Chapter Eight

The weeks went by slowly, with the injured healing—at least physically. Raphael was able to get up and he began to walk about the marble home, working at getting his strength back. Alexander started flying around the areas that had cathedral ceilings. And Seto was recovering as well. He was studying every book about Juno that the library held. Of course, the library here was much smaller than the one at the main palace, but it was sufficient enough for Seto's purposes.

By this time he was extremely annoyed. He wanted all the more for Mokuba to get home, and yet he still had suspicions of what would happen if this war spilled into other parts of the world. It might work out that Mokuba would see just as much carnage whether he was home or here. And so Seto no longer knew what to do. The battle had left him with more mixed feelings than he would have thought possible.

Alexander had teleported back to the Atlanteans' temporary home several times, and in the process, he had learned the following.

Dartz had only been able to communicate with Chris and Ironheart twice, by attaching messages to indigenous, trained birds that were similar in behavior to pigeons but which looked much more extravagant—with brightly colored red, blue, and violet bodies, crests that curved over the head, and long, brilliant tails. (The creatures were usually kept in the wild, save for the exotic rich of Juno who wanted to keep them as show pieces, or to train them to deliver messages.)

The notes had been written in Atlantean, so that they could not be translated if they were intercepted. Dartz had said that he was safe, that Alexander needed to be found, and for them to not attempt to reply, as it was too dangerous. They should simply send the bird back, with a feather plucked from the flamboyant tail, and he would take that to mean that they received his message.

"We tried to look for you," Chris had told the creature as she had hugged him the first time he had come to visit, "but we couldn't find you anywhere! I was afraid that Colchis had taken you. . . ."

Alexander had been very sorry that Chris had had to worry about both him and Dartz, and he had held her close as he had apologized. He would not be able to visit them very often, and he could never come by way of flying, in case Colchis had spies lurking about. He would never want to do anything that would get them into trouble, and so he stayed away as much as he could, even though he longed to be able to spend more time with Chris.

Alister had taken to going on long walks as he looked for Valon. Often he ended up by the palace and would stand in front of it, his eyes sad, and remember when they had first arrived. The redhead was on such a walk now, and he clenched a fist angrily as he gazed at the partially-collapsed building. This was not fair. Valon had been fascinated by the large, marble abode, and he had enjoyed exploring it. And now he was not here. Alister did not want Valon to be gone, and especially not in a case like this, when they had no way of knowing where he was or what was being done to him. He wanted his friend back.

Raphael wished that he could go with Alister on his walks, but his leg was still tender and he knew that he would not make it very far. He had the feeling that Alister blamed himself for what happened to Valon. Alister believed that he was responsible for his younger brother's death. He had not been able to do anything then, and he could not help Valon during the recent battle. Alister had initially been conscious after the explosion, but he had not been able to find Valon before the next explosion had sent him flying and caused him to hit his head as he had gone down. Alister would not talk about his feelings, but Raphael knew he was angry with himself.

Marik spent the time mostly with Kade and Mokuba, when he was not with his siblings. He worried over what they were going to do, and sometimes he found himself sparring with Volker to train for future battles. Ishizu was worried about that, but she knew that another battle was imminent. And it was good to be prepared for it. She only hoped that Volker knew what he was doing.

As for Ishizu herself, she was spending a lot of time with Sapphire. The Queen's headaches were steadily growing worse, and Ishizu had noticed that as this happened, Juno's condition declined as well. She wondered how the Talisman alone could cause it all, even if it had its own mind. It seemed that someone would have to be controlling it. But Ishizu's Millennium Tauk revealed nothing about who such a person could be. Perhaps Colchis had gotten hold of the Talisman, since he had told her that he knew where it was.

Rishid spent hours studying Juno, as Seto was doing, and he was trying to formulate a battle strategy based on his findings. And yet it was next to impossible to determine where and how their enemies would strike. They needed to know specifically how these people operated, and they could not know without studying them for a long period of time—which they could not do. The rebels had successfully hidden themselves away—with Valon—and no matter how long search parties looked, they could never find any trace of the location.

Rishid was certain that the trouble Ishizu had foreseen was now close at hand. Juno rarely had natural light now, even through the clouds. The skies were mostly entirely dark as night even at noonday (whereas before it had appeared more as if a constant rainstorm threat was hovering over Juno), and only lightened up around sunset before fading away again shortly afterward. With so many hours of darkness, it was a perfect time for the rebels to strike again. He could only hope that Valon would not be numbered amongst them.


