Chapter Twenty-One

The Scarred Assassin

Marci peered at the palisade bordering the village as they approached. They had left Sagan amongst the trees to avoid panicking the locals. Fymryn had wisely pulled up her hood, just in case.

'Might be better to let me do the talking.' Davion suggested.

'If you say so.' Mirana pulled up her hood too, covering her tiara. Marci left hers down. She was far less likely to be noticed. She could hear the river on the other side, gentler than she had expected considering its width.

Something was bothering her. Marci frowned as she tried to figure out what it was.

'Hail!' A sentry had appeared at the gates. 'Passing through?'

'Yes,' Davion answered. He was about to ask about supplies, but the sentry simply waved for them to enter. 'Huh. That was easier than I expected.' He muttered.

The earth gave way to dirt and wood and they stepped past the gate. The sentry watched them out of the corner of his eye.

Marci's unease increased. She tried to tell herself that he was just doing his job, just as she was wary for Mirana's sake.

She flexed her fingers and rolled her shoulders.

'I hope they have decent beer.' Davion murmured. 'I could murder a pint.'

They walked past a few low, simple wooden houses. The track was wide, the better for hauling timber. The village's equivalent of a town square was mostly filled with workbenches for woodwork. The resinous scent of freshly cut pine still lingered.

At the end of this space was the sawmill, its blade driven not by hand, but by a waterwheel. Marci could see it rising and falling, waiting for wood to be fed into its teeth.

Fymryn inhaled and peered around from under her hood. 'It's pretty quiet.'

Marci came to a halt, her mouth suddenly dry. Davion had come to the same conclusion. 'Yeah. It's too quiet.'

This village should have been busy. Lumber was their livelihood. There were many settlements in need of fresh timber, which begged a simple question: why was nobody working?

The lumberjacks could have been out cutting trees, but there should have been men taking the lumber to the mill for cutting. Women and children should have been out and around too.

But they had seen nobody except for the sentry, a sentry who had been unusually watchful for a simple militiaman.

A sentry who had spoken with an accent which should have alerted Marci. He had spoken with an Imperium accent.

Mirana had her bow in hand just as they started to appear. Men with weapons closed in on them, eager to begin the slaughter.

Marci moved to defend Mirana's back, holding her dagger. Davion did the same, putting Mirana between them. Fymryn...

Fymryn had vanished.

Marci gritted her teeth. Had this been the elf's plan all along? It wasn't like Shabarra was unwilling to use elves to do his dirty work.

'Your Royal Highness.' A man clad in lorica stood on the ramp leading to the sawmill. Two long strips of flesh had been torn from his face years ago, leaving ruddy red scars behind. From his belt hung a flail and a broad-bladed short sword. 'We meet at last. You've led us on quite the chase. Make this easy for yourself and surrender.'

'So you can kill us faster?' Mirana growled. 'If you're going to kill us, get on with it!'

Davion held out an arm to block her shot. What was he doing? 'Who are you?'

The assassin cocked his head, smirking. 'If you must know, my name is Kalin.'

'Mercenary?'

'My loyalty is not for sale, but I am well paid for my services.'

'An assassin.' Mirana grated. 'Davion—'

'Believe it or not, we have no quarrel with you, Dragon Knight.' Kalin interrupted. 'Yes, we know who you are. We stopped by your keep on the way here. It's in a sorry state.' He smirked, twisting his scars. 'All I want is the Princess and her handmaiden.'

Mirana was still itching to start loosing arrows. Marci had noticed the men with crossbows taking up positions around them. If Kalin wanted to, he could shoot them all here and now.

Davion was playing for time. 'What for?'

Kalin stared at him. Marci knew what he was going to tell Davion, and she regretted not being able to tell him herself. Would Davion continue to trust them once he knew the truth?

'They never told you?' Kalin chuckled. 'What did you think Mirana was the Princess of?'

'The Moon.'

Kalin laughed, the sound raspy and rough. 'Maybe now. But before that, she was the Princess of the Sun, heir to the Solar Throne, daughter of the Emperor of the Helio Imperium.'

