Chapter 43: Desire for Victory

The door to the captain's quarters gave a familiar creak as Chris pushed it open. She paused on the other side of the threshold to take in the scene.

Shadows embraced the room. Alron leaned on a table covered with a sprawl of unrolled maps. His arms were stretched out to the side, and the light of a lantern hanging above the table gave him a halo of golden light. One of the Goddess' angels, ripped straight from the stained-glass windows of Vinay's grand cathedral. A convincing illusion, if you did not know Alron's nature.

Alron turned at the sound of the door. In the gloom, Chris saw irritation flash across his face. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light from the hallway, irritation turned to pale shock.

"Hello, Alron."

The look of confusion on the fallen knight's face was delicious, but it took him only a moment to regain his composure. When he spoke, his voice was remarkably flat. "You have more lives than an alley cat, woman. I thought you'd be dead by now. How in the world did you get in here?"

Chris entered the room as if she was in no particular hurry. Let him sweat. Let him wonder, she thought. She took her time in dressing down the state of the room, taking in the tousled bedsheets in the misaligned bedframe, the jumbled books on the shelves and on the floor, and the discarded garments that festooned the window frames and chair backs—apparently the man's dirty laundry.

"I climbed," she said. Alron looked at her in disbelief. His hand twitched near the hilt of the sword fastened at his waist, but he made no move to draw the weapon, yet. She saw his eyes casting beyond her, trying to pierce the gloom of the corridor outside. He must be wondering if I came alone, she thought. "What is the matter, 'Captain' Alron? Why do you neglect to raise the alarm? Surely your faithful subjects would come rushing to your aid in a heartbeat and help to drive out the invader."

Alron gave no reply beyond a sullen glare. She had hit a nerve. Still, for a man about to find himself in a life-or-death duel, he seemed as calm as the moon in the night sky. And with good reason. The Crown Rune that gleamed on the hilt of his sword would defeat all rune magic directed against him, and the Gale Rune, hiding under a calfskin glove, bolstered Alron's already formidable swordplay to truly frightening levels. Even so, Chris felt strengthened in her conviction that in confronting the false knight face to face, she had made the right choice.

She could have snuck into the captain's quarters and struck at him from the shadows. She could have bashed the door down and launched an immediate ambush, taking him by surprise. But this was a matter between knights, and regardless of how far Alron had fallen, the matter should be settled in the way of the knights.

"You ask how I got in here," she said. "But the real question is, why are you here? You act as if I am the intruder, but really, it is you who are the intruder. You do not raise the alarm because you cannot be sure who will come running. You know that most of the men at this castle are still loyal to the council, and to the true captain of the knights. You are a traitor, and you do not belong here." She placed a hand at the hilt of her sword. "Do the honorable thing, Alron. Surrender."

She could hear the calfskin of Alron's gloves crinkle as the man balled his hands into fists. "Spare me," he said, voice nearly a snarl. "You dare to call me a traitor? YOU? It was yourcoddling of the barbarians that plunged us into this crisis. I'm a patriot. And I'm here to clean up your mess." As if for emphasis, Alron slammed a fist against the tabletop, causing the maps to leap and flutter. "You don't deserve to be captain of the knights. You're an embarrassment."

Chris felt her cheeks burn. "Coddling! Insolent knave! Where were you when we clashed with the Grasslanders at Nelam's Ford? Where were you when Sir Galahad and Sir Pelize fell in battle? I was there. I fought beside them. I shed blood with them!" She slapped a fist against her chest so hard it hurt. "You say I coddle the Grasslanders? What rubbish. I have only ever acted in the best interests of our people. Your actions at Karaya brought shame to the Knights of Zexen. You would call yourself captain of the knights? You are not even worthy of being called a knight!"

Chris felt a hot flush of shame as the words finished pouring out of her. She should not have lost her composure. She had played right into his hands.