Colchis leaned back in his fancy, plush chair as he drank from a goblet filled with one of Juno's unique liquors. A slow smirk came over his features as he thought about the plans he had outlined in his mind. It was unfortunate that he still had not taken hold of the Talisman, but that would come soon. What he had told Ishizu was the truth—he did know where it was. Now it was only a matter of determining how to obtain it.

He supposed that a sacrifice would be necessary if he was to enter the chamber where the elusive piece was now residing. That had been how it was in the old days, and times surely had not changed that much. But it also could not be any random person who was offered. It would need to be someone strong-willed and independent, someone such as the boy whom Doctor Gunther had been torturing. And yet it would be a pity, to just have to destroy the teenager's life when his brainwashing was completed. He had been looking forward to seeing the results. Perhaps there would be another solution.

He raised his gaze to the door of his chamber as a knock came upon it. Curiously he sat up straight and set the goblet down on the desk. "What is it?" he called. It could be any number of things. The rebels might have completed the last exercise necessary and be ready to unleash their full fury upon the Queen and her small group of protectors. Perhaps Gunther was here to report his latest progress with the boy Valon, who was still healing but making a remarkably fast recovery. Or maybe Dartz had come to speak with him about something or another that he felt was important.

"It's Gunther, sir," came the reply.

Colchis smiled, pleased, and picked up his goblet once more. "Come in," he said calmly. Visits from Doctor Gunther were always enlightening. Not only was he tending to Valon's brainwashing, but he was attempting to gather information about Dartz as well. Colchis was still suspicious of him, and he hoped that soon he would have the final proof he needed to show that Dartz was not on his side.

The door opened and Gunther came in. He was an older man, or at least, he appeared older than Colchis. He was somewhat short, though not extremely so, he had a receding, red hairline, and he had piercing brown eyes that seemed to search one's soul. He gazed about the office for a moment before remembering to shut the door behind him. Colchis always wanted privacy when they conversed.

"It's been a few days, my friend." Gunther glanced to where Colchis was reclining in his chair again. The younger-looking man was smirking calmly, the way he often did—as if he knew something treacherous that no one else was aware of. "I trust you have something new and interesting to tell me?"

Gunther nodded as he walked over to the chair that he always occupied on these visits. Quickly he sat down, not waiting for Colchis's invitation to do so, as he had done in the past. He did not have time for formalities today. "I have information about Dartz," he declared as he leaned forward, his brown eyes narrowed and expressing the urgency of the matter.

Immediately Colchis perked up. "Oh? Has he finally started to openly display suspicious behavior?" He smirked. "Well, more suspicious than writing to his family in a strange, unknown tongue, and taking such an interest in Valon's progress, that is." Dartz had tried to divide his time evenly between all locations, and he had been successful enough in doing so, but Gunther had noticed Dartz's curiosity towards Valon and had considered it well on the way to being the damning evidence Colchis wanted. When Colchis had been told, he had concurred.

Gunther smiled in a satisfactory way. "Well, do you remember what I mentioned weeks ago about how he asked me why I was doing that to Valon?"

Colchis nodded. "Of course. That isn't something easily forgotten, especially since you weaved that story about you losing your memories and being rescued by the rebels." He continued to smirk. "That was quite a clever tale, though I still wonder if he actually believed you."

Gunther laughed. "I think he does," he answered. "At least, he hasn't shown any signs to the contrary. He's occasionally asked me other things, such as if I ever think that I might have a family somewhere and if they would be happy with what I'm doing. It almost sounds like he's trying to get me to change my mind about doing this to Valon, though of course it could just be idle curiosity. After all, if he's been a wanderer for a long time, as he has claimed, he must have seen many different kinds of people. Maybe he thinks he knows how to get into everyone's minds."

Colchis finished his drink and placed the empty glass on the desk. "Maybe he does," he agreed. "He seems to believe that he knows all about me, after all, and once he told me that old myth about the dragon Fafnir. It was almost as if he was hinting that he thinks I'm just as greedy and power-hungry as my brother."

Gunther smirked. "Well, aren't you, if not more so?"

"Much more so," Colchis smiled, "and more clever as well." He laced his fingers. "So, tell me, what actually is it that Dartz has said or done now?"

