Author's Eternal Note: Hi guys, its ten p.m., and I think I'm going to throw myself on my bed with a good fat book to read before I fall asleep. A quick note to introduce this chapter, which I've just reread and found impeccable. I only wanted to say: read and review.

Chapter Sixteen

The White City

When the fifth wolf was lying dead upon the humid floor, Thunderion turned toward Arach, who was kneeling on the floor, her head bent, with her hair masking her face like a curtain of black waters. He knelt next to her, and took her arm in his hands, examining her wound intently. It was dangerously deep and ugly.

'This wound is old!' he exclaimed, raising his eyes to her tortured face.

'I know…' she muttered.

'Why didn't you heal it?' he asked, astonished.

'Didn't have time…'

'With the state of this wound, you should already have been dead from loss of blood!'

'Someone helped me to bandage it,' said Arach, gritting her teeth, feeling more and more irritated.

Thunderion, after a quick glance at her convulsed face, fell silent. He reached out for something in a little bag hanging from his leather belt. A little pale blue bottle glowing weakly in the dark, hazy atmosphere, and a long, clean white bandage. He washed the wound, glancing from time to time to her deadly snowy face, poured three or four drops of the antidote on it, and bandage it gently.

'If you've got any other wound, you'd better told me. It would be a pity if you died…'

Reluctantly, she let him bandage her thigh, but when he was finish, she felt so good it angered her against herself. She stood up, and went to look for her sword, which was lying sticking up from one of the dark masses of the wolves' corpses. She picked it up with a hissing snarl, and kicked the wolf, liberating the blood-stained blade by the same occasion. It was still dark, but the first rays of lights were starting to chase the mists away from the forest, still further west. The trees seemed as menacing with some light as in the darkness, discovered Arach.

They set on without breakfast. As they were both use to very few food while on journeys, it didn't cause much trouble, and they started to ride. Ebony seemed strangely still, and the girl could feel his smooth black coat shudder under her spidery hand. At last, they penetrated the Light-Less Woods.

In the growing daylight, the forest drew itself neater and neater. The trees, very tall, very old, heavy, knotty or smooth, dark as ebony or light as chestnut, were standing like the pillars in a cathedral, holding up the glorious roof of savage verdure. On the floor, in the branches, or bursting from the trunks themselves grew wild flowers and mushrooms; the colors, as much as the perfumes, were different, and opposed; acrid or sweet, golden or silver, heavy or light, white or black, red or blue; all looking very beautiful and very lethal. The furtive shapes of the forest's animal fled from time to time from the corner of Arach and Thunderion's vision, and little cries, growls, howls, moans, screech or purrs could be heard continually, giving to the forest the look of a graveyard full of secret lives. The air itself felt heavy and damp and cold, and Arach felt dump and rigid on her saddle. She was listening hard for some noise announcing any other mortal animal, but nothing came, and she felt somehow disappointed. The journey went on grimly in the eerie forest, until Thunderion proposed a halt to have something to eat and to rest a little, so that they could go one and continue their way in the night. As the light faded slowly away and that the mist started to crawl on the damp, muddy floor, Arach noticed that the day and the night looked nearly quite the same in that ageless place. They set on a fire, tied the horses to some trees, and started eating the little food they had left. Thunderion looked rather anxious. He had apparently not predicted enough food for all the way to the next city, and it annoyed him. It was very well-known in the country that most of the peoples that ate from the fruits in the forest never lived for long after this, and to be able to go on without dying with starvation was something they needed greatly. Arach was careless. She would risk as easily as snapping her fingers to eat one of the alien berries, it wasn't a matter, she wasn't the kind of person who cared about life. She curled into a tight ball on to the cold, soft and damp floor and closed her eyes. She was tired, and soon she was slipping in a dreamless sleep, while Thunderion was sitting still, his eyes wide open in the growing mists, and his ornamented sword resting, drawn, on his lap.

Meanwhile, three lords in three castles in GreenLands were pacing up and down their chambers.

Araneus was smashing things at his passage, shouting, insulting and beating the unlucky servants that tried to talk to him, cursing under his breath, the anger and exasperation giving his old face a new expression, younger, and very alike from his daughter's.