A smile played on Alron's lips as he drew his sword. "You do not have the right to judge me, woman. You're no longer captain in the eyes of the people. In fact, you're not even alive! You died at Iksay, remember?"

"As a matter of fact," Chris said, drawing her sword, "I do not."

Alron shrugged. "Let me remind you, then."

Light flashed from the calfskin glove on Alron's hand. When he charged, he moved in a blur, so fast the air rippled around him.

Like a bolt loosened from a crossbow.

Lily had a few heartbeats to process what was about to happen. The soldier on the stairs—Wispy—had just emptied his lungs and now fumbled with the sword at his hip. Below the stairs, voices answered the man's cry, and boots slapped against stone.

First things first—Lily loosed the most devastating oath she could imagine, so vile that her mother must be turning in her grave at all the way back in Tinto. Secondly, she launched herself down the stairs and led with the point of her rapier.

Wispy didn't have time to draw his sword after all. Lily struck like a viper. The rapier's point bit through an unprotected point on the man's shoulder and came back out scarlet. The Harmonian soldier did the only thing he could—he fell backwards, and tumbled down the stairs making a terrible racket.

Lily high-stepped back up the stairs and looked around as she caught her breath. The winch sat unattended in the middle of the room, chains of ten-inch-thick links stretched taut from the spool. It looked as heavy as lifting barrels full of wine.

Shouting voices massed at the bottom of the stairs. Wispy was dragged out of sight, and then the conversation started. Frantic plans made. Appeals tossed up the stairs at the intruders. Lily only took a vague sort of notice of it. Her mind was elsewhere. How many soldiers in a place like Brass Castle? A fortress of this size would need a hundred men just to form a skeleton crew. In times of war, how many more were gathered here? Five hundred? A thousand? How many of them were Harmonians? And did it even matter, when the Zexen soldiers saw outlanders tampering with the front gates? Things were about to get very dicey indeed.

Lily turned to Nash, then stabbed the air in the direction of the winch. "Get the gates open, now!"

Nash jumped to the task, squirreling away a pair of throwing daggers into hidden sheaths Lily could not see. The spy grabbed the handle, braced himself against the wall, and used the force of his entire body to turn the winch. Slowly, as the torque applied, the chain wrapped around the spool, and iron protested loudly from below as the twin portcullises rose into the ceiling of the tunnel opening into Brass Castle.

Unfortunately, the soldiers down there were getting the idea. Their shouts were growing more agitated by the moment, and Lily had a notion that they would tire of threats and exhortations shortly. Judging by the pace at which Nash was grinding away at the winch, it'd be a minute or two before the gates were open, and then there was the matter of holding the gates open long enough for the Karayans to charge through. Tough odds, but then Lily had never shied away from a fancy gamble.

Lily swung around, taking in the situation. Besides the stairs, which were wide enough for two men to come rushing up at once, there was the matter of the two doorways leading out onto the battlements. Give the soldiers a chance, and soon enough they'd come pouring through all three openings, like a colony of rats smoked out of their lair.

"Yumi, can you collapse the doorways? Or the stairs?"

The Kinese woman shook her head so hard her bangs leaped back and forth. "Not without the risk of collapsing the whole runes-damned gatehouse!"

Again, Lily let loose one of the most colorful oaths she could imagine. Heart pounding in her chest, she looked around for good ideas. Barrels stacked against one wall. Cloth banners bearing the Zexen arms hanging from the walls. A single crate. Torches set in rusted iron sconces in the corners of the room.

Outside, boots clattered on stone, drawing ever closer.

Biting her lip, Lily ran over to the crate. She gestured to Yumi, said, "Help me with this!" She gave it a shove, put her whole back into it, but the crate barely shifted an inch. Lily groaned in frustration. What was it filled with, lead? Only when Yumi threw her weight against the crate did it start to cooperate. Together, they pushed it to one of the doorways and wedged it stuck in the portal.

Yumi wiped sweat from her brow. "What now?"