Gunther leaned back. "I happened to tell him that I'm almost done with my work on Valon. He's a changed boy, really. He was so terribly confused that he didn't know what to believe, but now when I remind him about how his friends 'abandoned' him, he becomes incensed and talks about how much he hates them. Anyway, Dartz then asked me how he was healing, and I told him that he's seen for himself that Valon is up and around for short periods of time. His wounds don't hinder him much anymore, and especially not when he's fired up with his anger and mental pain."

Colchis nodded thoughtfully. "Is it possible that he may try to help Valon escape so that we can't use him for our intended purposes?" he asked. He was positive that Dartz knew the boy from somewhere, even though he did not have the proof of that. But proof was not needed, not when Colchis could simply look into Dartz's eyes and see the knowledge there. And it was not a secret that Dartz disapproved of what they were doing. Even if he did not know Valon previously, it seemed likely that he wanted to help him get away.

"It's very possible," Gunther confirmed. "I really wouldn't be surprised at all. Should I set things up so that he won't succeed, if he tries?"

Colchis weighed the situation in his mind before replying. "No, let him get away with it . . . at first," he said then, smiling in a devious way. "I want to see just how well he's thought this through. He's an intelligent man, after all, and maybe even my equal in years. Who knows. But I do hope that my faith in the greatness of his mind isn't misplaced. Consider this . . . a test. An IQ test, a test of skills, and a test of my own ability to predict things about people." Colchis was truly quite undisturbed by the whole matter. He had been wary of Dartz almost from the start, and he would greatly enjoy the chance to see if his theories could be proven true. This was mostly a game to him—another game on the pathway of making himself Juno's most powerful being.

Gunther nodded now. "It will be as you've said," he declared, "but surely we aren't to let Valon actually escape?" He looked at Colchis incredulously. He had worked hard to corrupt and confuse Valon's mind, and he did not intend to let it go to waste. If Colchis did not care about that, Gunther would see that he personally succeeded in getting Valon back—even if it meant going against Colchis's wishes.

"Of course not," Colchis answered calmly. "There will be people stationed around to capture him, if indeed he does try to run off. He won't be any match for the rebels, not when his wounds are still healing." He stood up and went to retrieve the bottle of wine, which was sitting in a bucket of ice near the corner. "Would you care to join me?" He looked at the date on the bottle. "This came from a very good year."

Gunther shook his head. "I should get back to my patient," he replied, standing up. But then, thinking of something else, he looked back. "If all takes place as you believe, what will you do with Dartz?"

Colchis popped the cork and poured himself another gobletful of wine. "Well," he said slowly and precisely, "no matter how great of a mind he has, if he's a threat, he must be eliminated. However . . . it should be when he least expects it." He held up the glass. "A toast to our friend Dartz. May he live long and prosper." Then he smirked, laughing quietly to himself as Gunther excused himself from the room.


Alister was still wandering through the remains of the royal palace. He kicked aside a small piece of marble and watched it skid ahead of him across the tiled floor before at last coming to a stop outside the throne room door. He glared coldly at it as he walked over to the room and looked inside. Normally he would not have ventured into the building when the rest of it could collapse at any moment, but there was something that he needed to see. He remembered the tiles in the throne room that reflected things that were happening in Juno. If they still functioned, he wanted to see if Valon was shown in any of them.

The chamber looked deserted as Alister gazed into it, and as he slowly stepped inside he could see that it looked as though the tiles were now blank. With a frown he advanced further, gazing down at the black and white squares and silently willing them to show him where his friend was. It was not that much to ask for, was it? They could show him Valon's location. They were capable of it.

Then he caught sight of one that was still flickering. Feeling a burst of hope rising within his heart, he hurried over to it and then stopped, seeing that it was merely showing what some of the villagers near the palace were doing. It was interesting enough, but irrelevant to what Alister wanted. He looked away, disheartened and frustrated.

He remained in the room for some time, checking all the tiles and repeatedly returning to the only one that was still working—but it was always still depicting what was happening with those particular villagers. Alister knew that he would not find the answers he wanted here. After casting a last look back at the unhelpful panel, he turned and slowly walked toward the area that had been blown apart by the explosions.

