They were only colored glass. Easy to come by, as it turned out. Buffy turned the lenses over in her hands. She'd carved them out with brass-coated nails. Angel would have shivered reflexively at the idea, If that particular reflex hadn't atrophied ages ago. She'd come a long way in the couple of months they'd been here. Maybe in a direction she should never have gone.

She had carved the frames the same way, from wood that had been more expensive than the glass, here. That should have been good enough, but she was insisting on extra steps. It looked like overkill to him. When he'd said that, she'd looked thoughtful and nodded, then added another layer of decoration to the design.

Buffy held the frames over the pot of molten metal. It was only gold. By smithing standards, the liquid was positively chilly. Not by the standards of human flesh, though. She took a deep breath and plunged the frames into the pot, hand and all. Angel gasped. Why that reflex, of all the ones he might have kept? She pulled her hand free, dripping with gold, and plunged it into a water bath. The frames cooled at once. They'd never been exposed to oxygen long enough to burst into flame. Buffy's hand…. Grimacing, she peeled a thin layer of gold away. Her hand wasn't even red.

"Stones," she said. The frightened gemcutter handed her the bag, and she began setting them into the slots carved into the frame. The glass would come last. "Malfeas will be pleased with you," she said sternly. "Also me." The woman nodded obsequiously and retreated to the corner.

"All this for a pair of sunglasses?" Angel said, shaking his head.

Buffy just shrugged. "If you're gonna do something, you gotta do it right. Right?"

Angel shrugged back. The glasses were going to be gaudy as hell.

Buffy slid them, still steaming, onto her face. She didn't even flinch, just stared into the glowing molten metal. "Perfect."

Chapter 17-You Know It's Gonna Be All Right

A long time ago, Buffy thought, this must have been another market. Deep in the slums of the city now, the open area was lined with boarded-up buildings and scattered with tumbledown stands. There weren't as many people as she'd have liked, but several hundred would do. Starlight shone down on them, but the moon had vanished behind the crater walls.

"Gem promised you wealth," she declared. "Wealth and freedom. And some people have gotten it. It's true, if you strike it rich, the Despot doesn't take that much of it from you." Spike and Angel stood to her right. To her left were Aphrodisia and Spinel. Bound demons weren't too common anywhere, but they were a fact of life; nobody gave the neomah a second glance.

"But how many people actually make it that way? A trickle. Just enough to keep you hoping and waiting." She stalked back and forth in front of the crowd, who had taken seats on the ground or the broken stands. "I say there's enough to go around. I say you work hard enough to deserve something more than gruel to eat and a place to sleep in a collapsing building."

The crowd stirred. A few people shouted when she said they deserved more, but it didn't seem like much of a reaction. "I can beat the Despot without you. He's just a man, with an army of men. I've fought that before. What I'm offering you, though, is a chance to get in on the ground floor. One way or another, I'm going to be the new ruler of Gem."

That got their attention, though it earned some disgusted scoffing as well. "Tomorrow I hit the Sun Market. I can do it with what I have. I don't have to offer you the chance to arm yourselves and strike it rich. I don't have to let you join my army, but I will." Now they were stirred up. "You want to be a citizen of the new Gem? You want to be part of my army, my government, my revolution?"

Shouts rang out. She could do this. She'd led teenagers against a giant snake demon and an army of vampires. This was going to be a cakewalk by comparison. "If that's what you want, come stand to my right. Make a line."

Some walked away. She expected that. The Sun Market was going to be a hard target to strike. But well over half began filing immediately to her side, and more saw the number she'd gathered and joined in. When the line was good and started, she turned to the nearest. "Welcome to the new Gem, citizen." Maybe not all would stay for this, but she meant to go through it for each one, make them feel valued. She needed them. She touched the young woman on the shoulder and pointed her to the doorway behind them. There was a twisty passage to the cult hideout back there.

"Welcome to the new Gem, citizen." Some of these people were no more than children! "Hey, kid, maybe you should go home."

"What home? I'm with you." She could semd him away. It might save his life. Then again, it might not.

"Welcome to the new Gem, citizen." She pointed him to the door and moved on down the line. "Welc-"

The next in line was Aphrodisia.

Buffy came to a halt. What did the demoness want from her? "I know you're with me, Aph. What-?"

"So am I a citizen or what?"

Buffy could hear Angel coughing furiously and Spike laughing under his breath. She couldn't-it went against everything she'd ever-

So was she really prepared to say no? She'd given Aphrodisia a name, treated her like a friend. The neomah would serve her regardless-she had to. But did Buffy have the right to make someone do that? And would she serve nearly as well?