Lily threw herself at the banners, tearing them from the walls one by one and tossing them to Yumi. "Drape these over the crate!"

A look of confusion on her face, Yumi bundled up the banners and did as she was told, bless her. Lily wrenched a torch free from its socket, ran over to the crate and the draped banners, and put the flame to the fabric. The flame kindled, and soon enough the banners were smoldering atop the crate, filling the doorway with fire and smoke.

The creak of the winch filled the gatehouse. Nash grunted with effort as he shunted the lever round and round. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Lily swiveled to face the stairs and saw soldiers running up the steps.

Lily threw her weight against a barrel and pushed it onto its side. The barrel wobbled and spun, and Lily had to put her shoulder to it to get it still. Liquid sloshed inside the container—wine, perhaps, or water, if the soldiers weren't so lucky. Slapping her palms against the coarse banded wood, she pushed, driving it before her to the top of the stairs. Once she got it rolling, it was all she could do to keep up with the thing. The barrel raced over the top step and went airborne. Gods only knew what the soldiers coming up the stairs saw, but they had time to scream. There was a loud crash, and then men and barrel tumbled to the bottom of the stairs. Sounds of wood splintering and then the moans of wounded men reached Lily at the top of the stairs, along with the glug-glug of liquid spilling from the broken container. With a dark sort of humor, it occurred to Lily that whatever had been in that barrel, what should have brought joy to these men had instead brought pain.

The traitorous barrel bought them some time, but not much. There were more shouts from below, now, and Lily could hear the soldiers working their way up the battlement to surround them. At the bottom of the stairs, the soldiers hesitated, wary of similar tricks, but they would not be held for long. She crept towards the stairs, peering over the top step to spy on the soldiers massing below.

A crossbow bolt zipped up from the bottom of the stairs, struck the brick wall behind Lily with a loud THWACK.

Lily's blood froze. Cursing, she scrambled back on her palms, panting for breath. She'd felt the air shift, and she'd seen the bolt out of the corner of her eye. Any closer, and it would have been in her eye. Once she'd crawled out of sight of the stairs, she got to her feet and ran over to the barrels, rolling another one over and preparing to send it down the stairs the moment she heard footsteps.

"It's done," Nash hollered. "The gates are open!" Indeed, the rattle of chains had ceased, and Lily looked over to see Nash pinning the winch into position with a wedge-shaped wooden block. His task complete, the spy hurried to her side, ducked behind a barrel, and pulled a throwing dagger from his sleeve to cover the open doorway.

Yumi slid into place beside them, bow in hand. The Kinese warrior had been firing arrow after arrow down the stairwell, but she was running out of arrows. "What's the plan?" she said.

Lily furrowed her brow. "We need to signal the Karayans."

Yumi gestured at the banners burning atop the crate in the doorway, churning smoke into the night sky. "They'd see that, right?"

"Not clear enough," Lily said. "Could be mistaken for a fire in the keep."

Nash narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Torch. Throw it over the side of the battlements. That oughta do it." He poked up for a glance over the barrel, apparently saw something that filled him with confidence, flashed a mad grin at Lily and Yumi, and leaped to his feet. Nash covered the distance to the corner of the room in three long strides and snatched the torch from the wall in a single motion.

Not fast enough. Arrows slapped the wall right near the man's face. Nash somersaulted forward, tucking into a roll, and came up beside Lily and Yumi holding the torch. "Phew," said the spy.

Flinching at the heat of the flame, Lily hesitated only for a heartbeat before snatching the fire brand from Nash's hand. Her face felt uncomfortably hot with the flame so close.

She waited for the archers below to fire another volley of arrows, then darted from her hiding place. She dashed through the open doorway opposite the burning crate, and emerged onto the parapet, out into the night. Only now did it occur to her just how crazy this course of action was. The battlements and the courtyard below were crawling with soldiers, many of them with bows or crossbows. The air filled with flitting arrows and bolts. Some of them pinged the low wall of the battlement beside her. It was dark, thank the gods, but it was only a matter of time before someone got in a lucky shot.