Marci looked round at Davion, dread filling her gut. They had hidden the truth from him, and now he knew it. He knew that they had lied to him.

Davion shrugged. 'I guessed.'

Marci stared at him for a moment. He was taking this much better than she could have hoped. That still didn't mean that they stood a chance. They were badly outnumbered, trapped and surrounded. Their odds had been better against that sky dragon.

'Then you are smarter than I anticipated.'

'And I have no doubt that you'll kill me too.'

Kalin shook his head. 'In truth, I asked your surviving brothers if they would pay for your head. Their offers were inadequate. I will make you a better offer: stand aside and we will let you live.'

Davion scoffed. 'Scared of me?'

'Hardly. I'm tired of this chase. Stand aside, let us take these two, alive, and you can go on your way. Hell, I'll even let you have a turn with the Princess and her pet if you want.'

Davion ground his teeth, his eyes hard and his jaw clenched. He was insulted. If Slyrak emerged now... he'd ground Kalin into paste, but Marci would have to beat him up again.

'He's one of those noble sorts.' one of Kalin's men muttered. 'He wants 'em to be willing and grateful when he fucks 'em.'

'I have a better offer.' Davion announced.

'Let me guess,' Kalin pulled his flail and blade from his belt. 'We walk away and you let us live?'

'Actually, I was going to tell you to go fuck yourselves.' Davion lifted the spear. 'But you can make it easy on us. How about you walk over, one at a time, and throw yourselves on this?'

Kalin scoffed. 'You are amusing, Dragon Knight. It will almost be a shame to kill you. Almost.'

By now, the sentry had returned. He stopped, frowning severely. 'Hey! There were four of them! Where is the other one?'

Marci heard the horrible gurgling of a man choking on his own blood.

One of Kalin's marksmen had collapsed, clutching at his severed throat. A shadow darted away.

Fymryn.

'Ambush!' somebody cried. He released his arrow. The missile skittered off the ground as Fymryn ran towards another man. Davion stabbed the sentry behind them with the spear. Marci grabbed Mirana and yanked her behind the nearest house. Davion hurried over.

'Fymryn!' Mirana yelled. 'Fymryn! Get down!'

Too late.

One of Kalin's men swung his blade into Fymryn's face.

Fymryn vanished on the spot.

Marci could not stop the huff of laughter. In the heat of the moment, she had forgotten about Fymryn's abilities. The real Fymryn appeared behind another man and stabbed both of her knives into his back.

'I'll find somewhere to shoot from,' Mirana told them. 'I need you two to keep them off me.'

Marci turned her head, stuck her fingers in her mouth, and whistled loudly. Hopefully Sagan had not wandered far.

Davion lifted the spear as Mirana began to climb onto the nearest roof. 'Which side do you want?'

Marci indicated the left.

Davion nodded. Together they both ran out, trusting Mirana to deal with the archers. Marci ducked a javelin sent her way, rolling under it and coming up running, using the momentum to drive her palm into her target's sternum. She spared him no more time as he went down. She flicked her dagger into the heart of a swordsman. His weapon, a horned greatsword, clattered to the ground.

Davion brought down an oglodi mercenary, but managed to snap the spear in the process. He was down to his gauntlet-blade now.

Marci scooped up the fallen greatsword, whistled to him, and threw it, careful to make sure that it would not hit him. Davion seized it and used it to parry the mace aimed at his head.

Silvery missiles fell around the village, striking more of Kalin's men. Fymryn darted in and out of the shadows, stabbing exposed backs and cutting throats.

Marci felt something solid strike her in the back and she stumbled, falling to her knees. That street flashed before her eyes, her back stinging as it had on that day.

This time she was not alone.

As Marci wheeled round, her attacker was wrenched away, screaming, Sagan's jaws locked around his torso. The lunar tiger shook him and smashed him against the ground, crushing him in his maw.

Marci swept the legs out from another man, then finished him by driving her elbow into his face. An arrow flew over her head and struck another man in the throat. Marci seized his hammer and hurled it. It struck her target haft-first. Unfortunate, but it threw him off balance. Marci ran at him, jumping and driving her foot into his chest. Bones crunched under her heel and he went down.

