brought you in with—Xena's slave. Caesar." He gestured toward the window in his cell, the one from which he had said he could see the courtyard. "Even from the little I saw, I could tell that he was clearly deadweight. It was because of him that Callisto's men were able to catch you, wasn't it? He was a cripple. He was clinging to you and slowing you down. There's only one thing to do with deadweight like that." Autolycus paused then, to give his words weight. His eyes were flat and cold as ice. "Scrape 'em off."

"Scrape….scrape him off?"

"If you want to save somebody, save yourself." His voice was iron-hard. And with that, he turned and walked off.

Leaving. He was leaving her, just like everyone else she had counted on. Gabrielle stared after his retreating back, desperately racking her brain, trying to think of any form of appeal that could reach him, that could convince the King of Thieves….

"Treasure!" she shouted after him. "Treasure, Autolycus! I know where there's treasure!"

Again, he stopped in the middle of the corridor. Gabrielle watched with bated breath, afraid to say anything more lest it tip his mind the other way. After a long moment, he turned toward her.

"Aww, you said the 'T' word." That puckish grin was back in place; but as he approached her cell, Gabrielle did not miss the cold gleam in those twinkling brown eyes. He walked up to her but stopped just out of her reach. "All right, you've got my attention. I'm listening, but talk quickly," he warned.

"You said—you said Callisto's men caught you trying to rob King Midas's palace," she said. "Well, I know where he kept his greatest treasure, and I can tell you where it is."

"Uh-huh." Autolycus eyed her with patent skepticism. "And just how would you know something like that?"

"I'm a bard," Gabrielle said quickly. "I've heard all the stories. I can take you right to the place—but only if you let me out of here."

Autolycus looked at her for a long time, irresolute. Gabrielle held his eyes, remembering to herself that she wasn't lying; she could do what she said. "All right," he said at last. "You tell me where the treasure is, and I'll let you out of here."

She was shaking her head even before he had finished his sentence. "Oh no. Not a chance. You open the cell and get me safely out of the stronghold and then I tell you where it is. Otherwise—not a word."

He stared at her. A reluctant smile of admiration crossed his face. "You're a quick learner. I like that. All right, I'll do it." He pulled the lockpick—her lockpick, she thought bitterly—out of his sleeve. "But," he told her, looking at her hard as he bent over the lock. "You're going to have to keep up with me. If you get lost or get caught or in trouble, I'm not coming back to get you."

She could see in his eyes that he absolutely meant what he was saying. After a moment, she nodded. "Fair enough."

"Good." He worked at the lock for a bit in silence, until it sprang open. "There we go. Come on," he said, and turned on his heel at once.

He was halfway down the corridor by the time she stepped out of the cell.

Autolycus moved at a swift pace, and Gabrielle had to take two steps to match every one stride of his longer legs. He led her through a maze of twisty passages, all alike, without ever stopping once to glance back to see if she was following. There was a stitch in Gabrielle's side and her hair was in her face by the time he stopped at an intersection; as she leaned against the wall, catching her breath, Autolycus looked left and right, seeming to debate the best way to go.

"How do you remember the way out?" Gabrielle asked him.

"Memorized the way the guards brought me in, of course." He looked at her. "Didn't you?"

"Didn't think to."

"It's a trick of the trade, Gabrielle. If you're going to get thrown into dungeons, you need to learn these little secrets." He gestured. "This way."

Gabrielle scurried after him. She had long since discarded the ornate robes Callisto had left her; heavy and hampering, they had slowed her down. They passed by rows of empty cells without so much as a second glance; Autolycus quickened his pace to the point where Gabrielle almost had to run to keep up with him. Almost out…we're almost out, she kept telling herself; she was sure that was why he was hurrying like this.

They were drawing near the end of the corridor when Gabrielle touched Autolycus on the shoulder. "Wait—there's someone in one of the cells next to the stairs." She gestured to where a huddled form crouched on the stone floor, in shadows and moonlight coming in from the window. "Do we worry about him?"

"No," Autolycus said shortly. "A guard could be along soon. Come on, we have to go."

"But he might—" she began, then stopped short. Having apparently heard them talking, the prisoner slowly raised his head and looked at them, turning his face into the moonlight.

"By the gods…." she whispered.

"Something wrong?" Autolycus asked her.

Gabrielle couldn't answer. The prisoner was Caesar.

He had been mauled. That was the first thought that came to her shocked mind. His face was so bruised, battered and bloody that he was almost unrecognizable. He huddled on the ground in an oddly slumped posture, with his arms wrapped around himself; it looked as he were fighting the pain of one or more cracked ribs. His left arm was drawn up to his chest in a strange way; she wondered if his shoulder had been dislocated. His breath hissed harsh and rasping, and in the moonlight Gabrielle could see dark bruising around his throat, above the scarring there, giving evidence that he had been savagely choked.