Ahead, by the corner turret where the battlements met, torches appeared, approaching fast. Six soldiers—Harmonians, Zexens, she couldn't say—charged down the wall towards the gatehouse. The two men in the front raised crossbows at the sight of her.

Saying a silent prayer, Lily turned to the crenellated wall. Winding up her arm as far as she could, she flung the torch with all her might. The burning brand tumbled end over end into the canyon. Had she stayed to watch, she would have seen a bright light plunge into the chasm. She would have seen a beacon burning in the night, like a falling star descending into the depths of the earth.

She didn't stay to watch.

Alron charged at Chris like a bolt launched from a crossbow. She had the space between two heartbeats to make her choice. She stepped back across the threshold, and slammed the door shut.

The fallen knight's body struck the inside of the door with a terrible crash. There came a groan, and then a snarl that turned into a shriek of rage. The door shuddered as Alron threw his body weight against it. The first blow gave her a warning. The second blow threw open the door and knocked Chris back so hard she struck the opposite wall of the hallway.

Chris awakened her Water Rune and hurled daggers of ice at the knight. Even as she summoned the magic, she knew it was a useless gesture. As they came within inches of Alron's face, the razor-sharp icicles shattered into a fine mist. No assault from a lower order rune could pierce the defense of the Crown Rune.

But it did make him flinch.

Years of sword drills and countless sparring sessions had taught Chris to exploit such openings. She did not hesitate. A neat little lunge brought her past his guard. She stabbed her sword at his unarmored chest. Years of practice told her the blow would strike home. Reality begged to differ.

Alron reacted more slowly than she had expected. But the Gale Rune made up the difference. She did not even see the false knight's sword move. She only felt her own blade get knocked aside, the parry so forceful it spun her sideways. There was no time to recover, no time to close her guard. All Chris could do was guess.

She ducked.

A rush of air passed overhead. The sword struck the wall with the crack of a lumberjack's axe—stuck to the wood paneling. Chris' blood froze when she realized how close she had come to feeling that blade at her throat. She danced back and regained her balance. By the time she had decided to counter-attack, Alron had already torn his sword free and continued his assault.

Chris slapped aside a pair of sloppy blows of Alron's sword as she backed up the hallway towards the great hall. Perhaps she was not thinking straight, perhaps she was sealing her fate, but her instincts told her to seek a larger space. But more than anything, she needed time to think. Each stroke of the false knight's sword gave her a piece of the puzzle. The Gale Rune made Alron swifter than death itself, but it was clear that the rune could do nothing for his reactions. He could be beaten. She just needed time to figure Alron out.

Before Alron figured her out.

The hallway yawned open into the great hall and the crackling fire of its hearth. As she passed the threshold, Alron pressed the attack. Chris had begun to see patterns. She blocked the blow meant for her gut. But Alron's sword flashed impossibly quick, dancing back like a hummingbird from a stroke that should have committed him to the attack, should have opened him up to a counter stroke. Instead, Alron brought the blade around in, well, Chris was not sure what he did. It all happened so fast, the only clue she had was the sudden blossom of pain on her cheek.

Chris threw herself back, clutching a hand to her cheek in a panic. She did not know what to expect. Pain? Numbness? She was not sure what was worse. But the pain never blossomed beyond a slight sting. When she looked at her hand, it came away barely blotted with spots of red.

Alron sauntered into the great hall after her, grinning. "First blood. You're proving more troublesome than I thought. But no matter. Look around," he said, gesturing to encompass the great hall, "This is the place in which you'll die, traitor." Pacing back and forth at superhuman speed, Alron took in her garments and sneered. "How fitting that you should come here wearing the garb of a barbarian harlot."

Letting Alron talk suited Chris just fine. She was grateful for even the shortest lull in the fight. She needed time to catch her breath, to think.