("Who are you?" "No one.")

Buffy took the leap. "Welcome to the new Gem, citizen." Spinel wasn't in line. She was wringing her hands near Spike. Buffy motioned the next person in line to wait and went over to the other neomah. "Welcome to the new Gem, citizen." Spinel's eyes went wide with fear and...was it hope? Buffy hoped too. She hoped that leap wasn't going to end in a broken neck.

Angel gave her a disgusted look as she went back to the line. A few people seemed to be leaving, but not as many as she'd feared.

Whatever she had to do.

Angel met her at her cot. She hadn't been meaning to sleep long-perhaps an hour or two, maybe have a helpful dream. "I just greeted several hundred people one by one. I'm tired of talking."

"Tell me what that was back there."

"You know, most demons respect-"

Angel didn't let her finish. "I thought I knew you better than that. You can't trust her."

She folded her arms. "Maybe not. But you know what? I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting a war I can't win to kill people I like. I'll defend myself and my friends. I'll kill any demon who's actually dangerous, but-"

"And the one who isn't really your friend will blindside you." Angel was determined not to let her finish a thought, wasn't he?

"So if you're right, then what? I die. Another Slayer gets called. She fights and eventually she dies too. And so on. And on." Buffy sat down on the cot. "Where does it end? Angel, the Exalted here fought a war worse than anything we've ever had, but you know what they did after that? They made peace too. Maybe...maybe I can..."

Angel shook his head. "They made peace by locking the demons away, Buffy. They didn't make friends. They made a prison."

She squeezed her eyes shut, holding herself tighter still. "I'm not saying we can let the Yozis out, I just mean-"

"Why not? That's what the prophecy says, doesn't it?" Angel clamped his hands down on her shoulders. "Buffy, as much as I still love you, I will kill you before I let you do that."

"Try it," Buffy snarled, and shook him off. "Yes, they made a prison. Prisons have sentences that aren't eternity. Do you not understand that I can get tired of fighting?"

"Of course you can," Angel said placatingly, only to finish with, "but that doesn't mean you can just stop."

"Don't make me call Spike on you. Or the girls. They can set you on fire." Buffy didn't really want to shove him away; she just wanted support or nothing right now. "Or I could just hit you in the face and decapitate you." Why not? She could punch through solid rock. "Easy way to go."

Angel stepped away, but there was no flinchiness about the motion. "Rest then. But please, Buffy. Think about what you're doing."

"I will." There was no doubt about that.

Army as endless as the sea, far beyond what she could see. Army of twisted, gibbering things. Demons? At their head rode Dawn. "Vengeance," she said, and motioned the charge begin.

Fangs sunk into her neck. Betrayal. Pain. Darkness beneath the noonday sun. Red, red, the canals run red.

Her own reflection. Eyes flat and yellow as gold. No emotion, no mercy. No fangs?

Hand over her mouth. "Don't," Anya whispered. "Please don't." But how else could she go on?

Green eyes, red hair, skin fair as the day yet somehow glowing golden. Four arms? Never seen a man so beautiful in her life. Those eyes meet hers. He speaks. "I win."

She has no tongue to reply. Her flesh is blowing away in the wind. How could she not have known how painful it is to fall to dust?

"Told me to wake you, Slayer. You had 'em worried. Bad dreams?" Spike leaned over her.

"I'd like to see you call Cearr that. And have you ever known me to have any other kind?" She pushed herself up onto her elbows.

"Dunno. Don't usually get to watch you sleep." His eyes narrowed just a hair. "You sure what you're doing with pretty and purple?"

Buffy groaned. "You too?"

"Just looking out for you, pet. Do what you got to do."

"Yes, Spike. I'm certain. Nervous, but certain. -And before you ask, no! The answer is no! Well...as far as I can remember anyway."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Wonder what brought that on then."

"You shut up!"

The guards are growing drowsy. The day's worst heat is past. The final shift change is approaching, when they will trade off to sit in the shade and gulp water. Only a few Wyld mutants and Exalts among them could survive otherwise, and would not tolerate not receiving breaks with the rest.

Purple women's faces, pierced and hairless. No one bats an eye. Here, anything is for sale, even the services of bound demons. The neomah file slowly around the market's edge, led by a small child. No worries. They are bound, and not marottes or the like. They will do her no harm.

One by one the neomah take various positions in the market. The little girl nods to the last and wanders off.

Shift change. The guards begin to trade places. "Hey!" Everyone looks up. "I say Yozis, you say what!" A young Northern woman is standing on a rooftop, her fist thrust in the air, pumping up and down.

