Urgh. Summer is wonderful, but the heat makes me lazy, so I never get
anything done, or, if I do get anything done, it's only ever one thing at a
time. That is why I enjoy the cold of winter. It allows me to multi-task,
and we never have a complete week of school between Christmas break and
March break. School is always closed due to snow, or flooding. I love
living in the country! Now if only summer would get its ass out of here so
that I can get something done.
**Blinks** Hate winglies? Actually, I love them. I just have a tendency to maim, injure, or cause other misfortune to my favorite characters. This usually comes in the form of glomping. Which explains the pain factor.
Kharg: **wrapped up in bandages and lying in a ward labeled 'GLOMP VICTEMS'** You seriously need to think up new ways to show your affection.
Asalla's POV:
"Ayrel, are you listening to me?"
My daughter pulled her eyes away from the dagger that she had been examining and sighed. "Yes mother. In order to teleport correctly and safely, I must have a general notion of the area where I will re-emerge. The clearer the mental image or memory of the location, the more accurate the jump." She droned the lecture off without missing a beat. "Why are you telling me this again? I've only heard it at least a bazillion times before. And anyway, I can already make jumps farther than Father. Teach me something new, for once!"
I sighed and shook my head. Of course I knew that she already knew how to teleport; it was just that I couldn't entirely bring myself to accept it. Everyone had always told me how astounding it was that I had already mastered my basic abilities by the time I was forty. This was something that I had come to accept, albeit with some difficulties. And yet my daughter who was hardly a month past her eleventh birthday had twice the strength I had then possessed, and was already beginning to show signs of new talents. Not my gift with empathy, but other gifts that were both wondrous and frightening at the same time.
For instance, hardly less than a year ago we made the rather startling discovery that Ayrel could seemingly create spells drawn from her own imagination. There were limits on this of course, yet she still could pull a house down around her ears with only the air inside of it as a tool. When we finally pulled her, miraculously unhurt, from the rubble of the building and asked her how and why she had done this, her reply was a disturbingly simple "I just wanted to see if I could do it."
"Well?"
I shook my head. What was there left for me to teach her? She was already close to my match in strength, even if our talents were very different. This must have to do with the fact that she was the Moon Child, but I had long since realized that. "There's not much else that I can think of to teach, love." I told her, spreading my hands apologetically. "I'll try and work something out, but until then you'll just have to work on improving what you already can do."
Ayrel pouted for a moment, flopping down into a heavily padded chair that was pushed up against one stone wall. There was little room for luxury in the underground levels of Kazas, but we had managed to piece together a more than suitable living arrangement. The chamber itself was hardly more than six paces long, but two padded chairs and a long table had been shoved up against one wall. A small fireplace had been set into the far wall for heat and cooking, the narrow chimney opening into the bottom of another in the temple above. The priests had tried to force more luxurious apartments on us, apparently in the black castle itself, but I had refused on the grounds that we would attract too much attention to ourselves that way. Attention was one thing that we had been trying to avoid for the past eleven years, no easy task when you have an entire cult kissing the hem of your daughter's skirts.
"Fine then." Ayrel's face brightened. "I'll go and find Wilbur! I've been making him teach me swordplay as a birthday present." She laughed. "He won't let me practice with the boys, though. Seems to think that someone would get hurt." She paused, pursing her lips pensively. "Which they probably would," she admitted. Getting to her feet, she gave a jaw-cracking yawn. "Oh well. I'll see you later, mother." With another sudden grin, she disappeared in a flash of green light.
I stared at the spot where she had been, considering following her, but then changed my mind. Mathis was up in the temple somewhere; he would keep an eye on her. Turning to the pile of hot coals glowing on the hearth I pulled a blackened tea kettle out of their midst and poured some of the fragrant mint tea into a porcelain cup. Returning the kettle to the coals, I seated myself on the edge of a chair and blew on the steaming amber liquid before taking a sip. It was a good brew; because of Kazas' flourishing trade with the other nations the temple was easily able to acquire the finest in dry goods. Tealeaves were abundant on almost every vendor's shelf. Strange, that the crowded marketplaces and the bustle of cities had seemed so strange and intimidating when Mathis had first brought us into the human city of Doneau. Partly because I had found it so overwhelming, partly because of the need for haste, we had not remained there long before traveling to Midlake.
Taking another sip, I stared at the patterns woven into the rugs covering the floor. So much had happened since then. After leaving Midlake with a tenuous alliance formed with the elders, we had continued on to Bale. Our time spent there proved much more productive; after convincing the High Priest of the Moon Cult that Ayrel was indeed the child that they sought, all of the chapters of the cult in Serdio had sworn themselves to her. Within weeks the remainder of the cult in the rest of Endiness had also sworn similar oaths, binding their lives to hers.
Unfortunately, all of this drawing attention to ourselves had a negative effect as well. Three months after our arrival in Serdio, Dart and Garren appeared without warning in the main hall of the temple, a lethal whirlwind of steel and blood shearing their way through the temple guards in an attempt to reach us. A quick jump to Hoax had removed us from danger, but not before six of the men in the melee went down with gaping wounds and smashed in faces. We had jumped straight from Hoax to Fletz and would have probably continued on to Mille Seseau had not Mathis reminded me that since there was no way of tracing the path of a warp, it was unlikely that anyone would catch up to us for quite some time. He was right in that respect, but even though we still traveled from city to city, Garren caught up to us again less than two years later. The years following this had been much the same, with Garren catching up to us twice more and Dart three times. Each time we were forced to make hasty jumps in order to escape, but I couldn't help but feel that a noose had begun to tighten about our necks. Years might go by between their appearances, but they were getting harder to avoid with each passing year.
I started to take another drink, and then realized that except for the dregs the cup was empty. Swilling the brownish lumps around in the bottom of the cup, I got back to my feet and dumped them on to the hissing coals. Placing the cup back on the table, I took one last regretful look at the little room. It really was quite comfortable, really. Too bad that we would have to leave it behind yet again. Gathering in my energy, I fixed the image of the main hall of the temple firmly in my mind and released the spell. Traveling by teleportation over a short distance such as the one involved hardly lasts for much more than a heartbeat, and in a moment I found myself standing amidst a crowd of startled-looking worshipers. Ignoring their terrified looks I brushed past a pale, overly plump woman and her child and headed towards the altar resting on a dais positioned at the back of the hall.