In all her years in the sparring rings and on the battlefield, Chris had often faced formidable foes, sometimes ones she knew she could not expect to defeat. Borus, for example, had been a genius with the sword. The only times she had bested him was when his sentiment for her had gotten the best of him. Once she had made it abundantly clear that she would tolerate no coddling, she had never once defeated him.

Indeed, Chris knew what it felt like to fight a losing battle. But never before had she faced a foe whose movements she could not even register. It was becoming clear to her that the longer this fight wore on, the more certain would be her defeat.

Boots came pounding down the great hall, accompanied with the clink of armor. "Sir Alron! Captain!" The voice was that of a young man, a soldier. A stranger to Chris. The boy had been running, and when he spoke, the words tumbled breathlessly from his mouth: "Intruders! The eastern gatehouse… They're trying to open the portcullis!" Seeing Chris, the boy stopped short in confusion.

Even in the dim light from the hearth, there were details in the young man's garb and armor, the way he moved, the way he saluted when he caught sight of his captain, that told Chris all that she needed to know. The young man's unmistakable Vinay accent only sealed it in her mind. This boy was Zexen, not Harmonian.

The soldier took in the scene playing out in the great hall. Invaders at the gates. A stranger with a sword, dressed in Karayan garb. The captain of the knights, his sword drawn as well. The young man drew in a sharp breath and pulled a sword from its sheath. To his credit, his hands only shook slightly. "Stand back, knave! Harm the captain, and it'll be the last thing you do!"

Chris cursed inwardly. She backed into the middle of the room, trying to keep her eyes on Alron and the young soldier at the same time. She raised a hand, said, "Stand down, soldier! I am your true captain, Chris Lightfellow!"

The soldier lurched to a halt. His mouth did gymnastics trying to work through his confusion. He had gotten close enough to see her face, and what he saw there must have filled him with just enough doubt to lower his sword.

"Lady Chris…?"

Alron charged. The false captain shot forward like a thrown javelin. Chris spun to face him, raising her sword to block the attack she knew was coming. Instead, she felt a rush of wind as Alron sped right past her. It was only when she turned around that she understood what he had done.

The young soldier's mouth hung open in disbelief. Blood trailed from his lower lip. He was making retching noises, like a man trying to vomit, but what he really was trying to expel was three feet of steel thrust right through his gut.

Alron slid the sword back out, whipping blood over the floor. The young soldier collapsed in a clatter of armor and scrape of boots.

Chris felt her mind explode into a red mist of rage. She wanted to throw herself at him and tear him with tooth and nail. She wanted—needed—to make him suffer. But some small part of Chris still knew that this would be a mistake. All she had was her wits. Without that, the false knight and his damned rune would cut her down in a heartbeat. Somehow, with an effort that felt equal to moving a mountain, Chris regained control of herself. Still her chest heaved like a bellows.

"Murderer," she said. Her voice sounded torn and ragged. "You are a monster, not a knight."

Alron appeared not to have heard a word she said. He frowned down at the young man's body, then said: "What have you done, traitor? Who are these intruders in my fort? More treasonous pigs? Or is it barbarian scum?"

Chris' mind was slowly clearing. The anger was still there, but disgust was winning out. "You just butchered your own soldier for fear he would turn on you when he recognized his rightful captain. This is not your fort, Alron. It never was. And I am taking it back."

A dark look came over Alron's face. Chris had seen it before, on the battlefield. It was the look of a man consumed by the singular need to kill. The false knight charged at her, his every step equaling a great leap forward. Chris knew the attack that was coming would be too fast to see. But any strength could be used against you. Even speed.

With a thought, Chris awakened her Water Rune. Attacking Alron directly was useless. But there was more than one way to wield the power of the runes, and Chief Rina had taught her some tricks. She took the magic that blossomed from the rune and poured it all at the air in front of her. Ice crystals gathered, solidified, and froze into a single sheet that thickened to an opaque shield.