As Marci smashed her fist into her next foe, Davion cut the head from his fourth opponent. Greatswords were difficult weapons to use, but Davion was naturally adept with them, and he had spent years honing his skill.

Now there was nothing between him and Kalin.

The man was a disgrace, leaving his men to fight for him instead of joining in. But as Mirana had said, he was an assassin, not a warrior, not a Knight like Davion. When he fought it was to survive by killing, not for a cause. Only when faced directly by Davion did he fight.

Davion advanced on Kalin, using the length of the horned greatsword to force him back towards the sawmill. Kalin was a savvy fighter, waiting for the perfect moment.

'Should have taken my offer, Dragon Knight!'

'I'm not the one who's losing.' Davion retorted, swinging his sword.

He had just played into Kalin's hands. Distracted and angry, his stroke went wide and the sword struck the saw blade. Davion was thrown off balance and Kalin struck, swinging the flail at his arm. It was a glancing blow, enough for the flanged head of the flail to slice skin off Davion's hand and arm and cause Davion to reflexively loosen his grip. Kalin took full advantage, knocking the sword from his hands.

Davion ejected the shard and launched himself at Kalin. His blade caught Kalin's wrist and he snarled, fumbling with his blade and losing it. The scarred assassin sidestepped, dropping his flail and wrapping his arm around Davion's head.

It was a move Marci knew well: a headlock. Kalin could now easily throttle Davion or simply snap his neck.

Kalin had a different idea. Levering Davion around, he forced his head towards the saw.

Marci sprinted towards them, whistling to Mirana.

Davion planted his feet and pushed back, trying to keep his head away from the blade. Kalin's headlock had cut off his air. He would succumb without help.

Marci might have been able to break out of the man's iron grip, but Davion had never been given the same training as her.

'Nothing personal, my friend.' Kalin grunted as he forced Davion forwards. 'Nothing personal.'

A yell and the sight of a sword rushing towards her forced Marci to stop and jump back. The steel blade struck the ground before her. Marci launched a left hook into the attacker's face, smashing his cheekbone. Marci wheeled round behind him and snapped his neck, then continued to run.

Mirana could not risk a shot. Davion was blocking her. Swearing, she slung her bow across her back and started to climb down. Sagan had started to bound after Marci, but Davion was almost out of breath.

Kalin jolted with a grunt. Behind him, materialising from the shadows, was Fymryn, her knives driven into Kalin's back.

Davion wrenched himself free. Kalin was not dead yet, his armour had deflected the knives away from his vital organs.

But he was not wearing a helm.

Davion seized the assassin and thrust his head straight into the saw. The scarred man's head came apart in a shower of viscera and bone.

Fymryn recoiled, dropping her bloodied knives. She stared at her blood-stained hands, whispering in elvish.

Davion stepped back, wiping the blood and matter off his face. He spat and muttered: 'It's always personal.' He picked up the greatsword. Turning, he guided Fymryn away from the sawmill as the saw continued its grisly work. It cut trees frequently, flesh and bone was nothing it could not handle. 'Are you hurt, Fymryn?'

Fymryn shuddered and shook her head.

Marci caught sight of the elf's wide eyes, fear and revulsion mingling in her expression. She reached over and patted Fymryn's arm gently. She sympathised. She still remembered crossing that threshold herself. A life was not something which could be returned once taken.

Fymryn had never killed somebody before now. She had killed to save them all.

Marci spared her a grateful nod, then turned to Davion. The skin on his left forearm was ragged where the flail had struck it, tattered skin hanging loose, and his teeth were gritted. It would not be stinging, it would be burning horribly.

'I'm fine.' Davion tried to play tough, hissing through his teeth. 'It's nothing.'

Marci gave him a withering look.

'Actually, it bloody hurts.' Davion winced as he moved his arm. 'Nothing broken, but it's a damn mess.'

Mirana bustled over, lugging over one of Sagan's saddlebags. 'We're safe for the moment. Davion, hold still and put that sword down. I'll take care of your arm. Marci, Fymryn, go and see if you can find the villagers.'