Some of those watching respond in confusion. "What?"

"That's it! I say Yozis, you say what!"

More people now, with an edge of apprehension. "What?" Everyone who knows what the Yozis are knows their worship is forbidden, and such things are best not discussed.

"V-I-C-T-O-R-Y! We're gonna fight in the hot-and-dry!" Instead of attacking, though, she thrusts her arms out to either side and begins some sort of musicless dance, tossing her hair from side to side, shaking her behind, leaping into the air as she kicks out both her legs... "What's that spell? Victory! Victory! Let's go girls!"

The neomah join in, shaking, twirling, jangling bracelets and hoop piercings. Confusion reigns briefly before most of the guards conclude this is some kind of show. True, it's disrupting the shift change. With five neomah and a pretty young woman involved, most conclude they should get an eyeful before their bosses intervene.

The girl flings herself into a handstand and hurtles off the roof, soaring over their heads to stick a perfect landing on another roof across a relatively narrow part of the market. Strange, some of them admit. She must be an eccentric young Dragon-Blood. That explains it, though, and they go on watching.

"Go, warriors, go! Fight for what you know! We can't be too slow! Tell me what you know!" The Northerner and her demons have resumed their strange but sexy dance moves.

Most of the market responds with silence, but scattered cries come up here and there. "Freedom!" "Wealth!" "Revolution!"

An outright display of treason? Well, about ninety percent of the guards here are mercenaries in the merchants' pay. The Despot's men will deal with it.

The Despot's men don't seem to think trouble is actually imminent. They watch the show. If the Dragon-Blood actually starts something, they'll be as ready as mortals can. One or two hurry off to inform a superior that something odd is happening. No one readies a weapon.

The Northerner drops from the rooftops, gyrating her hips as she falls. Again a perfect landing. "I say Despot, you say what?"

"Buffy!" shout the neomah. Buffy? Is that a name or a condition?

"I say Despot, you say what?"

"Buffy!" Human voices join in this time, scattered through the marketplace.

"Despot!" The increasingly worrying Dragon-Blood shakes and bounces her way down the street.

"Buffy!"

"That's right! Despot!"

"Buffy!"

"You got it! Say my name!"

"Despot Buffy! Despot Buffy!"

Buffy-if that is the Northerner's name-flings herself into a series of cartwheels. This is not standard behavior for a usurper. Could she be some kind of herald working for one? He could be moving softly through the palace while this girl holds their attention.

No one dares take their eyes off her, though. A rogue Dragon-Blood could be extremely dangerous. Who is she working for? She dances down the main square, thrusting her arms and legs to the sky.

"What do we want?"

"Freedom!"

"How do we get it?"

"Revolution!"

"When do we start it?"

The obvious answer is "Now," but instead there is only silence. At the heart of the square several hundred of the Despot's soldiers suddenly feel knifeblades pressed against their throats.

Well, shit.

"Easier than it should've been," Spike muttered. Night had fallen swiftly over the crater as the sun vanished behind its walls.

Buffy just nodded. "Most things are, for me. Ah, ah, I know what you meant. I'm watching for trouble. Still valid, though-things work that shouldn't, for people like me."

She had gathered a great pile of crates full of firedust in the center of the market with some help from her people, and surrounded them with a ringed wall of grain sacks. Rankar ought to know what that would do. A fire would send up half the city-maybe the whole city, she hadn't calculated it out-in a massive explosion. She might survive. Probably no one else would.

"He'll send assassins next," Spike warned. She hadn't seen Angel since her nap. Had he abandoned her? Well...screw him. No, bad idea. To hell with him; that worked better.

"And horses eat grass." Her personal demon had managed to teach her a little something that'd help with assassins.

"Can't believe you took the Market with a cheerleading routine." Spike settled back to scan the rooftops. "Though I do suppose they've never seen one before."

Buffy snickered. "I'm just glad it occurred to me that it was a kind of dance." Abruptly an image of the Brass Dancer waving pom-poms intruded on her thoughts and the snicker turned into choking gales of laughter. "Oh god, I might've just started a new fad in the Demon City!"

Spike gave her an uncertain laugh. She'd have to explain. She closed her mouth and tried to catch her breath and

everything went askew, slowing down

a pair of blurs appeared atop the grain sack wall, and Buffy flung herself into a backwards cartwheel just as four slim blue throwing blades shrieked by her. One embedded itself in Spike's arm and dispersed into a freakish dust devil that tossed him around. The other three embedded themselves in the soil before vanishing.