A barrier anchored against the stone floor.

Alron was going too fast, and his reflexes could not keep up. He hit the ice shield at full thrust. The impact was strong enough to crack the barrier, sending shaved ice spraying. Alron slumped to the floor, and for a moment it looked as if he might not get up. Then he shook himself. In a heartbeat, he was on his feet again.

Blood trickled from Alron's forehead. His cheek was swollen and bruised. "You'll pay for that," he groaned. Then he set after her.

Chris ran the only way she could go—down the hallway, back the way they had come. Towards the captain's quarters. She threw up barriers as she ran, rapidly exhausting the magic of her rune. Alron was learning from his mistakes. He followed warily, smashing or bypassing the barriers. She was slowing him down, but even at half speed, the false knight was faster than her.

Crossbow bolts chased Lily back into the gatehouse. She slipped through the doorway and pressed herself flat against the inside wall. The gods had to have good taste, for when she patted herself down, her hands came away damp with sweat but not a drop of blood.

Inside, Yumi formed a one-woman archery squadron, firing arrow after arrow from her near-empty quiver down the stairs, and making the Harmonians dance with each slap of an arrowhead striking the stones. Nash filled his hands with a seemingly unending supply of throwing daggers, launching them down the stairs whenever the soldiers grew too bold. Together, they had held the Harmonians at bay while Lily signaled the Karayans. But now the tide was turning.

The Harmonians' patience had run out.

"The Karayans?!" Yumi asked, face flushed with the effort of her task.

"They're coming," Lily said. "They saw the signal. They must have." And indeed, she could hear the collective rumble of hooves approaching the keep from the bridge outside the gatehouse, along with the ululating cries of Karayan warriors charging into battle. The soldiers in the courtyard, Harmonians and Zexeners alike, gathered by the mouth of the gatehouse to defend the keep. They still vastly outnumbered the Karayans. Lily, Yumi, and Nash had done what they could, but the rest of it all hinged on Chris. Without the appearance of the true captain of the knights, they could fight as hard as they pleased, and it still wouldn't matter one lick.

Where was Chris? Surely the knight would have engaged Alron in battle by now. What did it mean that she hadn't returned? Could Alron—gods forbid—have been victorious? But no: if he had, wouldn't he be in the courtyard by now, hollering and spitting his orders at his lackeys?

Somewhere in the keep, Chris was still fighting. It was the only thing that made sense.

"Hold out," Lily said, as much to herself as to anyone. "Just a little longer!"

From the battlements came the rustle and clink of armor as a group of soldiers charged the gatehouse's unobstructed doorway. A synchronized hail of crossbow bolts zipped through the opening, driving Nash and Yumi back into cover. At the bottom of the stairway, the brave and the foolish gathered with pikes and spears to challenge Yumi's bow and Nash's daggers.

Lily looked around for another way out. It was a pointless gesture born of desperation. Unless she had a mind to climb over the burning crate that filled the opposite other doorway, there was no escape from the gatehouse.

The stone shuddered under their feet as riders thundered through the open passage below. Attackers and defenders alike bellowed battle cries, and the two forces met at the mouth of the tunnel with a great crash. The sounds that followed—clanging steel, wet slaps, crushing bones—described utter carnage.

In the winch house above, the Harmonians burst through the doorway, hollering, bristling with swords. A moment later, more soldiers poured up the stairs, like some reverse flood.

"Tinto and justice!" Lily shouted—shrieked, maybe—and leaped into the fray. As she engaged the soldiers, something magical happened. Fear, fury, and frustration mixed a mélange so overwhelming, it exploded through her mind. A bloody inspiration descended upon her. Her rapier danced in her hands, darting, stinging, dashing, SINGING with desperate need. Like a tailor with his pins, molding his sartorial masterpiece about the limbs of his unsuspecting victim, Lily was the artist and her rapier was the tool. As for the Harmonians, well, she hoped on some level they could appreciate her artwork.