As I drew closer to the altar, I realized that its surface was covered with almost every type of gift imaginable. Fine silken cloths, rare spices, hand carved ivory figurines, even an elaborate, silver worked fencing sword. Offerings for the Moon Child, I realized. Several of the priests were grouped nearby, watching the milling crowd with sternly approving expressions. One of their number, a willowy blonde woman wearing a green robe of fine silk rather than the traditional linen, dropped into a deep curtsy and hurried to greet me. "Lady Asalla? You're up early this morning."
"I am not one to sleep in-" I ranged through my memory, trying to put a name to her face. "-Anna. Have you seen my daughter anywhere?"
Anna's brows creased into a disapproving frown, but I ignored her. Most of the priests and priestesses often reacted this way whenever I spoke of Ayrel as my daughter, or even when I mentioned her by her real name. They seemed to expect me to run about addressing her as the 'Holy Moon Goddess', or some other equally absurd title. Not that I doubted my child's identity; rather, I simply refused to think of her that way. No matter what she would become in life, all that I would be able to think of her as was my daughter, even if Mathis had already bought into the cultists' point of view. I had given away too much already to change that.
"I believe that the Divine-"
"Don't call her that!" I snapped, my voice harsher than I had intended. "Call her holy, call her sacred, but never address her as divine!" I glared at the woman until her gaze dropped to the marble floor and she murmured a meek "Yes, Lady Asalla."
Putting a damper on my irritation, I regained my composure. "Where is Brother Nathaniel? If my daughter," I emphasized the word, watching with some satisfaction as the woman's mouth tightened in the corners, "is busy, I would speak with him with a matter of no small importance. Would you be so good as to fetch him for me?"
I felt a flash of fury from Anna, but once again she was unable to meet my gaze. "I will send one of the hall attendants to deliver your request, my Lady." She had, in turn, emphasized the word 'attendants', as though to remind me that such tasks were below her station. I eyed her coolly. Mathis, bless his soul, may have come to follow their beliefs and even respect the priests, but I would never be able to bring myself to bow and scrape to them, much less show anything more than the most marginal respect.
When the woman had begun to shift about nervously on the spot, and the fury had given way to uncertainty, I spoke. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Without waiting for her to leave, I picked up the fencing sword from the altar and began examining it. It was a weighty piece of work, encrusted with jewels in addition to the fine silver gilding on the basket hilt and blade. I know little enough about blades, but even I could tell that the piece was purely ornamental, useless for any form of real combat. The soft steel would be shorn through with one blow from a better-made weapon. Returning it to the altar, I did a quick inventory of the remainder of the gifts. Most were of much the same; beautiful, and most definitely valuable, but aside from a few donations of coin and a few of the spices they had no real use to us. Shaking my head I started to turn away, but paused as something caught my eye. Pulling aside a piece of cloth woven through with strands of gold, I regarded the offering for a moment, trying to make sense of what I saw. It was about ten inches long, made of what looked like an oddly shaped red-brown bone. Sculpted in smooth lines, the object vaguely resembled the head of a dragon with its narrow mouth open. In the cavity of the skull was a ridged pole, about as thick around as a man's thumb. An odd looking skull indeed.
My breath caught in my throat as I abruptly recalled an image I had seen in an old text back in Ulara. No, not a skull. Carefully picking the ancient hilt from among the cloth and spice, I motioned over one of the servants, a tall man with iron-grey hair and a heavily lined face. "Were you around to see who brought this?" I asked, cradling the object in both hands.
I sensed a flicker of curiosity as the old man glanced at it, and he nodded his head. "It was a journeyman. He said that he had found it in the lands to the far west; in a wasteland he called the Death Frontier. Seemed to think that it was a sword of some sort, although if you'll forgive me, my Lady, I think that if that is indeed what it is, he should have at least had the courtesy to present the blade as a gift as well." Bowing respectfully, he strode away in the direction of the kitchens.
I had thought as much. Turning the dragon buster over in my hands, I ran my fingers along the grip inside the enclosed hilt. Near the base of the grip was a tiny depression, not much larger than the tip of my thumb; I drew my finger back as soon as I felt it. That must be what would activate the blade of the weapon. Untying the broad sash tied around my waist, I threaded it through the hilt before retying it. This would serve Ayrel far better than the ornamental rapier ever would.
"Lady Asalla. I was informed that you wished to have a word with me?" A dry voice asked from my left. I had no need to turn around to see that it was Nathaniel: the particular lack of emotion that always seemed to be hovering around him identified him louder than words. I suppressed a shudder as I turned to face the man; the void surrounding him seemed to swallow up the feelings of every one else nearby, leaving my empathetic senses confused and blind. Supposedly some tragedy had occurred in his childhood, scarring him for life. What could have wounded his soul to such an extent, I had no idea, nor did I wish to know.
"Brother Nathaniel. Would you care to walk with me?" Without waiting for a reply I started towards the back exit of the temple. Nathaniel fell into step beside me without so much as a word. I waited until we had passed through the doorway leading from the temple to the gardens beyond before speaking. "Do remember the matter I approached you on shortly after my family arrived?"
"I could hardly forget." Nathaniel's eyes were focused straight ahead, ignoring the beauty around him. Of all the chapters of the Moon Cult, Kazas boasts the greatest wealth and splendor, with a temple that surpassed even the Shrines of the Goddess in other cities. The gardens surrounding the temple stretched for nearly a half a mile in either direction; apparently several of the old city streets and buildings had been torn down to make way for the new development. Now beds of flowers and small, sculptured trees had replaced the crumbling remnants of the ancient stone buildings. Apparently even the old owners of the homes had agreed it quite a refreshing development, once they had been compensated for their losses.
"Have you learned anything?" I asked, pausing next to a lavender bush to pull once of the sprigs closer to my face.
"We have." The tall man waited until I had moved on before continuing. "One of my agents spotted the wingly you told me about in the town about a week ago." He held up one hand as though expecting an outburst, but there was no need. He blinked, and then continued. "He's currently staying in an inn on the outskirts of the city, but has shown no sign of action aside from occasional trips into the outer marketplaces. He appears to be biding his time."
So Garren had managed to track us into the city. Doubtless he had heard of Ayrel's presence in the temple from a traveler somewhere. But why hadn't he made his move yet? It wasn't as though it would be difficult to get into the temple; worshipers were allowed free rein of most of the grounds. Unless he was waiting for Dart. Yes, that would be it. Two of them rather than one would have a far better chance of catching us by surprise than just Garren by himself. I had seen the two of them fighting as a team in battle before; their skills by and large surpassed those of any of the few dread knights the temple had stationed here. "He'll be waiting for his partner." Nodded to him, a curt dismissal. "Thank you, Brother Nathaniel. You have been of great help to me."