Marci exchanged a dark look with her. In all likelihood, the villagers were all dead. But she humoured Mirana anyway, just in case. She hoped that the locals were alive too, as unlikely as that seemed.

'Fymryn,' Mirana called, causing them to pause. She fixed Fymryn with an intense stare. 'Thank you. You saved our lives.'

Fymryn's mouth twitched minutely, but she said nothing. She and Marci set off into the village, alert and grim.


Mirana had taken the time to learn how to patch up wounds when she had joined Selemene's service. When she and Marci had fled the Imperium, they had both been put at risk of injury. Marci had taken an arrow for her, and it had only been blind luck and sympathy which had saved her.

They had run into an Imperial soldier. Under his new orders, he should have killed them both. But he had seen Mirana, a scared young woman, lost, her parents dead, weeping as she tried to protect a sixteen year old girl with an arrow in her back, a traumatised but loyal girl, her only friend in the world, who had intercepted the arrow with her own body to save Mirana's life.

Moved, the soldier had removed the arrow and treated the wound. He had then told them where to go to avoid his fellow legionnaires, and had then returned to his unit, leading them away from Mirana and Marci. He had even left some food and water for them.

Since then, Mirana had decided to learn what she could in case Marci was hurt again. She had also learned how to work a bow to further protect her. Marci was utterly lethal in close combat, but even she could not deflect arrows. As Marci kept the enemy away from Mirana, Mirana would protect her from afar. She would not forgive herself if Marci died for her. Never.

Mirana was relieved. The wounds on Davion's arm looked much worse than they actually were. A simple poultice would suffice, and he could still wield a sword.

'You're good at that.' Davion murmured.

'When you travel with Marci, you get a lot of practice.'

Davion chuckled. 'Makes sense. She does have a knack for getting into trouble.'

Mirana sighed. 'I wish she didn't have to. It's my fault.'

Davion shook his head. 'It's her choice, Mirana. She loves you. She'll die for you, and she'll do it willingly.'

Mirana's eyes hardened. 'I won't let that happen, Davion. I won't.'

'I know.' Davion murmured. 'But she won't let you die either.' He grunted as she adjusted the poultice. 'And I won't let either of you die.'

Mirana sighed again, feeling guilt well up in her heart. 'I'm sorry, Davion. I'm sorry we lied to you. We should have told you everything.'

Davion shook his head. 'I don't blame you, Mirana. Besides, I did guess. I'm not the world's smartest man, but nor am I stupid.' He smiled reassuringly at her. 'Mirana. I understand. If I had been in your boots, I might have done the same.'

Mirana smiled in return. 'I'm starting to understand why Marci likes you.'

Davion shifted and looked down at his feet. 'Mirana.'

'Yes?'

'Am I standing on any toes?'

Mirana frowned. 'What?'

'It's a figure of speech.' Davion explained, lifting his head. 'You and Marci are very close.'

'I told you: we're friends, Davion.'

Davion looked round at her, his expression full of doubt.

Mirana looked round, taking in the bodies of the men Marci had killed.

'My love and my heart belong to Selemene.' Mirana answered at last. 'Do not doubt that.' She wiped the blood off her hands. Selemene did not forbid her from having relationships with other people, so long as her love for Selemene eclipsed her love for others.

Selemene had always believed her when she answered the question She asked every time they met: "Do you love me?"

Perhaps she had believed herself. Once.

Marci had felt guilty about seeing this quest as an adventure at first. For her part, Mirana had missed Selemene and felt wretched for having been disgraced. But she had also felt guilty for two other reasons. She felt that she had neglected Marci when she had been serving as Princess of the Moon.

Mirana had also found that she too was secretly glad of the sacred mission, not because it felt like an adventure, but because it meant that she would be spending time with Marci again.

'You're not... what was it you said? "Stepping on any toes". Marci... As I said, my heart belongs to Selemene. Besides, if anything Marci sees me as a sister. She likes you, Davion.'

'I know. But I'm dangerous.'

'Then you'll make a good pair. She's dangerous too.'

Davion leaned back. 'And what about you?'