Drymarchon was stroking his beardless shin as he walked up and down his chamber, his eyes narrowed, thinking fast, silent; and when a soldier went to tell him that Rattle had died, he threw him such a look of anger and disdain that the man didn't dare some in the room again.

Hawkke was biting his fist not to scream. He was throwing himself on the bed, his head in his pillow to try and smoother the yells that escaped his throat, then jumping back on his feet and smashing a bottle of strong wine on the floor.

The three of them had all their thoughts on one person: Arach. While she was killing wolves and boldly crossing the Light-Less Woods, she didn't think about those three men who were cursing her, and wanting her. Araneus wanted her because she was his daughter, the flesh of his flesh, the blood of his blood; Drymarchon wanted her because she was money to him and the thing he needed to put the hand on the colossal fortune and glorious name of the Spiders, and Hawkke wanted her body; her body and her heart, for himself.

At the same time in three different places, however, the three men took a resolution:

Hawkke dressed and took the first ship to StonePort, Maristella, Araneus called in his frightened messenger and sent him with a message to his daughter, which was somewhere in StonePort and to be find at any cost, and Drymarchon went in a mysterious inn he knew well, from where he sent three hunters in look for her, and with the mission to bring the girl alive against a very high reward.

The way through the woods went on for five days. The weather was as damp and cold as ever, and Thunderion's moral was starting to get lower and lower. His face, which had been clean and clear when they first set of from StonePort, was now pale and covered in whiskers; his normally carefully combed and shining blond hair was messy and dull, his eyes were lustreless and gloomy, and his clothes were no longer elegant nor clean.

'How do you came there if you didn't cross the Woods?' one night asked Arach as they were sitting silently in the threatening mist.

'I came from the sea,' he answered faintly.

'What! You're mad!'

'No, I wasn't. I was more likely mad to have come back by the forest.'

'You fatalist…' she muttered under her breath.

She didn't really care about being lost in the forest. The gloomy, dark atmosphere suited her rather well; and she would be able to be alone and at peace there, even if she wouldn't be able to gain money anymore. Her own look, however, was not reassuring. Her eyes were circled in dark grey, her face so pale and thin it seemed like a skull, her hair cutting so sharply black against white with her flesh that you could have cut yourself with the contrast. Her clothes were dirty, and started to stink, and her boots were so used she could feel the dampness of the floor under the flat of her feet.

However, even though this despairing looks, her eyes shone in a kind of dangerous, fanatical glare; so bright that it was nearly unnerving, almost childlike. And as he gazed at her at the light of the fire, Thunderion caught himself thinking that this little assassin was nothing, absolutely nothing, more than an exited little kid. And he was dragging her in the most dangerous mission anybody could have ever set her. Poor kiddo.

Five more days elapsed. Thunderion became more and more grim and sinister, while Arach absorbed the darkness and shadows, until she felt drunk fit to burst with its rich content. She felt good among the tall, thick, lethal looking trees, hidden in the soaking mists, fighting now and then against horrible animals, drenched with blood and sweat, alone in a world where the laws of nature had created the most handsome style of life she had ever imagine living with. But as it had to happen after walking so long in the same direction, they reached the end of the Light-Less Woods. It was with glee and a glitter of hope in his gloomy misery that Thunderion had first notice that the trees seemed to thin more and more, and he even renounced taking a break for the night and went on walking eagerly. When they stumbled out of the forest, the sun was slowly rising in the glittering pink and dazzling blue of the sky, light cascading over the glorious Imperial city.

Even though Arach hadn't a particular taste for light and beauty, she had to admit to herself that the city was beautiful like she had never seen anything being so beautiful. Castles, tall, pearly white towers were rising there smooth, pointed roofs to the sky, the eternal white of the city stained with the pink and gold of the sky, the narrow, smooth, stoned alleys full of busy looking, richly colored clothed peoples, princesses in their glorious carriages, knights on their splendid steeds, merchants, little servants, lords and ladies, a full life of richness and beauty separated from the black misery of StonePort and its surroundings by the lethal forest, who stood like a shield all around this city of purity and magnificence.

As they passed the tall arch of white marble that was the great door of the city, Arach saw the illumination of her companion's face; here he was in his element.

'I will take you directly to my castle, so that you can meet the members I appointed to help you and dress properly,' he told her as they rode in the crowd.