Only those dark eyes were the same. They moved, and found her.

"G—" He stopped and swallowed. "Gabrielle." Those damaged features contorted, and she realized suddenly that he was trying, painfully, to smile.

Autolycus was at her shoulder suddenly. "Come on," he said, his tone harsh. "We need to get out of the stronghold."

"Autolycus—it's Caesar," Gabrielle pled, gripping him by the arm. "They brought me in with him—"

"That's Caesar?" The King of Thieves's shock was evident in his face. "Poor bastard," he said offhandedly, then, "I don't care if it's Xena herself that's locked in that cell. If Callisto's men catch us, they'll do the same to us. I'd rather not go through that."

"Just give me a minute, Autolycus. Please."

He looked at her, then glanced up the hallway. "All right, but make it quick," he said, glaring at her. Gabrielle turned her attention back to Caesar. Those dark eyes had locked on her.

"What happened to you?" she breathed, appalled by the damage done to him. She had never seen anyone so battered before who had lived, and in spite of everything, it twisted her heart.

"C-Callisto. She…." He broke off with a wince. His harsh breathing hitched, and Gabrielle winced too, feeling his pain. "You have to…have to get me out of here. She's going to—going to burn me to death tomorrow. With Xena. She—" He coughed once, and then swallowed again; Gabrielle could see blood glistening darkly on his lips. "Please, Gabrielle. Get me out of here. Help—" He stopped. Again, his damaged face twisted in what she guessed was an attempt at a smile of appeal. "Help me?"

"Autolycus—" She turned toward the King of Thieves, but he was already shaking his head.

"Nope. It'll take too long to free him, he can't walk and we can't carry him. We leave him where he is."

"But—" Gabrielle bit her lip. Caesar's dark eyes clung to her, appealing. The idea of leaving someone, anyone behind to face Callisto's wrath…. "Callisto will burn him to death—"

"Better him than us." Autolycus's eyes were ice cold. "Come on."

Gabrielle caught his sleeve. "Autolycus, please—"

"Gabrielle." Autolycus shook himself free roughly. "Listen and listen good: I am not going to wait for you. You can come with me and escape, or stay here and try to free your friend. But I can guarantee you, your chances of success are nil. So here are your choices." He gave her a hard stare, looking directly into her eyes. "Come with me and live. Or stay behind and die. It's entirely up to you."

It's up to you. Gabrielle stared at Caesar, at those dark eyes desperate in that ravaged face. She realized distantly that in a way they had come full circle; the two of them were right back where they had started, over a month ago in Xena's encampment, with him the prisoner and she about to escape.

Help me….How many times had he said that to her? She remembered Brutus's words: Others have helped him before. And paid for it with their lives. What Caesar himself had said to her, in that small nameless inn: Surely you know I would never help you the way you've been helping me. His selfish, pitying rant the night he had gotten drunk The anger of the Roman mob that had captured them. Innocence makes you a victim. Get rid of it as fast as you can. The death of Licinus, and the way he had hounded her to kill him. Minya's despair in Laurel, and his words: You insisted that we stay here and try to help these people. Are you happy now? The tent in Najara's encampment: You shouldn't have saved me. It wasn't any of your business. Najara's: How much does one life signify? and Stallonus's bitter laugh: Everyone does what they have to. Nobody ever does anything else. Her mother and father, eyes dead in the flat light of the candle in Potedaia, and Lila's voice, absolutely sure: If you were in our place, you'd do the exact same thing. Caesar's dark eyes, cold with satisfaction, his cruel words in the stable afterward—His betrayal in the slaver caravan. The bard Gabrielle? She's right there. Images tumbled through her mind, fast and faster, Najara, Tara, Lila, Stallonus, her mother and father; the ashes of Athens, of Rome, of Potedaia, the exhausted looks in the eyes of the villagers of Laurel, the despair of the refugees gathered around the forge near Rome.

As she stood there looking into Caesar's desperate, pleading eyes, all she had experienced over the past month and a half coalesced into one thought:

Scrape 'em off. If you want to save someone, save yourself.

She drew herself up, turned and looked over at Autolycus. "Let's go."

Caesar's dark eyes had widened; she thought she saw a flash of what looked like panic in them. He started to say something in that harsh, rasping whisper—to plead, to beg, to accuse—but Gabrielle paid him no heed. He could have been a total stranger. It was the easiest thing in the world to simply walk away.

She could see it all so clearly now. After all she had seen, all she had done since escaping with Caesar from Xena's encampment, it was as if the scales had finally fallen from her eyes. She was amazed at the clarity of her vision. It's all true. Compassion is for fools. Innocence makes you a victim. Pity and kindness are nothing but signs of weakness. Love is powerless in the face of hate. She couldn't believe that it had taken her so long to realize it; now that she had, she would never, ever again allow herself to be swayed by such delusions.