He bowed his head slightly in recognition of my thanks, then turned and walked swiftly back up the walk, heading back into the temple.
Unconsciously touching the Dragon Buster hanging from my sash, I continued down the shaded walk towards the courtyard that lay in the back of the gardens where Wilbur habitually taught his swordsmanship classes. I would find Ayrel there, I knew. And Mathis as well, most likely. Lifting my skirts slightly as I stepped around a large snowball bush, I chose a long walkway shaded by the interwoven branches of the young weeping willows planted just off the white gravel path. Somewhere nearby there was a stream burbling along underground, the gurgling sound of the water flowing around rock and root just audible over the sound of the gravel crunching underneath my feet. Somewhere nearby a songbird was hidden from sight by the drooping willow branches, his trilling song echoing through the grove. I listened as I walked, humming an old child's song that I remembered my mother singing to me as a child.
The tranquility of the morning was broken by the clack of wooden lathe swords knocking against one another and accompanied by the scuffle of feet struggling to find purchase on the sandy ground. Ducking under a particularly low hanging willow branch, I shaded my eyes and stepped out of the shadows and back into the spring sunlight.
The 'courtyard' wasn't really a courtyard in the normal sense of the word. Hedged in by chest high cedars and surrounded with a wrought iron fence, it was almost entirely covered with short cropped blue-green grass. The only exception to this was a circular depression in the ground about twenty feet in diameter; this had been filled in with fine white sand, probably imported from the beaches near Lohan. Crowding in a tight cluster around the rim of the sandpit were William's students; boys ranging anywhere from age ten to seventeen dressed in linen over shirts and rust colored breeches that ended just below the knee. And every one of them filled with dreams of becoming a dread knight. In reality only three or four of them might be skilled enough to achieve that goal; one out of that number might be lucky enough to survive long enough to attain any sort of rank. Those who might survive more than five years would be considered among the elite. As I watched, the faces of those boys seemed to blur, a second image superimposed upon reality. So many of them would die before they reached manhood, but the faces of those who would survive were harsh and cold.
Living weapons.
Death.
Which of those fates truly was the worst?
Shaking myself out of the vision, I forced myself to see reality as it was in the moment. They were boys, nothing more. Not the still faces of the dead, nor the heartless faces of killers. Just boys, watching their classmates spar.
"Mother! What are you doing here?" I gave a start as the crowd parted. Ayrel staggered out of the sandpit, covered in sweat and dirty, but her face was glowing with pride. Her shoulder length hair had been tied up in a messy ponytail, although most of the hair before her ears had fallen loose, framing her heart-shaped face with white-silver. She wore clothes similar in design to the boys, although her linen shirt was of a finer make than the others' were. In one hand she held a wooden practice sword, cracked and splintered from hard use. Over her shoulder, I could see two of the boys dragging a stocky lad groaning out of the ring. "I thought that you were in the temple."
"I came to look for your father. What's going on here?" I asked, giving the practice sword a meaningful look. "I thought that you said that Wilbur wouldn't let you practice with the boys?"
"I wasn't practicing, Mother. I challenged them." She told me, as though it were obvious. "Besides, I ordered Wilbur to let me."
"Really?" I arched an eyebrow as I noticed Wilbur himself standing a few paces away watching us warily. When he realized I was staring at him, he jumped, and then gave an apologetic shrug. I gave him a hard look, then sighed and looked away. It wasn't his fault, after all; he could no more refuse an order from Ayrel than he could pick himself up by the scruff of the neck and hold him self out at arm's length. "Ayrel, why do you insist upon doing these things?"
"I just wanted to see if I could do it." Her reply was surly. I felt a chill run down my spine. No matter what she did that always seemed to be her reason, if it even could be called one.
"She is very talented, my Lady." William waved one hand to the crowd of boys. "She's managed to best six of the best of them. She would have dueled more, I think, but none of them are fool enough to accept the challenge."
"But-" I thought back to our time spent in Kazas "-you've only been teaching her for a month and a half. Most of these boys have been studying the sword for-?"
"At least two years, at most five." The grizzled old sword master shook his head. "Frankly, I'm as confused as you are, my Lady. Use a technique against her once, and it might work. But-" He shook his head again. "She dueled Kay, my most advanced student. In another year, he'll be ready for testing as a dread knight. She blocked most of his blows, and then returned each and every one of them. She beat him using his own techniques. It was almost as if she had learned them just by having them used against her."
I glanced at my daughter, who had stood off to one side listening to the conversation. When she caught my gaze, she gave a slight smile and nod. So. It really was as William said. I resisted the urge to shake my head myself. Another unheard of ability, and she was hardly past her eleventh birthday. Moon Child or no, this was still incredible.
"Asalla?" Mathis ducked out from under the willow branches screening the mouth of the path and hurried towards us, oblivious of the leaves stuck in his hair. The leaves brushed aside once more and Nathaniel stepped out calmly, tailed closely by a young boy whose ears stuck out noticeably from the sides of his head. "There you are. This man told me that he had something urgent to speak to you about."
Nathaniel bowed deeply to Ayrel before turning to speak to me. "You asked me to alert you once the other man you described to me was sighted, Lady Asalla?"
A dead weight settled into my stomach. "Yes. You have seen him?"
The brother settled one hand on the boy's shoulder. "Ewan here is one of my agents. He arrived by horse shortly after we spoke earlier. The man was on the North Road, about five miles from the city." A brief frown flickered across his features. "We were lucky to get wind of this before he arrived. You never did tell us his name, you realize."
"It wouldn't make any difference. He changes his name the way another man would change coats." This was all too true; to my knowledge, Dart never used his real name outside of Ulara. I had thought this pointless at first, but after a few years of being on the run, looking over my shoulder constantly for some sign that he may be gaining ground on us, I had come to realize how difficult it could be to keep track of a man with no name.
Nathaniel nodded slightly. "Of course. What do you wish for us to do about him?"
"Ambush him," William shrugged. "Station half a dozen of my dread knights in one of those copses along the road outside of the city. They would make short business of him."
Mathis snorted, but I smiled thinly. "You would just be throwing away the lives of your men, William. No, we will be leaving." I raised one hand to forestall any arguments. "Let it be known through out the temple and the city. It will save you considerable bloodshed."