Lily fought like a woman possessed. A blade nicked her shoulder; she hardly noticed. Someone's elbow knocked the wind out of her; she bounced back with her next breath. The hilt that cracked her jaw was harder to ignore.

Lily stumbled back through a fog of confusion. The spell had broken, and though half a dozen dead Harmonians choked the doorway, still more were coming. It occurred to Lily that all she could do was to have some dignity and make a beautiful corpse.

Nash stepped in front her. What struck Lily was how calm his voice was when she spoke. "Milady, allow me." She had just a moment to glance at the man's eyes, and in just a heartbeat she read the emotion there: an immense regret. She couldn't quite understand this, but then she didn't get a lot of time to think about it.

The next few moments would remain forever etched into Lily's mind. For as long as she lived, she would always remember Nash Latkje drawing twin slender swords from their secret sheaths. The Harmonian soldiers came at him in formation, twenty men against one. Nash rolled his shoulders to loosen his joints.

What happened next was, well, Lily wasn't sure. The spy did something she couldn't quite catch, and the swords in his hands fell to pieces—like segments of sliced cucumber, was the thought that came to her—and extended into an articulated, segmented whip of steel shards. As the enemy soldiers closed the distance, Nash spun the whip-blades like a dancer's ribbons. And the soldiers simply fell. The slightest touch from Nash's strange weapons felled them like wheat under the scythe. Step by step Nash advanced, unleashing a whirlwind of death of destruction.

The struggle—perhaps 'performance' was a better word for it, Lily thought—lasted only for a few heartbeats, but it felt like an interminably long time. When it was over, Nash stood amid the carnage, surrounded by the dismembered remains of what had until recently been men. Somehow, impossibly, he was completely untouched by their blood.

Lily shook off the fog in her mind. Her shoulder ached where the blade had nicked her, and her head felt like it was going to split where the soldier's hilt had slammed into her jaw. She turned her attention to her companions.

"Nash…?" she said. When she got no reply, she exchanged a look with Yumi. The Kinese warrior's face had drained of all blood, and her eyes had a haunted look to them. Lily wondered what she looked like herself.

Nash was breathing heavily, and his body shook as if recovering from some great effort. He swayed on his feet as if drunk, and hung his head so that his blonde hair made a curtain around his face. With each ragged breath, the spy groaned.

Slowly, Nash lifted his head. He drew a deep, ragged breath. Hands shaking, he twisted something on the handles, and the strange weapons snapped back into sword form. The blades, too, were bloodless. Nash returned the weapons to their secret sheaths somewhere in his sleeves, and turned to face Lily and Yumi.

"I'm fine." He managed a roguish smile. A lock of his hair had come undone, and now hung down over his cheek. "Let's go. There's still a castle to win."

And indeed, from below the sounds of a furious melee still rang out. The Karayans were giving as good as they got, but the fight was far from done. And without Lily and her allies, the battle might be decided before Chris returned.

Lily did her best to ignore the remains of the slaughtered soldiers that carpeted the winch house. It wasn't easy, considering the floor was slick with their blood, but it should have been even harder. She should have been sick with the sight, but instead she felt numb, as if she had lost all feeling in her soul. She swallowed hard, then nodded. "Let's go."

Chris burst into the captain's quarters. She stopped short of the map-covered table and turned to face the door. From the corridor came the sounds of ice shattering, and frozen crystals sprayed past the door.

Alron flashed past the opening. The man was moving so fast, by the time he slowed down, he slid past the door. His boots skidded on the floorboards and he roared in frustration. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway. The fallen knight's face was bruised and battered where he had greeted Chris' ice barrier in too friendly a manner. His breath came hard and shallow. He looked a mess.

Chris felt no better. Her lungs burned with each breath, and her arms, already tired from the climb, could barely hold her sword up.