Many thoughts roamed through his mind as he went—angry, bitter, confused thoughts. Why had this been allowed to happen to Valon? He did not deserve it. Alister was uncertain of exactly what he believed about God, but it seemed to him that God should be watching over Juno as much as any other part of the world. Of course, he had also always been taught that humans had to do their parts. God would not do everything for them, because if He did, they would never grow. But still . . . no one had been able to help Valon. Could God have not done something for him, when no one else had been there?

Alister slowly sank down onto a fallen pillar once he reached the outside again. He leaned forward, running his hands through his bangs. Over and over he saw Valon's agonized, bloodied body laying on the grass. In his mind he could hear Valon weakly calling for help, but there was not anyone who could come. It haunted him to no end. He had nightmares about it every night since this had happened, but he had not told Raphael. He did not feel that there would be any point. Raphael was upset too, after all, and Alister felt that telling him about his bad dreams would be insensitive and selfish.

"Why?" he whispered, gazing down blankly at the grass. "I don't understand . . . why?" Suddenly overcome by his anger, he looked up at the sky and let out a pained scream—releasing some of his frustration, his anguish, and his hatred. He had no idea where Valon was, and he could do nothing to help him. He had been praying desperately for some sort of guidance to lead him to where his friend was, but he had not received anything. This made him wonder if Valon was dead. The thought pierced his heart, and yet . . . death was sweeter than many of the things that could be happening.

If Valon was still alive, maybe he was angry with Alister and Raphael. Maybe he blamed them for his misery. The rebels could be torturing and mutilating him. Maybe he was suffering so terribly that he wished he was dead. He might never be the same as he once was.

Alister clenched his fists tightly, eventually drawing blood, and leaned forward on the pillar again. His shoulders shook as he wept for one of the only times in his life since Miruko's death.


Chris paced the floor nervously, unable to sit still. With Juno's decreasing condition, it seemed obvious that it would not last much longer unless something was done. And it seemed that she and Ironheart had not been able to do anything at all except sit and wait.

"Grandfather, there has to be something we can do!" she exclaimed in despair as she looked to where Ironheart was going through one of the volumes he had looked over many times before. "Maybe if we go to where Alexander is staying . . ." But then she trailed off, knowing that they could not. If Colchis was, indeed, spying on them, then they would lead him right to where the Queen was—not that he did not already know. He was probably biding his time until he felt that they should attack again. Chris did have to wonder exactly what he was waiting for, if that was the case.

Ironheart sighed, looking up from his book. "Your father is doing all he can," he replied, "and we can't do anything that might jeopardize his actions, as you know, Chris." He leaned back, a thoughtful expression coming over his eyes. "But those crystals that Alexander told us about have been bothering me. I'm almost certain that I read something in one of these books about crystals, and now I can't remember which one it was. I've been reading so many." There was not much else for Ironheart to do, save for tending his small garden, and so he read all the various books that he could find, hoping for some clues to help them solve their problems. So far he had not had much luck.

Chris perked up. "Maybe I could help look," she suggested, coming over to him. Skye, who was laying on the floor by the desk, looked up as she came over. Gently she petted his head.

Ironheart smiled. "That would help," he agreed. "If we could learn what those crystals are supposed to do, that would be useful to the ones that Alexander is staying with. It's possible that they need to engage in some sort of special training in order to get the crystals to do what they are meant for." He could only hope that the crystals were not in any way similar to the Orichalcos. He supposed that if anything in Juno was, it would be the missing Talisman. That blasted thing was at the root of all their problems. He knew that eventually it would have to be destroyed.

Chris nodded, reaching for another book on the shelf. This was liable to take a long time, she knew, but it was better than simply sitting around and waiting for something to happen. She liked to be able to feel useful.


Valon sat up shakily on the bed, running his hand slowly over the scar on his chest. Gunther had not been able to promise that the mark would not remain, but Valon was certain that it was fading. And anyway, it did not matter that much to him. He reached for his shirt.

He was not certain what he would do now. Mixed feelings still surged through his heart, most especially of betrayal and emotional pain. His friends had abandoned him. They had left him to die when Valon had believed that they would stand by him through anything. Again and again the unwelcome images played through his mind. He was laying badly hurt after being speared, and he had called desperately for help. Alister had looked at him and then had walked on, his expression the same emotionless mask that had frustrated Valon so many times before.

And yet . . . it did not change the fact that Alister—and Raphael—would gladly sacrifice their lives for Valon. Such things had happened in the past, and Valon had tried to protect them, too. Now the Australian could not believe that all of those experiences suddenly did not matter. How could he truly have been abandoned? It did not make sense! They would not abandon him when they wanted so badly to preserve his life.