William opened his mouth and then closed it again. Nathaniel said nothing at first, mulling the news over in his mind, although his face betrayed none of his thoughts. "You will have to inform the high priest of this, my Lady." He said finally. "He will not accept the news from anyone save the three of you." Bowing once more, he strode briskly away, still steering the young man along in front of him with one hand on his shoulder. William followed suit, bowing so deeply to Ayrel that his nose scraped the ground before returning to the cluster of boys around the sandpit, yelling in his deep booming voice that they ought to return to practicing.
Mathis drew Ayrel and I back away from the class until we were out of earshot. "Why are we running again?" He asked, a furious undertone to his voice. "William is right; we should set up an ambush for them here in the temple. Throw all of the dread knights at them, and they'll never know what hit them."
"You know that we can't do that," I snapped. "All that it would take is for things to get out of hand and Dart would turn into that monster he calls a dragoon. He could level the entire temple in the blink of an eye without feeling a hair of guilt. If we leave now, no one will have to die pointless deaths for our sakes."
"You're too soft when it comes to humans," Mathis muttered, but I knew that I had won the argument. "Fine. If we must run, then where are we going to go?"
"Can we go to Fueno?" Ayrel asked. "We've never been to Fueno before." For all the seriousness of the situation, she sounded as excited as though we were discussing possible locations for a vacation.
"Fueno sounds as good as anywhere else." Resting my hands on their shoulders, I closed my eyes and fixed the image of the main hall into my head. The high priest should be somewhere nearby.
As usual, our abrupt appearance in the middle of the main hall caused quite a commotion; several of the acolytes gave quite a jump and then stumbled away with red faces, their efforts to cover up their surprise only slightly marred by reddening cheeks and ears. There were only a few commoners in the hall at the moment: most of them had almost fallen over themselves bowing at Ayrel's sudden appearance. For her part, my daughter didn't seem to take any notice of the half-dozen forms lying prostrate on the stones of the temple floor. Instead she pointed to the arched entryway that opened to the streets. Several people were grouped on the steps just outside.
"That's him, isn't it?"
Silhouetted against the bright light flooding in from the outdoors, it took me a moment to distinguish one man from another. Vern, the High Priest of Serdio, a tall lantern jawed middle-aged man was indeed one of the three men standing in the archway, the second being a dread knight captain I knew as Kurrik, identifiable by the wicked looking armor his kind were never seen without. The third I did not recognize: a young man of perhaps nineteen standing only slightly shorter than Vern, he could almost have passed as a commoner were it not for the massive five and a half foot bastard sword strapped across his back.
"-Left on one of your bloody campaigns a year or two back and haven't heard a word of him since!" The young man snapped angrily, brushing his heavy chocolate brown hair out of his eyes. "I want to know what happened to him and where he is now!"
"I'm sorry mister-" Kurrik trailed off, searching for a name.
"Damnen. Zion Damnen." Zion growled in a frustrated voice. "My brother's name was Daysk."
"Daysk Damnen." Kurrik repeated thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, but I can't be expected to remember the name of every one of our soldiers. If you say that he was on a campaign, then there's a good chance that he never returned from it. We've given up on our campaigns into the Eastern lands; both of them resulted in disaster. You would be best advised to simply return home, Mister Damnen. Continuing to pursue the hopes that your brother is still with us is pointless." Kurrik's voice was flat.
Zion stood silently for a moment, jaw muscles working furiously. Then with a roar he lunged at the dread knight, both hands going to the hilt of his massive sword.
Kurrik reacted so swiftly that I almost didn't see him move at all. Reaching out with his left hand he caught the other man by the front of his shirt, striking him back handed with his right as he did so. Before Zion could cry out Kurrik had released his grip and landed a kick in the man's side that sent him sprawling backwards down the stone stairs.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, your grace," Kurrik said grimly to Vern, "But he was a danger to the both of us." The back of his right gauntlet had ridges running along them, twisted wickedly sharp imitations of animal claws. The claws, as well as most of the gauntlet, were streaked with bright red blood.
"Your actions were fully justified, Kurrik." Vern told him, surveying the still form of the man at the bottom of the stairs with some distaste.
"You seem quite calm about this, your grace." Mathis said suddenly, his voice sounding cold to my ears.
Vern and Kurrik turned as one man, both of them sinking into startled bows at the sight of Ayrel. "Holy Moon Child. Lady Asalla. Lord Mathis." Vern's voice carried only a hint of the surprise that seemed to waft from him in waves. "I am sorry; we did not notice your approach."
"I see." Mathis glanced past them. A small crowd had begun to form around Zion's body; it looked as though he was beginning to stir. "Do you have to deal with these disturbances often?"
Kurrik shrugged. "We get them every so often. Distraught family members seldom have sense when it comes to these matters."
"We're leaving," I cut in before they could continue. "Now. You had best let it be known."
"But-"
"My mother said, 'we're leaving'. Do you have any objection to that?" Ayrel's voice was deceptively sweet.
Vern swallowed nervously. "No. None at all. But what about your offerings?"
"We've taken all that we will need from them." I replied, one hand going absently to the dragon buster strung onto my sash. "Consider the rest a donation to the temple."
"Th-thank you-!" A welter of confused emotions and words flooded from the two men in front of me, but I was no longer paying them any attention. In the square below, Zion was struggling to his feet, the left side of his face a bloody ruin. No one moved to help him; the crowd stayed well back, regarding him gravely. It was not often that someone made an assault on a cultist. They were probably curious as to what was to happen to him.
Evidently nothing. Before anyone could react, Zion was shoving his way through the crowd away from the temple. After a look at Kurrik and the High Priest, no one made a move to stop him. I stared after him, feeling a hint of worry beginning to gnaw at the back of my head. Not a vision, exactly, but just a feeling. The man's future lay ahead of him, and somehow I had the feeling that my daughter was wound up in the strings of his fate; or maybe it was the other way around. Zion Damnen.
I felt a light touch on my arm. "Mother, we had better be going now. There's no reason to stay."
I nodded and allowed her to lead me out of the archway, but I spared one last glance over my shoulder. Zion was nowhere to be seen, disappeared among the throng. If it hadn't been for the pool of dark blood at the bottom of the temple steps, there was no sign that he had ever been here at all.