Arach nodded, and griping her horse's mane, she crouched over his neck, sitting slightly hunched over herself, shrinking under the pure light that hurt her. They rode for a few moments, people stepping away from their path. Apparently, Thunderion was very popular in this city, and the many curious glances Arach received achieved to put her in a bad mood.

'If only they'd mind their own business and keep their nose to the floor like in StonePort,' she said aloud.

Thunderion smiled.

'It is because of your dressing.'

'But they are much more outrageously dressed than me!' she exclaimed, angrily.

'Well, if you hadn't noticed, this is the city of light and color. So people dress lightly and colorfully, as the peoples in your port of Darkness and misery dress darkly and miserably.'

Arach remained silent under the clear logic, crouched over her steed, until finally they rode under a tall, beautifully carved arch, which led to the gardens of Thunderion's castle.

The only thing that you could tell to describe precisely the castle was that it was beautiful. Not in the dark beauty of most of the manors and castle in GreenLands, but clear and tall and white, with floating white flags that were all embroidered with a long thunder light wrapped with a plait of ribbons and white lilies.

As once as they had entered the widely opened doors Thunderion gave Arach over to an old maid, who took her up a long flight of white stairs, along a white and gold corridor, and in a dark blue room. The room was richly furnished with a four-posted bed with deep blue curtains and a white fur, shiny and discreet rose wood table, chairs and wardrobe, and three wide and smooth cream furs lying of the dark wooden floor. A delicate perfume of luxury and cleanliness was floating, and the most absolute silence was ruling. Covering entirely one of the walls was also a window hanged with rich dark blue curtains that were floating slightly under the breeze coming from outside.

Lilee, the old woman, who had a very dignified air of wisdom and scorn about her, took Arach at the end of the room, were a dark wooden-paneled door was standing behind thick velvet curtains. The other room was a bathroom like at Hawkke's Manor, but much more comfortable and luxurious. The walls were heavy with thick tapestries, and a marble basin full of steaming and perfumed water was standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by a pile of soft white towels, several bottles of perfumes and potions, combs of all sizes, and a velvet sofa on which a heap of clothes were waiting.

'You may get in and wash yourself. I will come when you will be finished to heal your wounds, perfume your body and comb your hair,' said Lilee, and she departed.

'Dream on,' snarled Arach under her breath.

The display of luxury was irritating her. She also felt she would have given anything to be back at Hawkke's castle. 'You'd better stop thinking about that else you'll become a human,' she told herself glumly as she threw her clothes across the room and stepped in the deliciously hot water.

The water was so good and agreeable that Arach felt like she would have been able to stay there for hours. But with her usual quickness and haughtiness, she just scrubbed her skin clean with a harsh piece of leather ripped from the breeches stolen from Hawkke, and then stepped of, and scrubbed her skin dry with one of the towels and then she glared at her rags and at the pile of clothes on the sofa. She sighed. She would have much rather stayed with her dirty rags, but at the same time she had to admit that Thunderion was right and that it was the fact that she was so darkly and unattractively clothed that every eyes turned on her. She turned her attention to the clothes. They had been, she immediately noticed, chosen very well. The under tunic was tight fitting, made of plain black satin, with a tight black corset, long, sleek black satin skirts and a tight, elegantly stern, fierce dark red velvet over-tunic. She pulled on all of those quickly and uncaringly, and then completed the all with the black leather belt and black silk gloves she had also been given. Her hair was soaking wet the back of her garments, but she didn't care very much and came out.

Of course, she had to receive a full inspection and condescending correction from Lilee before she could finally go downstairs and meet Thunderion in the majestic meeting-hall.

It was tall and slim, with an air of dark elegance and innate nobleness that she entered the vast circular room. All eyes, as she marched in with the air of a warrior queen, turned on her, and more than not gleamed with discreet approval. Thunderion, in clean dark azure clothes, waved to the chair next to his own, and she briskly went to sit down. Then, she looked around, and saw for the first time with whom she was going to work with.

Author's Powerfully Weak After-Note: Here we go. This will be all for today I think. I'll do the assassination team tomorrow. I am nearly collapsing with tiredness. But you must admit that this chapter is beautiful. I, personally, love it. So, no threat, only a quiet plea: could you review, please-pretty-please?