Mirana huffed. 'I want one thing for Marci: I want her to be happy. So if you hurt her, I'll make you regret it.'

Davion laughed despite his stinging arm. 'Mirana, you won't have to. I don't intend to hurt her, and if I did, she'd make me pay first.'

Mirana chuckled. She was not wrong. Marci really did have good reason to like him.

'What about Fymryn?' Davion asked. 'As you said, she saved our lives.'

'Maybe I misjudged her. But maybe I did not.' Mirana answered uncertainly. 'She sought us out, which means that she has reason to keep us alive. I'll trust her to do that, but only for now.'

'And me?'

'You, I actually trust.' Mirana replied. 'I just hope that you can keep control. Marci might have overcome your draconic side once, but we might not be so lucky again.'


Marci sighed as she picked up the stuffed animal. A horse. One side was stained with blood.

Kalin had spared nobody.

Bastard.

Marci did not like to hold grudges. Hate was destructive, especially for the one who hated.

But Kalin was one man she would have gladly killed, and not just because of this. She had not known him by name, but she remembered the scars. He had been there.

Kalin had been one of the murderers Shabarra had hired to take part in the Bloody Dance. She had briefly seen him cutting down Mirana's personal Sun Guard, Barrus, smashing his skull with that flail of his. It seemed that Shabarra had been impressed enough to make him his personal assassin.

She had liked Barrus. It was a shame he'd been put off by her inability to speak, they might have been good friends, maybe more. He had not been as gorgeous as Davion, but he had been handsome all the same.

With that flail, Kalin had made poor Barrus unrecognisable.

Marci tried not to hold grudges, hot-tempered as she could often be. But she did hold one particular grudge: she had decided six years ago that if she ever met Shabarra again, she would crush his skull.

'Marci?'

Marci looked round. Fymryn hovered in the doorway. She was nauseous. The poor girl looked like she was either about to faint or vomit.

Marci stepped outside. Fymryn pointed a shaking finger at the pier. Marci swallowed and approached, noticing spots of blood staining the wood. She knew what she would find at the end.

Marci's footsteps were soft against the wood, each step careful and each foot planted firmly as it rested just for a moment, just as she had been trained.

She found it at the end of the pier: a large bloodstain created by several bodies which had been placed here. Marci looked to the right, spotting several coils of rope. There should have been more.

Marci sighed sadly. She knew what she would see if she stuck her head in the water. Kalin and his men had bound the bodies and tied stones to them, then thrown them into the river. Every man, woman and child who had lived in the village was down there now.

Bastard.

Marci was actually glad that Davion had killed the man, though perhaps his death had been quicker than he had deserved.

Marci peered down at the toy she was still holding. She shook her head, then let the stuffed animal fall into the water.

'Why did he do it?' Fymryn whispered behind her.

Marci did not respond. How could she? Even if Fymryn had understood her as well as Mirana did, the simple truth was that there was no reason good enough.

Marci had killed many times, and she knew that she would have to kill many more times. Yet she had never killed innocents. Mirana would never ask nor expect that of her.

Part of Marci had always felt that it was wrong to leave the Imperium, their home, in the hands of Shabarra and men like him. But this was not a ballad. Mirana had never been in the position to raise an army and take back her rightful place. She had long ago accepted that there were some things out of her control, things she had no power over.

Just as she had lost her voice and would never reclaim it, she had realised that when it came to their exile, she and Mirana were powerless to change anything. Sadly, it seemed that Shabarra still had power over them.

Kalin was just one pawn, one hunter. Shabarra would never stop hunting Mirana.

Marci would never stop protecting her. Not until the last breath left her body. Or until Shabarra lay dead at her feet.

'Marci?'

Marci looked round as Fymryn placed her hand on her arm. She still looked as though she was going to be sick.

Marci sighed, put an arm around the elf's shoulders and guided her away, back down the pier. There was nothing more to be done.

They still had a job to do.


Marci found Davion scavenging some armour from one of the dead men. Mirana was recovering as many arrows as she could.

'I know I'll probably end up breaking it, but every little helps.' Davion muttered, checking a vambrace against his arm. He noticed Marci's expression and his face fell. He did not need to ask, nor did Mirana.