Ack. I know it's late, but I was staying at my instructor's house all of last week while I worked at one of her camps, so I had no computer access for a while. ^-^ Ha! For once I had an actual excuse other than life itself! **does a victory dance** Of course, I suppose it didn't help matters any that I went and got myself addicted to Arc the Lad the day after I got home. .
**Blinks** Hate winglies? Actually, I love them. I just have a tendency to maim, injure, or cause other misfortune to my favorite characters. This usually comes in the form of glomping. Which explains the pain factor.
Kharg: **wrapped up in bandages and lying in a ward labeled 'GLOMP VICTEMS'** You seriously need to think up new ways to show your affection.
Asalla's POV:
"Ayrel, are you listening to me?"
My daughter pulled her eyes away from the dagger that she had been examining and sighed. "Yes mother. In order to teleport correctly and safely, I must have a general notion of the area where I will re-emerge. The clearer the mental image or memory of the location, the more accurate the jump." She droned the lecture off without missing a beat. "Why are you telling me this again? I've only heard it at least a bazillion times before. And anyway, I can already make jumps farther than Father. Teach me something new, for once!"
I sighed and shook my head. Of course I knew that she already knew how to teleport; it was just that I couldn't entirely bring myself to accept it. Everyone had always told me how astounding it was that I had already mastered my basic abilities by the time I was forty. This was something that I had come to accept, albeit with some difficulties. And yet my daughter who was hardly a month past her eleventh birthday had twice the strength I had then possessed, and was already beginning to show signs of new talents. Not my gift with empathy, but other gifts that were both wondrous and frightening at the same time.
For instance, hardly less than a year ago we made the rather startling discovery that Ayrel could seemingly create spells drawn from her own imagination. There were limits on this of course, yet she still could pull a house down around her ears with only the air inside of it as a tool. When we finally pulled her, miraculously unhurt, from the rubble of the building and asked her how and why she had done this, her reply was a disturbingly simple "I just wanted to see if I could do it."
"Well?"
I shook my head. What was there left for me to teach her? She was already close to my match in strength, even if our talents were very different. This must have to do with the fact that she was the Moon Child, but I had long since realized that. "There's not much else that I can think of to teach, love." I told her, spreading my hands apologetically. "I'll try and work something out, but until then you'll just have to work on improving what you already can do."
Ayrel pouted for a moment, flopping down into a heavily padded chair that was pushed up against one stone wall. There was little room for luxury in the underground levels of Kazas, but we had managed to piece together a more than suitable living arrangement. The chamber itself was hardly more than six paces long, but two padded chairs and a long table had been shoved up against one wall. A small fireplace had been set into the far wall for heat and cooking, the narrow chimney opening into the bottom of another in the temple above. The priests had tried to force more luxurious apartments on us, apparently in the black castle itself, but I had refused on the grounds that we would attract too much attention to ourselves that way. Attention was one thing that we had been trying to avoid for the past eleven years, no easy task when you have an entire cult kissing the hem of your daughter's skirts.
"Fine then." Ayrel's face brightened. "I'll go and find Wilbur! I've been making him teach me swordplay as a birthday present." She laughed. "He won't let me practice with the boys, though. Seems to think that someone would get hurt." She paused, pursing her lips pensively. "Which they probably would," she admitted. Getting to her feet, she gave a jaw-cracking yawn. "Oh well. I'll see you later, mother." With another sudden grin, she disappeared in a flash of green light.
I stared at the spot where she had been, considering following her, but then changed my mind. Mathis was up in the temple somewhere; he would keep an eye on her. Turning to the pile of hot coals glowing on the hearth I pulled a blackened tea kettle out of their midst and poured some of the fragrant mint tea into a porcelain cup. Returning the kettle to the coals, I seated myself on the edge of a chair and blew on the steaming amber liquid before taking a sip. It was a good brew; because of Kazas' flourishing trade with the other nations the temple was easily able to acquire the finest in dry goods. Tealeaves were abundant on almost every vendor's shelf. Strange, that the crowded marketplaces and the bustle of cities had seemed so strange and intimidating when Mathis had first brought us into the human city of Doneau. Partly because I had found it so overwhelming, partly because of the need for haste, we had not remained there long before traveling to Midlake.
Taking another sip, I stared at the patterns woven into the rugs covering the floor. So much had happened since then. After leaving Midlake with a tenuous alliance formed with the elders, we had continued on to Bale. Our time spent there proved much more productive; after convincing the High Priest of the Moon Cult that Ayrel was indeed the child that they sought, all of the chapters of the cult in Serdio had sworn themselves to her. Within weeks the remainder of the cult in the rest of Endiness had also sworn similar oaths, binding their lives to hers.
Unfortunately, all of this drawing attention to ourselves had a negative effect as well. Three months after our arrival in Serdio, Dart and Garren appeared without warning in the main hall of the temple, a lethal whirlwind of steel and blood shearing their way through the temple guards in an attempt to reach us. A quick jump to Hoax had removed us from danger, but not before six of the men in the melee went down with gaping wounds and smashed in faces. We had jumped straight from Hoax to Fletz and would have probably continued on to Mille Seseau had not Mathis reminded me that since there was no way of tracing the path of a warp, it was unlikely that anyone would catch up to us for quite some time. He was right in that respect, but even though we still traveled from city to city, Garren caught up to us again less than two years later. The years following this had been much the same, with Garren catching up to us twice more and Dart three times. Each time we were forced to make hasty jumps in order to escape, but I couldn't help but feel that a noose had begun to tighten about our necks. Years might go by between their appearances, but they were getting harder to avoid with each passing year.
I started to take another drink, and then realized that except for the dregs the cup was empty. Swilling the brownish lumps around in the bottom of the cup, I got back to my feet and dumped them on to the hissing coals. Placing the cup back on the table, I took one last regretful look at the little room. It really was quite comfortable, really. Too bad that we would have to leave it behind yet again. Gathering in my energy, I fixed the image of the main hall of the temple firmly in my mind and released the spell. Traveling by teleportation over a short distance such as the one involved hardly lasts for much more than a heartbeat, and in a moment I found myself standing amidst a crowd of startled-looking worshipers. Ignoring their terrified looks I brushed past a pale, overly plump woman and her child and headed towards the altar resting on a dais positioned at the back of the hall.
As I drew closer to the altar, I realized that its surface was covered with almost every type of gift imaginable. Fine silken cloths, rare spices, hand carved ivory figurines, even an elaborate, silver worked fencing sword. Offerings for the Moon Child, I realized. Several of the priests were grouped nearby, watching the milling crowd with sternly approving expressions. One of their number, a willowy blonde woman wearing a green robe of fine silk rather than the traditional linen, dropped into a deep curtsy and hurried to greet me. "Lady Asalla? You're up early this morning."