In some other world she might have saved him. In another world, where kindness and altruism were valued and rewarded and not met with mockery and theft, where warlords did not try to burn you to death to preserve your innocence, where friends did not sell you out for gold or hold daggers to your throat when you tried to help them, where parents did not slam the door in the face of their exhausted and frightened daughters…in some other time, in some other place, in some other world, in some other life….

Gabrielle's jaw set. Her heart felt hard and cold within her.

In some other life, she thought. Not in this one.

Autolycus climbed a staircase, took two more turns down apparently random corridors, and crept stealthily down a covered walkway that turned out to lead to the stables. "Horses," he murmured to her as she looked at him questioningly. The interior was dim and straw-smelling, filled with the quiet breathing of horses. The moon shone, cold and distant, through a grate high on the wall. "We'll need mounts if we're to make a clean escape. Look for my horse—brown with black stockings."

"Argo?" Gabrielle whispered back. "Callisto will probably burn her tomorrow."

"We don't know where she is and she's likely heavily guarded. There's no point trying to save her. Find a new horse."

"All right." Gabrielle nodded once. She turned and went down the long line of stalls, each with its own whickering occupant. The stalls were not in much better condition than the rest of the castle, she saw; the straw in many of them was filthy, the food and water low. Many of the horses were off color, looking dull and listless. She looked them over quickly, trying to judge which was the healthiest.

"Found him. Third from the end." Autolycus's voice at her shoulder made her start a bit. "You see any you like?"

"I like this one." The horse Gabrielle indicated was the largest horse there, a stallion; unlike many of the other horses, he was in prime condition, with a glossy black coat, sparkling hooves, and a mane and tail that almost seemed to shine. His eyes were clear and bright. He was heavily secured in the stall, with ropes binding his fetlocks to the floor and his halter attached to the wall by an almost brutally short chain.

Autolycus leaned in to take a look at him, then drew back. "No. Don't take that one." At her questioning look, he gestured. "See how he's tied?" He indicated the bonds. "There's only one reason to tie a horse like that. It means he's vicious, a brute. Maybe even a mankiller."

"He doesn't look so bad to me." Gabrielle took a step closer. She presented her hand. The horse whiffled at it gently.

"Let me try." Autolycus presented his hand, then jerked it back, just in time to avoid losing a finger as the horse snapped at him. Its eye showed white. Gabrielle smiled.

"I like him. I'm going to take him."

Autolycus turned to look at her. "Fine, but if you fall off or he kills you, that's your own lookout." He pulled a dagger and tossed it to her. "Here."

She caught it by the hilt. "What's this for?"

"Protection. I'm going to take care of a few things. While I'm gone, I want you to get the horses ready. If someone comes—" He indicated the dagger. "Hide in the shadows and knife him in the back. Aim for the kidneys. You know where those are?"

Gabrielle nodded. "I had training as a healer."

"Good. That'll put him down silently, and silence is important. Can you do that if you have to?" His tone said she had better be able to. Gabrielle nodded.

"No problem."

"I'll be back shortly."

While he was gone, Gabrielle saddled the horses—using the dagger to cut her chosen horse free; he stood as solid and silent as an old gelding as she did this. Autolycus's horse was a skittish, lathe-thin beast who sidestepped and whickered at her; she wondered how horse and rider could tolerate each other. After a short while, Autolycus was back.

"All right," he told her without preamble, turning up at her shoulder; again, she started. "It's done. The guards at the side gate won't notice an entire army marching through, and all it took was one carefully-placed skin of drugged wine. We're ready to go." He indicated the horses. "Everything go well here?"

"Not so much as a peep," Gabrielle answered.

"Good." He eyed her appraisingly, then took the reins of his horse. "Good job," he told her. "Let's go."

It was all as easy as Autolycus had said; they walked the horses out of the side gate, right under the noses of the sleeping guards in the guard house. "Won't Callisto hurt them when she finds out what happened?" Gabrielle asked him.

"Their problem, not ours," Autolycus said with a shrug. "Look at it this way: they shouldn't have been drinking on duty in the first place." He raised an eyebrow. "You ever hear the saying that you can't cheat an honest man? Something Rafe the King Con told me once; the same principle applies."

Gabrielle nodded. "All right," she said. Her horse flicked his ears and whickered briefly, then snapped viciously at Autolycus's horse. Gabrielle reached out and rubbed his crest, liking him already.

"Good horse," she told him. Autolycus scowled at her.