Buffy seized the Scythe and swung it around in front of her to deflect any more blades. "Oi!" Spike yelled, but she was already vaulting her way up the wall, disturbing the sacks no more than her would-be killers. She couldn't see them clearly. With a fluid motion she cut open a pair of bags near the top, filling the air with dust. They were still blurs, but they were fairly obvious blurs now.

"You sure you want to do this? Because I know how to deal with the likes of you." One faded back, letting the other charge, and she tried to flip him off the wall. Only suddenly the first had tangled his feet with hers-she saw it coming, but couldn't sidestep in time-and they all went tumbling to the pavement stones. "Dharma," Buffy said calmly.

The purple girl glanced at the crates and breathed a tiny tongue of green fire. "Go ahead," Buffy stated flatly. "Fight me. Send more assassins if you have some reserves. I bet you'll love this package I've got for Rankar."

The pair of assassins faded into view. Okay, neither was a he; her bad. Their wispy white hair floated in the breezes that surrounded them. One had ice-blue skin, the other stark white. "I will not," said the one on her left. "In fact, I request an hour for my sister and I to leave town before you try that. Rankar isn't paying us enough to face this."

"I suggest you run," Buffy murmured. "Especially if there are any more of you out there." She couldn't afford to make a deal like that and keep it.

"Very well," said the blue one on her right. "Sister?"

They ran.

"Okay," Buffy said. "Don't actually set off the bomb while I'm gone. Anyone stupid shows up, get Garima." The Water-aspect akuma could block them.

She left the square faster than the assassins had.

Buffy kept her feet pressed against the walls and her hands dug into the crevice as Rankar's remaining bodyguards walked by beneath her, two men and a huge bulk of a woman, skin obsidian, granite-grey, and the light tan of sandstone. All the same aspect. That was an oversight. Sure, Earth aspects clearly made good bodyguards, but it also left holes in their defenses. A Wood would have poisoned her to death by now.

So far she'd managed to separate off two from the group and pick them off. Take out these three and only regular guys would remain. Terrestrials might be everywhere, but they weren't dirt-common away from the Blessed Isle. Unfortunately they knew better than to split the party. Could she take three at once? Best not to risk it.

Alternatively, she could head for Rankar's panic room. She wasn't sure how to get in, though, and if these three doubled back she'd have to fight them all anyway. No...she would have to go ahead and attack. It was just a question of how.

Suddenly the woman with the shiny black skin stopped and looked up. Damn.

Buffy dropped from the ceiling. She could still run, try to string them out. Not this time, her instincts told her. What were they thinking?

Obsidian made a gesture, and the floor buckled into stony spikes. Buffy didn't let that stop her; she darted left, running on the spike tips till she reached the wall.

That burst into spikes too. Ok, this could be a problem. Sooner or later some of those would start slicing into her feet. Too bad Slayers couldn't fly. Could-? No. Best not to try, not if she could do this any other way. She was human. She needed to remember that.

On the other hand... Buffy launched into a series of cartwheels across the ceiling. If she could run across it, why not?

Sandstone lifted his hands and rock flew at her from them. Sharp edges dug into her skin, hard surfaces struck at her, but did nothing but leave a few superficial bruises. She couldn't keep this up forever; she'd run out of energy, get winded, or both.

She slid the Scythe out of the sheath on her back and flung herself at Obsidian. She was the most dangerous, changing the battlefield like that.

Buffy slammed into what felt like a wall. She passed right through it, somehow, and crashed into Obsidian. Her anima. It must be her anima. She rolled onto her back, and now she could see it, like a cloud of black dust in the air. She'd missed it in the dim lighting of the palace.

Obsidian drove a dagger into Buffy's side. The Slayer struggled to her feet and dashed away down the hall. So much for instinct. She let the dagger stay. Better to take it out later when she was safe.

Granite brought his hammer down on the floor, and her feet left the ground as it trembled. "What was that? Eight point three, maybe? You'll have to do better than that." He stared at her.

Was that the problem? She wasn't quipping enough? No, at least not all of it. She needed more offense. And a way into the panic room. And inexplicably her instincts were still telling her not to get away. No, not instinct. It was the demon in her. It must want her to fail.

"C'mon now," she snarked at Obsidian. "That the best you can do? Quit screwing with the floor and fight me!"

Obsidian smiled very slightly. "Not my job, Anathema. My job is keep you away from the Despot." She raised a hand, and a shelf of rock erupted from the wall, sliding downward to block Buffy's path down the hall. This was getting worse by the second.