"I am not one to sleep in-" I ranged through my memory, trying to put a name to her face. "-Anna. Have you seen my daughter anywhere?"
Anna's brows creased into a disapproving frown, but I ignored her. Most of the priests and priestesses often reacted this way whenever I spoke of Ayrel as my daughter, or even when I mentioned her by her real name. They seemed to expect me to run about addressing her as the 'Holy Moon Goddess', or some other equally absurd title. Not that I doubted my child's identity; rather, I simply refused to think of her that way. No matter what she would become in life, all that I would be able to think of her as was my daughter, even if Mathis had already bought into the cultists' point of view. I had given away too much already to change that.
"I believe that the Divine-"
"Don't call her that!" I snapped, my voice harsher than I had intended. "Call her holy, call her sacred, but never address her as divine!" I glared at the woman until her gaze dropped to the marble floor and she murmured a meek "Yes, Lady Asalla."
Putting a damper on my irritation, I regained my composure. "Where is Brother Nathaniel? If my daughter," I emphasized the word, watching with some satisfaction as the woman's mouth tightened in the corners, "is busy, I would speak with him with a matter of no small importance. Would you be so good as to fetch him for me?"
I felt a flash of fury from Anna, but once again she was unable to meet my gaze. "I will send one of the hall attendants to deliver your request, my Lady." She had, in turn, emphasized the word 'attendants', as though to remind me that such tasks were below her station. I eyed her coolly. Mathis, bless his soul, may have come to follow their beliefs and even respect the priests, but I would never be able to bring myself to bow and scrape to them, much less show anything more than the most marginal respect.
When the woman had begun to shift about nervously on the spot, and the fury had given way to uncertainty, I spoke. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Without waiting for her to leave, I picked up the fencing sword from the altar and began examining it. It was a weighty piece of work, encrusted with jewels in addition to the fine silver gilding on the basket hilt and blade. I know little enough about blades, but even I could tell that the piece was purely ornamental, useless for any form of real combat. The soft steel would be shorn through with one blow from a better-made weapon. Returning it to the altar, I did a quick inventory of the remainder of the gifts. Most were of much the same; beautiful, and most definitely valuable, but aside from a few donations of coin and a few of the spices they had no real use to us. Shaking my head I started to turn away, but paused as something caught my eye. Pulling aside a piece of cloth woven through with strands of gold, I regarded the offering for a moment, trying to make sense of what I saw. It was about ten inches long, made of what looked like an oddly shaped red-brown bone. Sculpted in smooth lines, the object vaguely resembled the head of a dragon with its narrow mouth open. In the cavity of the skull was a ridged pole, about as thick around as a man's thumb. An odd looking skull indeed.
My breath caught in my throat as I abruptly recalled an image I had seen in an old text back in Ulara. No, not a skull. Carefully picking the ancient hilt from among the cloth and spice, I motioned over one of the servants, a tall man with iron-grey hair and a heavily lined face. "Were you around to see who brought this?" I asked, cradling the object in both hands.
I sensed a flicker of curiosity as the old man glanced at it, and he nodded his head. "It was a journeyman. He said that he had found it in the lands to the far west; in a wasteland he called the Death Frontier. Seemed to think that it was a sword of some sort, although if you'll forgive me, my Lady, I think that if that is indeed what it is, he should have at least had the courtesy to present the blade as a gift as well." Bowing respectfully, he strode away in the direction of the kitchens.
I had thought as much. Turning the dragon buster over in my hands, I ran my fingers along the grip inside the enclosed hilt. Near the base of the grip was a tiny depression, not much larger than the tip of my thumb; I drew my finger back as soon as I felt it. That must be what would activate the blade of the weapon. Untying the broad sash tied around my waist, I threaded it through the hilt before retying it. This would serve Ayrel far better than the ornamental rapier ever would.
"Lady Asalla. I was informed that you wished to have a word with me?" A dry voice asked from my left. I had no need to turn around to see that it was Nathaniel: the particular lack of emotion that always seemed to be hovering around him identified him louder than words. I suppressed a shudder as I turned to face the man; the void surrounding him seemed to swallow up the feelings of every one else nearby, leaving my empathetic senses confused and blind. Supposedly some tragedy had occurred in his childhood, scarring him for life. What could have wounded his soul to such an extent, I had no idea, nor did I wish to know.
"Brother Nathaniel. Would you care to walk with me?" Without waiting for a reply I started towards the back exit of the temple. Nathaniel fell into step beside me without so much as a word. I waited until we had passed through the doorway leading from the temple to the gardens beyond before speaking. "Do remember the matter I approached you on shortly after my family arrived?"
"I could hardly forget." Nathaniel's eyes were focused straight ahead, ignoring the beauty around him. Of all the chapters of the Moon Cult, Kazas boasts the greatest wealth and splendor, with a temple that surpassed even the Shrines of the Goddess in other cities. The gardens surrounding the temple stretched for nearly a half a mile in either direction; apparently several of the old city streets and buildings had been torn down to make way for the new development. Now beds of flowers and small, sculptured trees had replaced the crumbling remnants of the ancient stone buildings. Apparently even the old owners of the homes had agreed it quite a refreshing development, once they had been compensated for their losses.
"Have you learned anything?" I asked, pausing next to a lavender bush to pull once of the sprigs closer to my face.
"We have." The tall man waited until I had moved on before continuing. "One of my agents spotted the wingly you told me about in the town about a week ago." He held up one hand as though expecting an outburst, but there was no need. He blinked, and then continued. "He's currently staying in an inn on the outskirts of the city, but has shown no sign of action aside from occasional trips into the outer marketplaces. He appears to be biding his time."
So Garren had managed to track us into the city. Doubtless he had heard of Ayrel's presence in the temple from a traveler somewhere. But why hadn't he made his move yet? It wasn't as though it would be difficult to get into the temple; worshipers were allowed free rein of most of the grounds. Unless he was waiting for Dart. Yes, that would be it. Two of them rather than one would have a far better chance of catching us by surprise than just Garren by himself. I had seen the two of them fighting as a team in battle before; their skills by and large surpassed those of any of the few dread knights the temple had stationed here. "He'll be waiting for his partner." Nodded to him, a curt dismissal. "Thank you, Brother Nathaniel. You have been of great help to me."
