Author's Energetic Note: Here I am, ladies and gentlemen, full fit to burst with energetic energy! This is my shortest chapter ever, but hell, it compensates for the lifetime-long chapter that's coming after. Well then, friends or foes, sit and back and enjoy this short little scrap of a chapter, and do Review.

Chapter Seventeen

Assassination Team

Directly next to Thunderion, a tall, youthful man, with long brown hair and eyes of a grey puzzling; for they were both soft, and yet cold with intelligence. He was slim, with a clear air of elegance, and dressed in a pale blue tunic and white breeches, added with a dark fur cloak and tall, ornate boots.

'Lord Sylfaere,' Thunderion said, and the hazel-haired youth bowed with a polite grace to her, 'He will be the one to set the plans, he will do our calculation, and act as our brain.'

The next one was a small man, thin and slight of built, with an air constantly amused by the events and shiftily casual, and a sweeping grace of worrying cunning.

'Sthenn, Arch-Thief from the Bridges of Gloom, he will be the one to do the sneaking, and to provide us with information and advices.'

Sthenn bowed a slight, quick bow, with a graceful wipe of his dark silvery-cloud eyes upon her.

The next one was a woman; and even though Arach was not the kind to see beauty, what she saw was beyond all imagination: aged in the areas of twenty four-twenty five, she was tall, and slim, with curves to die for and a cascade of tumbling honey-amber hair falling in gleaming curls down her straight back. Her eyes were wide, of the purest, softest golden-nut, with a skin fine and smooth and full, colored like the palest, most delicate honey. Dressed in a silken overdress of pale golden color, she stood next to Sthenn, looking graceful, beautiful, gentle, and friendly, framed by the sunlight, an aura of gold molding her exquisite shape.

'Countess Eeliria of the Golden Sands of the South,' said Thunderion, 'She will draw the Prince to your dagger.'

Eeliria smiled a bright golden smile enlightened by the dazzling white of her perfect teeth, and gracefully curtseyed.

'And finally Double-Game. He is a close to the Prince. He will get us important and highly needed information. His name is behind a mask.'

He was very tall, cloaked in black, with a black scarf covering his face save form his eyes, which were bright greenblue like the southern sea, and intent upon her owns.

He stepped form his corner of shadows, and bowed, then stepped back. Thunderion, standing up and walking to Arach, said: 'Well, what think you of my crew?'

'He,' said Arach, pointed a white finger to Sylfaere, 'He will go very far. He,' she went on, pointing to Sthenn, 'he is clever—and trustworthy. She,' towards Eeliria, 'She is beautiful. And as for him—'

She stopped for a moment. Double-Game's eyes sparkled like aqua-fires.

'He is a traitor. He is ugly and untrustworthy. He is naked of honour. He is disloyal. He is disgusting.'

Her words surprised strongly, and all turned to see what the man would answer. He laughed, a clear, young laugh, and said, still draped in shadows:

'And she—she will go further than Sylfaere.'

He stepped slightly out of the corner, and went on:

'And what pushes you to talk so of me, who never even addressed you?'

'You are betraying your lord by being here. You should fall upon your blade.'

'And you are the one who is going to kill my lord.'

'With your help, you, whom the lord trusts.'

'The Prince is no lord.'

'He is your master.'

'And you are going to kill him.'

'I am an assassin. It is my art. You are his friend. You should be ashamed.'

Double-Game burst with laughers:

'Quick-silver, with a tongue sharper than the cold of Northern Winters. Thunderion, you got your hand on a dangerous treasure.'

The exchange had been fascinating. Eeliria, her large eyes narrowed to slits of sparkly gold, a smile stretching her enchanting lips as if she was enjoying a play, looked amused; Sthenn was tipping himself to and fro on his feet, snickering under his breath, approving. Sylfaere was intent, and curious. Thunderion congratulated himself for them all. His crew would shake the Empire out of its pedestal.

Silence fell, and Arach, shrugging her disdain, went to sit, gracelessly, heavily, on a couch. Eeliria sat next to her, and the men settled. The real conversation started:

'My friends,' Thunderion said solemnly, 'I have gathered you here for an honorable task that shall count as an act of bravery when it will be committed. We all know that your spirit, as we shall be planning our deed, will remain as pure as it is now, and in the same states of utter…'

'Spare us the crap,' Arach muttered under her breath—everyone heard her.

Eeliria, at her side, swiftly took out a white handkerchief and ducked, plunging in it, her shoulders shaking with laughter, Sthenn snickered a second time.

'When do you want the murder to take place?' said Thunderion, smiling to the assassin, and cutting short his annoying talk.

'Tomorrow,' said Arach.

Silence fell again, then Thunderion said:

'What say you of that, you others?'

'The girl if right,' said Sylfaere calmly, 'we cannot afford to wait. What must be done must be done. We should get into action as quick as possible, and be off with it as quick as possible.'

'Syll is right, me-Lord,' said Sthenn, 'We'd like to get on with it. It can't last longer how it is.'

'My three companions are right,' said Eeliria, shifting slightly, and wiping tears of laughter form her great hazel-gold eyes.

Her beauty, as Arach turned to listen to her, struck her again: so perfect, so attractive; the Prince stood no chance against her sweet charm. Nor, as it seemed, did Sylfaere.

'As they wish,' said Double-Game from his corner of shadows.

'May it be so. Here is the plan; tomorrow the action starts.'

Author's Diplomatic After-Note: So? How does it look? You're not gonna get the assassination plan at any rate, mateys: the plan's mine, and you'll probably never know it—I am aware that many of you readers may be traitors. Never mind: what do you think about my assassination team? You know what, my favorite's Double-Game. I just love him! I thin he's ideal. I mean, he's the perfect traitor. And "Double-Game" for a traitor is superb. Ooh, I am such a genius!

(Post Memoris: I just wanted to tell you that Bob's gone on a trip to the Caribbean; that Madame E. Sharpe's locked in the attic, that Minotaur's gone for ever; that Trice Octari is back in jail, that Colonel Constantine's patrolling around the house, and that poet Amethyst is one of my only remaining guests, with this dear Ink—and I must admit those two aren't very annoying. They are quiet and make me look sometimes a little bit bizarre, but all in all, all's for the best. I am freeee :golum-ic way of wailing Freee:)