Sandstone hurled another barrage of rock. It barely even grazed her; instead it struck the ceiling of a side passage and collapsed it. Could she get them to level the palace and kill Rankar themselves? Surely they'd know better.

The panic room was right next to her, but the rock walls were so thick she'd never be able to smash through them with these guys hassling her. Wait. Hang on. Something... The panic room could be easily opened from inside. No, Rankar would never open the door with the palace shaking like this. He could get out easily three or four different ways, but he would never leave till she was gone. Too bad she wasn't just trying to escape; except for the dungeons the palace was easy to leave.

Granite closed in on her, swinging his massive hammer. No way out now. They'd reduced the hallway to this little cul-de-sac and were blocking her only way out.

Through the wall, you fool! That was crazy. Did the radeken just want her dead? Do it! Go!

Granite lifted the maul, and in a flash she saw it. Buffy smirked. "None of you understand," she said softly. "You're not trapped in here with me. I'm trapped in here with you."

She spun left and smashed through five feet of volcanic stone as if it were balsa wood.

Rankar saw her and dropped to his knees. Smart man. In a manner of speaking. "Take the gems," he rasped. "The gold. Take all you want. There will always be more. Just leave me my city."

The walls were lined with tapestries and immense chests and shelves of clothes. She only needed moments. She began lifting chests and wedging them into the hole.

In the end she didn't want to do it. He was greedy scum. He dealt in slaves, in drugs, in every vice Buffy could imagine. He was a tyrant, a literal despot.

He was human.

"Take it all," he pleaded. "The stones. The city. Take my children if you want. I can have more. Do what you want with them. Just don't kill me!"

"You'd trade your kids for your own life? For your kingdom?"

"Anything! Please-"

Her face twisted into a snarl. "Wrong answer." She felt some image she couldn't quite see settle over her as she lifted the Scythe. Rankar screamed, and the stink of urine rose suddenly from him.

He didn't get the chance to scream again.

A chest crashed into her back. She felt no pain, but it smashed her to the floor. Up. Up! It toppled off her as if it weighed nothing, and she rose, grabbing the Despot's crown as she went.

"Go on then," she said. "I'm a killer. Rankar's toast. Take me out already."

"Oh, I don't even care about that," Granite muttered. "You got him. Nobody's paying us now. But you're Anathema. I'm not letting you have a kingdom, not even a shithole like this."

She was going to have to fight them. Somehow. And probably lose. Obsidian had too much power over the battlefield. But what else could she...

"Do you know why I killed him? Did you hear?"

"He was scum," Sandstone acknowledged. "He paid us nice, but he was a little shitstain of a man."

"But he paid you. And that was enough."

Granite snorted. "Going to offer to pay us off? I don't think so, Anathema. Your very existence is an offense to the Dragons."

The other two hadn't reacted. "Three times the pay," Buffy said, looking at Obsidian. "And I killed him to make him pay for his crimes. To make Gem a better place. I really don't like killing people." She turned to watch Sandstone. "Seriously. Any takers? Join my army?"

"Never," Granite growled, and raised the great maul over his head. Buffy lifted the Scythe to try and block...

Obsidian's dagger sank into his side. His eyes opened wide, and he tried to speak. Sandstone unleashed a barrage of cutting stone into his face. The dagger lifted, and fell again, into his heart this time.

The Dragon-Blood toppled, eyes already glazing over. For good measure, Obsidian slit his throat, then turned smoothly to kneel. "Four times the pay," she said calmly. "We're worth it."

Buffy lifted the crown to her head. "Deal." She'd have to watch them like a hawk. But if she had to, she could always kill them later. "Welcome to the new Gem, citizens."

Sandstone shrugged. "Whatever."

"They did what?" She calmly turnyed, letting the water in her tub lap around her chest. Only her voice betrayed her agitation.

"Anathema have taken Gem, my Lady," he said, bowing deeply for her to behead him if she chose. "By all appearances, the ringleader of those who assaulted the Lap. The description is exact."

"And are the others with her?"

His voice quivered. "We don't believe so, my Lady. There is, however, a report that one of them has been seen in the West calling himself the Dread Pirate Robards. And a doubtful tale of a city risen from the sea bed."

"Right now, General, nothing is doubtful. Your report is appreciated. I will debrief you further when I am dressed." She began to rise from the tub.

"Of course, my Lady. I will go."

A laugh rose in her throat. "I have not dismissed you, General. We have...further business first. Don't worry. I need you well for after."

"Of course. I am honored. Do as you like with me, my Lady Mnemon."

The laugh bubbled over. "I shall."