He bowed his head slightly in recognition of my thanks, then turned and walked swiftly back up the walk, heading back into the temple.
Unconsciously touching the Dragon Buster hanging from my sash, I continued down the shaded walk towards the courtyard that lay in the back of the gardens where Wilbur habitually taught his swordsmanship classes. I would find Ayrel there, I knew. And Mathis as well, most likely. Lifting my skirts slightly as I stepped around a large snowball bush, I chose a long walkway shaded by the interwoven branches of the young weeping willows planted just off the white gravel path. Somewhere nearby there was a stream burbling along underground, the gurgling sound of the water flowing around rock and root just audible over the sound of the gravel crunching underneath my feet. Somewhere nearby a songbird was hidden from sight by the drooping willow branches, his trilling song echoing through the grove. I listened as I walked, humming an old child's song that I remembered my mother singing to me as a child.
The tranquility of the morning was broken by the clack of wooden lathe swords knocking against one another and accompanied by the scuffle of feet struggling to find purchase on the sandy ground. Ducking under a particularly low hanging willow branch, I shaded my eyes and stepped out of the shadows and back into the spring sunlight.
The 'courtyard' wasn't really a courtyard in the normal sense of the word. Hedged in by chest high cedars and surrounded with a wrought iron fence, it was almost entirely covered with short cropped blue-green grass. The only exception to this was a circular depression in the ground about twenty feet in diameter; this had been filled in with fine white sand, probably imported from the beaches near Lohan. Crowding in a tight cluster around the rim of the sandpit were William's students; boys ranging anywhere from age ten to seventeen dressed in linen over shirts and rust colored breeches that ended just below the knee. And every one of them filled with dreams of becoming a dread knight. In reality only three or four of them might be skilled enough to achieve that goal; one out of that number might be lucky enough to survive long enough to attain any sort of rank. Those who might survive more than five years would be considered among the elite. As I watched, the faces of those boys seemed to blur, a second image superimposed upon reality. So many of them would die before they reached manhood, but the faces of those who would survive were harsh and cold.
Living weapons.
Death.
Which of those fates truly was the worst?
Shaking myself out of the vision, I forced myself to see reality as it was in the moment. They were boys, nothing more. Not the still faces of the dead, nor the heartless faces of killers. Just boys, watching their classmates spar.
"Mother! What are you doing here?" I gave a start as the crowd parted. Ayrel staggered out of the sandpit, covered in sweat and dirty, but her face was glowing with pride. Her shoulder length hair had been tied up in a messy ponytail, although most of the hair before her ears had fallen loose, framing her heart-shaped face with white-silver. She wore clothes similar in design to the boys, although her linen shirt was of a finer make than the others' were. In one hand she held a wooden practice sword, cracked and splintered from hard use. Over her shoulder, I could see two of the boys dragging a stocky lad groaning out of the ring. "I thought that you were in the temple."
"I came to look for your father. What's going on here?" I asked, giving the practice sword a meaningful look. "I thought that you said that Wilbur wouldn't let you practice with the boys?"
"I wasn't practicing, Mother. I challenged them." She told me, as though it were obvious. "Besides, I ordered Wilbur to let me."
"Really?" I arched an eyebrow as I noticed Wilbur himself standing a few paces away watching us warily. When he realized I was staring at him, he jumped, and then gave an apologetic shrug. I gave him a hard look, then sighed and looked away. It wasn't his fault, after all; he could no more refuse an order from Ayrel than he could pick himself up by the scruff of the neck and hold him self out at arm's length. "Ayrel, why do you insist upon doing these things?"
"I just wanted to see if I could do it." Her reply was surly. I felt a chill run down my spine. No matter what she did that always seemed to be her reason, if it even could be called one.
"She is very talented, my Lady." William waved one hand to the crowd of boys. "She's managed to best six of the best of them. She would have dueled more, I think, but none of them are fool enough to accept the challenge."
"But-" I thought back to our time spent in Kazas "-you've only been teaching her for a month and a half. Most of these boys have been studying the sword for-?"
"At least two years, at most five." The grizzled old sword master shook his head. "Frankly, I'm as confused as you are, my Lady. Use a technique against her once, and it might work. But-" He shook his head again. "She dueled Kay, my most advanced student. In another year, he'll be ready for testing as a dread knight. She blocked most of his blows, and then returned each and every one of them. She beat him using his own techniques. It was almost as if she had learned them just by having them used against her."
I glanced at my daughter, who had stood off to one side listening to the conversation. When she caught my gaze, she gave a slight smile and nod. So. It really was as William said. I resisted the urge to shake my head myself. Another unheard of ability, and she was hardly past her eleventh birthday. Moon Child or no, this was still incredible.
"Asalla?" Mathis ducked out from under the willow branches screening the mouth of the path and hurried towards us, oblivious of the leaves stuck in his hair. The leaves brushed aside once more and Nathaniel stepped out calmly, tailed closely by a young boy whose ears stuck out noticeably from the sides of his head. "There you are. This man told me that he had something urgent to speak to you about."
Nathaniel bowed deeply to Ayrel before turning to speak to me. "You asked me to alert you once the other man you described to me was sighted, Lady Asalla?"
A dead weight settled into my stomach. "Yes. You have seen him?"
The brother settled one hand on the boy's shoulder. "Ewan here is one of my agents. He arrived by horse shortly after we spoke earlier. The man was on the North Road, about five miles from the city." A brief frown flickered across his features. "We were lucky to get wind of this before he arrived. You never did tell us his name, you realize."
"It wouldn't make any difference. He changes his name the way another man would change coats." This was all too true; to my knowledge, Dart never used his real name outside of Ulara. I had thought this pointless at first, but after a few years of being on the run, looking over my shoulder constantly for some sign that he may be gaining ground on us, I had come to realize how difficult it could be to keep track of a man with no name.
Nathaniel nodded slightly. "Of course. What do you wish for us to do about him?"
"Ambush him," William shrugged. "Station half a dozen of my dread knights in one of those copses along the road outside of the city. They would make short business of him."
Mathis snorted, but I smiled thinly. "You would just be throwing away the lives of your men, William. No, we will be leaving." I raised one hand to forestall any arguments. "Let it be known through out the temple and the city. It will save you considerable bloodshed."