They rode for what seemed like hours, down the long and winding main road at first, and then onto side paths that branched off from the main highway. Autolycus seemed to find these by instinct; he would turn his horse into a dip in the foliage that looked like nothing at first, but that would turn out to be an almost entirely hidden new way. They rode up hills, down valleys, tracing and retracing their steps, until Gabrielle was scarcely certain which way was up anymore, let alone where they were. Callisto will never be able to find us after this.

It felt as if they had been riding forever, but the moon was still high in the sky when Autolycus called a halt. He said, "We still have a long way to go, but we'll rest here for a bit." As Gabrielle dismounted and let the horses to graze, Autolycus slipped off into the undergrowth; he returned a short while later with a sack under one arm.

"Here." He pulled a loaf of bread out from the sack and tore it in half; he tossed one half to her. "Provisions," he said cheerfully.

Gabrielle took her half. Cheese followed from the sack, and smoked sausages, and a small flask of wine. "How'd you get these?"

The King of Thieves raised an eyebrow. "How do you think?" He bit into the sausage. "There's a small farmhouse not too far from here. The window to their storeroom wasn't locked in any serious way."

"They might need that food," Gabrielle observed.

Autolycus shrugged. "If they need it that much they should make sure it's better protected. That lock was so crude a five-year-old could have picked it. It's not our fault if others can't take better care of their belongings." He gestured at the bread she held. "Eat up."

Gabrielle nodded. She bit into the loaf of bread. "Makes sense."

Autolycus lowered himself onto a boulder sticking up out of the ground. "All right." He faced her. "We're out of the stronghold and far enough away that Callisto won't find us any time soon. I've kept my end of the bargain. Now it's your turn."

"My turn?"

"King Midas's greatest treasure. You said you knew where it was. Let's hear it."

"Oh. Right." Gabrielle swallowed a mouthful of cheese. "In the throne room. There's a staircase to the left of the throne. Go up the staircase, down the hall to the left, and into the last door on the end."

Autolycus frowned, murmuring to himself; he seemed to be tracing a map in the air. "That leads to Midas's private apartments." He looked at her in confusion.

"Right." Gabrielle nodded; then smiled with what she hoped was just the right degree of impudence. "His family—his greatest treasure."

She held his eyes, keeping that grin. Autolycus stared at her for a long, long moment, his mouth twitching, then burst into startled laughter. "Pretty good, kid," he said when he'd calmed down. "It's not every day someone puts one over on the King of Thieves. Pretty good." His tone was amused and admiring at once.

"Good enough for you to take me on as your new partner?" Gabrielle asked, not losing that grin.

Autolycus studied her appraisingly. "I'm listening," he said.

"I'm a bard," Gabrielle began. "I can provide a handy diversion for you by telling stories and singing songs. I have a legitimate profession that can earn us money when pickings are scarce, and as a bard, I can get access to the courts of noblemen and women for you. I have a lot of knowledge of treasure hoards from bardic tales, and I can point out possibilities you might miss on your own. I'm good at persuading people, and can plead for you if you ever get caught. I'm a good listener, and people are willing to tell bards things that they often don't share with others. Last but not least, I'm another pair of eyes to keep watch and another pair of hands to help. Just train me to be as good of a thief as you are. That's all I'm asking." She paused. "Well, that and half the cut." And she grinned again.

The King of Thieves burst out laughing again, startled. "You're really something, kiddo," he said admiringly. "And I have been considering taking an apprentice lately….All right. I'll take you on." He paused. "For thirty percent."

"Fifty."

"Thirty-five."

"At least forty-five, or I won't share with you anything I earn as a bard."

"I could just take it, you know," he said, grinning.

"I would love to see you try."

"Forty. Consider the five percent your apprenticeship fee, and you get first pick of anything you steal."

Gabrielle thought about it. "All right," she said finally. "Done." She held out her hand, but Autolycus pulled away.

"Before we shake on it, let me tell you my rules. They're very simple." He looked at her. "You get caught, you're on your own. You slow me down, I leave you. You fall behind, I leave you. And if, the gods forbid, I catch you stealing from me or even worse, selling me out—" His tone grew flat, and his eyes went ice-cold. "I leave you. In pieces. Understand?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Fair enough," she said again. This time when she held out her hand, Autolycus took it.

"Welcome aboard," he said with a smile. "Now eat up. We've still got a long way to go tonight."

A short while later, they set out, down the dark and winding road, under the light of the cold and distant moon.

"In the dull twilight of the winter afternoon she came to the end of the long road which had begun the night Atlanta fell. She had set her feet upon that road…an untried girl, full of youth, warm of emotion, easily bewildered by life. Now, at the end of the road, there was nothing left of that girl. She had become…a woman who had seen the worst, and so had nothing else to fear."

—Margaret Mitchell, Gone With The Wind