'There's a lumber raft.' Mirana told her. 'We can use it to travel down the river.' She approached Marci and held her upper arms. 'There's nothing we could have done.'

Marci sighed, looked to Davion and tried to sign that she was sorry.

Davion shook his head. 'It's all right, Marci. It's not like you lied to me, you just... didn't tell me everything. I was being nosy.'

Marci huffed, amused. Whatever else had happened, she was glad that he was here.

They gathered their supplies, taking what they needed from the dead mercenaries. Marci felt guilty for taking supplies from the village, even if there was nobody left to barter with now.

The raft was a crude thing, timbers lashed together and supported by more logs used as makeshift pontoons. If it had been able to transport lumber down the river, it would be good enough for the five of them. It went with the current, and had a sail and oars for the return journey, though they would not need to guide it back to the village now.

The sooner they found the lotuses, the better. Even Shabarra would think twice before attacking the Temple of Selemene. Mirana would be safe there, and perhaps Davion would be too. As for Fymryn, Shabarra had no interest in her.

How much time had Kalin's death bought them, Marci wondered. She handed another sack to Davion and then hopped down onto the raft. The craft bobbed and she overbalanced. Davion caught her arm and steadied her.

She smiled at him. Marci's mother had always told her to try to find something good in a bad situation. So she tried, every day, to think of one good thing. She could think of a few today. Mirana was alive and well and with her. Davion was still with them. Perhaps Fymryn really was trying to help them, she certainly wanted to keep them alive.

Kalin had perhaps done her a favour too. Now that Davion knew about her true homeland, she could be fully honest with him. They were going to have much to talk about.

At the very least, she was going to teach him how to break a headlock when they were back on dry land.


Vylgranox swooped over the field again, listening intently to the Thunder. The songs were still confused, yet he could sense something out of place.

His prey was moving.

Vylgranox would have to rest again tonight. Though he could fly, he was still not fully healed. Once he was done destroying the abomination Slyrak had become, he would have to discover what had happened to Uldrak.

He could faintly sense the other Eldwurm, faintly. Perhaps Slyrak's murderer had killed him too and had fully consumed him.

Vylgranox alighted in the field, growling. Did the Dragon Knight not know what he was doing? Did he not know what power he was meddling with?

Though he despised them, as they despised him, Vylgranox knew that the eight Eldwurms existed for a reason. Their souls had to remain inviolate and whole, lest creation itself became corrupt.

If that came to pass, Vylgranox would have only duty left to perform: to ensure the end of all things.

Including himself.


Terrorblade watched from the mountain ridge as Vylgranox took wing once again. For all his power, the Outcast and the Arbiter, Eldwurm Unrecognised, was a fool.

Time was on Terrorblade's side.

The un-dead rustled and groaned behind him. He ignored them. The corpse he possessed was finally starting to succumb to rot and ruin. He was going to need a new host soon.

He did not worry as he watched a sky dragon glide towards its nest, something large in its talons. There were plenty of better options.

Behind him, a procession of un-dead dragged and pushed the Direstone between them. He'd only needed a piece to make them compliant. For the coming battle, he was going to need as much power as he could get.

A dragon would make this so much easier.

Terrorblade smiled and drew his vessel's sword. The un-dead followed, new corpses clad in the armour of Dragon Knights amongst them. It was fitting that they were part of his growing army now.

He had a dragon to kill.


Rasolir, eight years ago...

Kashurra looked down at Marci as she came to a halt. She had changed a great deal since her last day in the slums. She was slim as opposed to skinny, and she had grown taller. Though she was clad in finer clothes and wore proper sandals now, he could tell that she had not forgotten where she had come from or who she was.

That was good. Though the past could be a source of pain, it could also be a font of conviction.

She looked up at him questioningly. It was odd to see her without Mirana. The two were inseparable. If they had not looked so different, one might have mistaken them for sisters.

Kashurra gestured at the library shelves. 'You know where we are.'

Marci nodded, still curious.

'There is something I need to show you, something important.' Kashurra spoke softly and quietly. 'This way.'