Shaking, he leaned forward and dug his fingers through his thick hair and against his scalp. Maybe he was insane. Maybe it was the memories of self-sacrifice that he was not remembering correctly. Maybe they had never been his friends. Maybe he had never even known them! But then . . . why were the voices insisting that Alister and Raphael had been his friends and now had betrayed him?

Enraged suddenly, he leaped up and lunged at the wall, punching it fiercely. Chips of plaster and splinters of wood went flying, but he ignored them. Instead he remained there, shuddering and not removing his fist from the wall. The voices had never left him. Even now, they were still tormenting him. No matter how many times he told them to shut up, they refused. That must surely mean insanity! Sane people did not repeatedly hear voices in their heads.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the wall and shutting his eyes tightly. "No," he whispered weakly. "Shut up. . . . Stop trying to turn me against them. . . . They're all I've got." There was still a part of him that was struggling desperately to hold on to the truth, even though Valon often felt that he was steadily losing that side of himself. The false, hallucinated memories that he had been given were etched strongly in his mind, and when he thought of them he would become furious. But whether he was furious at Alister and Raphael, himself, or the voices, he did not know.

"Come, Valon, you know that you are alone. The longer you deny it, the more miserable you will become. You mean nothing to either of them, or they wouldn't have left you and allowed us to take you. Accept that you have a new home now, and a new mission—if you want to get revenge on them for leaving you."

Slowly Valon sank to the floor on his knees. "No . . . no," he moaned. "They didn't leave me . . . I don't wanna get revenge. . . . I just wanna know what the heck's wrong with me!" Tightly he gripped at the knees of his pants as he slumped forward again, his eyes still firmly shut. "Why am I seeing these things! How come I've got voices in my head that're telling me that I'm alone!"

"Because you are. You're not insane for what you're seeing and hearing. You want to believe that it's all in your mind, but it isn't. You don't have anyone! All you can do is stay where you are now and embrace your new home."

A new wave of indignation came over Valon and he struggled to stand up again. His blue eyes were open now, and filled with an anger that most people would pray to never see. He looked around wildly, searching for a weapon of some kind that he could use, and then noticed a long pole. Immediately he snatched it up and began to circle the room, looking for the person who was always interfering with Valon's thoughts. If he was not insane, that it was not simply a random voice he heard in his head—it would have to belong to someone. And when he found out who it was, there would not be a place on earth that would hide the culprit from his wrath.

(He heard Gunther's voice in his mind differently than when Gunther was talking to him while he was conscious, which is why he did not make the connection. What was more, the rebels had talked to him as well, and he heard all of their voices in his mind in addition to Gunther's.)

As he swung the pole around in a violent manner, at least trying to release some of his anger if nothing else, a hand suddenly reached out and grabbed hold of the end of it. Valon turned to glare, seeing nothing but a vague silhouette in the shadows of the room. "Who's there?" he demanded, tugging harshly on the pole. "Come on, let go already!" He did not appreciate having his weapon grabbed without warning, especially when he was already in a bad mood. The culprit was asking for trouble.

"You're going to hurt someone with that if you aren't careful," came the flat reply in an accented voice. As Valon watched, a tall, cloaked figure stepped into the light. He could not see the person's face due to the hood that had been pulled up, and this only made him all the more irritated. But at least he was certain that this voice was not any of those that he had heard in his mind.

"Yeah?" Valon snapped, glaring at the darkness of the shadows cast by the hood. "Well, that's kinda the idea, mate!"

"So I gathered." The man still did not let go of the pole and instead continued to study Valon. "You must be very angry with someone."

It frustrated Valon that he recognized the voice and yet could not match it with a specific person. It sounded different, somehow, from when he had heard it before. "'Course I'm angry!" He did not let go of the pole either. Being as stubborn as he is, he did not want to be the first to release it. "Some idiot keeps talkin' in my head!"

"I hope you realize how that will sound to most people." At last the stranger took his hand from the rod, apparently trusting Valon to not aim it at him.

Valon continued to watch him suspiciously as he finally set the staff down on its end and leaned on it. "It's not like they can take me and lock me in the funny farm," he retorted. "The doctor here's a quack himself!" He wondered why this person felt the need to hide behind the hooded cloak. In a way, it seemed as if he recalled this man from the past . . . from when he had first been taken by these people. Perhaps that was why he wanted to conceal his face. Valon glared. "And who the heck are you, anyway? You're probably one of 'em!"