William opened his mouth and then closed it again. Nathaniel said nothing at first, mulling the news over in his mind, although his face betrayed none of his thoughts. "You will have to inform the high priest of this, my Lady." He said finally. "He will not accept the news from anyone save the three of you." Bowing once more, he strode briskly away, still steering the young man along in front of him with one hand on his shoulder. William followed suit, bowing so deeply to Ayrel that his nose scraped the ground before returning to the cluster of boys around the sandpit, yelling in his deep booming voice that they ought to return to practicing.
Mathis drew Ayrel and I back away from the class until we were out of earshot. "Why are we running again?" He asked, a furious undertone to his voice. "William is right; we should set up an ambush for them here in the temple. Throw all of the dread knights at them, and they'll never know what hit them."
"You know that we can't do that," I snapped. "All that it would take is for things to get out of hand and Dart would turn into that monster he calls a dragoon. He could level the entire temple in the blink of an eye without feeling a hair of guilt. If we leave now, no one will have to die pointless deaths for our sakes."
"You're too soft when it comes to humans," Mathis muttered, but I knew that I had won the argument. "Fine. If we must run, then where are we going to go?"
"Can we go to Fueno?" Ayrel asked. "We've never been to Fueno before." For all the seriousness of the situation, she sounded as excited as though we were discussing possible locations for a vacation.
"Fueno sounds as good as anywhere else." Resting my hands on their shoulders, I closed my eyes and fixed the image of the main hall into my head. The high priest should be somewhere nearby.
As usual, our abrupt appearance in the middle of the main hall caused quite a commotion; several of the acolytes gave quite a jump and then stumbled away with red faces, their efforts to cover up their surprise only slightly marred by reddening cheeks and ears. There were only a few commoners in the hall at the moment: most of them had almost fallen over themselves bowing at Ayrel's sudden appearance. For her part, my daughter didn't seem to take any notice of the half-dozen forms lying prostrate on the stones of the temple floor. Instead she pointed to the arched entryway that opened to the streets. Several people were grouped on the steps just outside.
"That's him, isn't it?"
Silhouetted against the bright light flooding in from the outdoors, it took me a moment to distinguish one man from another. Vern, the High Priest of Serdio, a tall lantern jawed middle-aged man was indeed one of the three men standing in the archway, the second being a dread knight captain I knew as Kurrik, identifiable by the wicked looking armor his kind were never seen without. The third I did not recognize: a young man of perhaps nineteen standing only slightly shorter than Vern, he could almost have passed as a commoner were it not for the massive five and a half foot bastard sword strapped across his back.
"-Left on one of your bloody campaigns a year or two back and haven't heard a word of him since!" The young man snapped angrily, brushing his heavy chocolate brown hair out of his eyes. "I want to know what happened to him and where he is now!"
"I'm sorry mister-" Kurrik trailed off, searching for a name.
"Damnen. Zion Damnen." Zion growled in a frustrated voice. "My brother's name was Daysk."
"Daysk Damnen." Kurrik repeated thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, but I can't be expected to remember the name of every one of our soldiers. If you say that he was on a campaign, then there's a good chance that he never returned from it. We've given up on our campaigns into the Eastern lands; both of them resulted in disaster. You would be best advised to simply return home, Mister Damnen. Continuing to pursue the hopes that your brother is still with us is pointless." Kurrik's voice was flat.
Zion stood silently for a moment, jaw muscles working furiously. Then with a roar he lunged at the dread knight, both hands going to the hilt of his massive sword.
Kurrik reacted so swiftly that I almost didn't see him move at all. Reaching out with his left hand he caught the other man by the front of his shirt, striking him back handed with his right as he did so. Before Zion could cry out Kurrik had released his grip and landed a kick in the man's side that sent him sprawling backwards down the stone stairs.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, your grace," Kurrik said grimly to Vern, "But he was a danger to the both of us." The back of his right gauntlet had ridges running along them, twisted wickedly sharp imitations of animal claws. The claws, as well as most of the gauntlet, were streaked with bright red blood.
"Your actions were fully justified, Kurrik." Vern told him, surveying the still form of the man at the bottom of the stairs with some distaste.
"You seem quite calm about this, your grace." Mathis said suddenly, his voice sounding cold to my ears.
Vern and Kurrik turned as one man, both of them sinking into startled bows at the sight of Ayrel. "Holy Moon Child. Lady Asalla. Lord Mathis." Vern's voice carried only a hint of the surprise that seemed to waft from him in waves. "I am sorry; we did not notice your approach."
"I see." Mathis glanced past them. A small crowd had begun to form around Zion's body; it looked as though he was beginning to stir. "Do you have to deal with these disturbances often?"
Kurrik shrugged. "We get them every so often. Distraught family members seldom have sense when it comes to these matters."
"We're leaving," I cut in before they could continue. "Now. You had best let it be known."
"But-"
"My mother said, 'we're leaving'. Do you have any objection to that?" Ayrel's voice was deceptively sweet.
Vern swallowed nervously. "No. None at all. But what about your offerings?"
"We've taken all that we will need from them." I replied, one hand going absently to the dragon buster strung onto my sash. "Consider the rest a donation to the temple."
"Th-thank you-!" A welter of confused emotions and words flooded from the two men in front of me, but I was no longer paying them any attention. In the square below, Zion was struggling to his feet, the left side of his face a bloody ruin. No one moved to help him; the crowd stayed well back, regarding him gravely. It was not often that someone made an assault on a cultist. They were probably curious as to what was to happen to him.
Evidently nothing. Before anyone could react, Zion was shoving his way through the crowd away from the temple. After a look at Kurrik and the High Priest, no one made a move to stop him. I stared after him, feeling a hint of worry beginning to gnaw at the back of my head. Not a vision, exactly, but just a feeling. The man's future lay ahead of him, and somehow I had the feeling that my daughter was wound up in the strings of his fate; or maybe it was the other way around. Zion Damnen.
I felt a light touch on my arm. "Mother, we had better be going now. There's no reason to stay."
I nodded and allowed her to lead me out of the archway, but I spared one last glance over my shoulder. Zion was nowhere to be seen, disappeared among the throng. If it hadn't been for the pool of dark blood at the bottom of the temple steps, there was no sign that he had ever been here at all.
Ack. I know it's late, but I was staying at my instructor's house all of last week while I worked at one of her camps, so I had no computer access for a while. ^-^ Ha! For once I had an actual excuse other than life itself! **does a victory dance** Of course, I suppose it didn't help matters any that I went and got myself addicted to Arc the Lad the day after I got home. .