Marci hesitated. She lifted her hands and placed both against her brow, sideways. She was miming the tiara Mirana had been given. For her eighteenth birthday, the Emperor had presented her with the ceremonial tiara worn by every Prince or Princess of the Sun. It was how the successor was marked.

One day soon, a new Empress would take the Solar Throne.

Kashurra was one of the few who knew the truth: the Emperor was dying. His physicians predicted that he had three, maybe four years left to live. For all their teaching and the magical scrolls they kept, there were some things beyond their skill.

Shabarra knew.

This was why Kashurra was taking a precaution. If Shabarra decided to act upon the Emperor's weakness, there was only one person in the Imperium—if not the entire world—who could be trusted to get Mirana to safety. Kashurra trusted nobody else, not even Garrisan or Hyses.

Though Kashurra had not accused Shabarra of anything, he had spoken to the Emperor about potential threats to Mirana. He too had agreed that if the worst came to pass, there was one person could ensure Mirana's safety: Marci.

Nobody was more devoted to Mirana than she was, and wherever Mirana went, she would follow.

'What I am about to show you will help to keep her safe.' Kashurra assured her. He was not lying.

Marci trotted along after him. Though she walked more carefully, planting each foot firmly before moving on, her gait still recalled that skinny slum-rat she had once been. There had been times when Kashurra, wandering the palace at night, unable to sleep, had heard singing or whistling coming from Mirana's chamber.

Mirana protected Marci, just as Marci would protect her. Where Mirana led, Marci would follow, so it would always be until the end of their days together.

'Here.' Kashurra stopped opposite a mirror on the seemingly solid wall. 'Watch carefully.' He slid a hand beneath the mirror and slid the panel underneath aside. Inside was a small lever, which he pulled. The wall slid aside to reveal a long, dark passageway.

Marci peered into it, her soft amber eyes wide.

'Do you understand why I am showing you this?'

Marci looked up at him, thought for a moment, then nodded firmly.

'Good. If the worst should happen, it will fall to you to protect the Princess.' Kashurra pointed down the passageway. 'This leads to a ladder which will take you beneath the city. The passageway ends just outside the city walls. It can only be opened from the inside and is hidden underground.' He closed the passageway. 'You must tell no-one else about this, do you understand?'

Marci mimed the tiara again.

'Yes, but she cannot tell anybody else either.' Asking Marci to keep secrets from Mirana was pointless.

Marci looked worried. She made a similar sign, but lifted it higher this time and angled her hands more acutely. She was perceptive. She had been trained to be so, and even before that she would have been used to assessing people. She had been a fighter, knowing an opponent was a vital part of any battle.

She must have noticed that the Emperor's health was declining. Had she told Mirana? Kashurra was unsure. Perhaps she had not wanted to worry her friend. Maybe she had hoped that whatever he was suffering from was a minor malady.

Kashurra placed a hand on her shoulder. 'You must be strong, Marci. Even if peace persists, Mirana will have enemies when she takes the Solar Throne. Would you give your life for her?'

Marci nodded, her eyes hardening with determination.

'Would you give your life for the Imperium?'

She nodded again.

'Good.' Kashurra smiled. 'But I would like you both to live, and Mirana will need you. When people depend on you, when they love you, you must not be too quick to cast your own life aside. Not if they need you to live for them.'

Marci frowned, but nodded anyway.

'Remember what I showed you today.' Kashurra whispered. 'And remember that Mirana will need you. Though you may be willing to die for her, she will need you to live. Remember that, Marci.' He realised that he was starting to unnerve her. He smiled and steered her towards the library door. 'Let's not dwell on such things right now. You'll have to pass the kitchens on the way back. I expect you're hungry as always.' When she looked up, concerned, he winked down at her. 'Don't worry. I've always known about those little raids you and Mirana perform. But I won't tell a soul, Little Sunbeam.'

Innocence was precious. Kashurra hoped that Marci and Mirana could hold onto theirs for a little longer.

Some things could never be restored once lost. It was a lesson Marci knew all too well. And so did he.


Blame Skyrim. Those lumber/sawmills have such terrible health and safety standards, don't they?