"Perhaps. Perhaps I'm just an observer. I don't know why I'd have any interest in tormenting you." He started to circle Valon slowly, much to the boy's displeasure. Then he spoke again, in much quieter tones. "You want to leave here, don't you?"

Valon refused to relinquish the pole, instead gripping it even tighter. His knuckles went white. "What's it to you?" he said defensively. "And anyway, isn't the answer kinda obvious? What's there for me here?" He slammed the end of the rod down on the floor. "Tell me that, mate! What've I got to keep me here?"

The man paused in his circling and looked at him. "Well, according to the voices in your head, you have revenge," he said dryly, "if you're into that sort of thing."

"Aw, to heck with revenge!" Valon yelled, his eyes flashing. "I want some answers, and I want 'em now! I wanna know why I'm having memories of my best friends turning against me! I wanna know why those voices in my head won't shut up about it!" He turned the pole horizontally and aimed it at the stranger's chest. "And I wanna know why you know about the voices!" As far as he was concerned, anyone connected with the voices was an enemy. He did not trust this person, especially not when the man felt that he could not reveal his identity.

Wild thoughts were going through Valon's mind. He wanted to get out of there, no matter what the cost. Perhaps he could overpower this person and run out the nearest exit. The only way he would ever find the answers would be to go back to his friends and demand the truth. And if he found those belonging to the voices along the way, he would be more than happy to beat them up as well. He would not stand for being manipulated.

"I know because I was here," came the reply. "It doesn't mean I supported what they were doing to you. I just happened to be here while they were doing it." He lowered his voice even more. "If you really want to escape, the best way out is by going out of this room, down the corridor, and through the window at the end."

Valon's expression never lightened. "Yeah? I know there's a window down there. But there's also guards, twenty-four seven!" And naturally he was not afraid of the guards. The problem was that he was certain that they were just waiting for him to leave, and he would be walking into a trap. Then he still would not be able to get out. He hated the guards, he hated the voices, and he hated this place in general. It reminded too much of when he had been in prison and the people there had tried to get him to do whatever they wanted.

"The guards have been . . . taken care of." The man looked down at him. "Go see for yourself."

Valon slowly backed up, not wanting to take his gaze away from the mysterious person, and cracked the door open. He stared in shock at the sight of the men all laying lifeless on the floor. Had this one man done all of that? If so, why? Valon looked back up at him questioningly.

"Don't bother asking questions," the being snapped curtly. "They were all knocked unconscious by you in your fury and haste to leave." He paused. "Just as I was."

Valon stared at him. His meaning was quite clear. "You're saying you want me to hurt you!" he said in disbelief. The boy frowned suspiciously. "Then you'll just turn around and yell for help 'cause of me attacking."

The man overturned several tables, making an enormous clatter and sending many instruments and books to the floor. "Hit me," he said coldly, his voice now a whisper. "I can't have them knowing I helped you. It has to look as though you simply lost control of yourself and attacked anyone in sight in your quest for freedom." He eyed Valon and the pole he was still holding. "And really, that shouldn't be too hard for anyone to believe."

Valon's eyes narrowed. This was all very strange and nonsensical to him. Why would this person help him? It did not seem to him that there would be any reason for it. People hardly ever helped anyone other than themselves. And most of the time they could not even do that very well. "Why're you doing this?" he wanted to know.

"To be perfectly honest, you're in my way," was the flat reply. "Now hit me."

Valon knew there was not any time to argue. If this person wanted Valon out of his way so badly, then Valon would be happy to comply. He gritted his teeth and reached up into the shadows of the hood, striking approximately where he believed the person's cheek would be.

The man stumbled back, crashing into the items on the floor and purposely dragging another table down with him as he lost his balance. "Now go, Valon!" he ordered, looking back up at him. Valon caught sight of a golden eye, but nothing more.

And he did not need to be told again. Holding on to the pole, he ran out of the room and down the hall, just as more guards were arriving. He let out a loud cry, slamming the rod lengthwise against some of them while punching others with his fist and then breaking the window. Glass flew in every direction and shattered on the floor, but there was not any moon or starlight to shine on the pieces. Valon did not care. He leaped through the broken pane and became one with the night.