She leaned back against the table to catch her breath. A breeze from the open window rustled the maps laid out there. From outside, Chris heard distant cries, and the clash of steel mixed in with the thunder of horses' hooves. Chris smiled. For once, the sounds of battle gave her great comfort.

"Do you hear that, Alron? The end has come for you. Even if you kill me, you cannot stop what has begun. We are taking this castle back."

She had expected Alron to charge at her in fury and end it right there. Instead, the man surprised her by stopping suddenly, ten feet away. "Get up," he growled. "I want you to be standing when I shove my sword through your chest."

Chris tried to laugh, but the sound that came out was a hacking cough.

"I said, 'get up'!" Alron screamed. His snarl showed rows of white teeth with blood running down them.

The man's anger confused Chris. She suspected a trick, but what was the point of that, now? She was barely fit to swing a sword, and Alron still had the Gale Rune. She was at his mercy. But then she had a sudden realization.

For all his cruelty and cold ambition, there was still a part of Alron that remained a knight. As vile and twisted as he had become, Alron still held to certain ideals. He still had—or believed he had—his honor.

He still believed justice was on his side.

"Tell me something, Sir Alron," Chris said, granting the man the honorific that, in his mind, he deserved. "Throughout this conflict, no one has advocated the destruction of the Grasslanders more than you. Why do you go to such lengths? What quarrel have you with the Grasslanders?"

Alron's eyes narrowed. The question seemed to confuse him. "Me? We all… All of Zexen has a quarrel with the barbarians… For decades we've tolerated their raiding, their killing… You think… You would let those crimes go unpunished—"

"Punishment, is it?" Chris asked. "I call it revenge."

"Revenge is justice!"

"No. Justice is healing. Where is the healing in your revenge? By striking back, you merely invite a violent response. Revenge after revenge after revenge… When will it end?"

Alron barked an angry laugh. "It will end when the last barbarian is dead or driven from our borders."

"They are our neighbors. Not rats to be exterminated."

A sound of fury ripped from Alron's throat. The fallen knight lunged, and his sword descended in a brutal arc. Chris flinched, but the blade never touched her. Instead it smacked into the tabletop, launching splinters of wood.

Alron's sword arm trembled with emotion. "Neighbors! Neighbors do not murder one another…"

Chris pushed herself onto her feet, sensing Alron's distraction, wagering that he would not cut her down. Not yet. The fallen knight had drawn his sword back from the table and now let it hang from his trembling hand. He made no move to stop her or to attack. "This is not about Zexen," she said. "It is personal. You hate them. I see it in your eyes."

In the dim lamplight, Alron's face softened as anger turned to something Chris thought might be sorrow. "I remember," he said. His breathing had calmed and he spoke softly now. "The fire. The blood. I was just a child when…" His jaw clenched in frustration. "My parents got a grant from the council to settle as farmers in the village of Danay."

Chris nodded. "I have heard of it."

Danay had been a farming community founded on the borderlands about thirty years ago, following the negotiation of a new treaty between Zexen and the clans. The village had been short-lived.

"You were there," she said. "When the raid occurred. Your parents…?"

"My mother… she was killed in the raid," Alron admitted. Butchered by warriors of the Karaya. Like all the rest. So many dead. Farmers, brewers, cobblers… they killed everyone, even children." As he spoke, his words re-ignited the anger his eyes. "These are the people you'd coddle! You speak of healing. How could such a thing ever be healed!"

Chris let out a long sigh. "You have my sympathies for your loss, Alron. But your hatred has blinded you. You do not wish to speak of healing? Let us speak of revenge, then."

Alron's lips twisted into a grim smile. He lifted his sword a fraction. "Let us."

"Danay was founded after the Chisha Treaty. When the border was redrawn by the treaty, there was a great deal of confusion. The attack on Danay was carried out in retaliation for another crime. Did you know that?"

"What is this nonsense?"

"A few Karayan and Chishan families settled on 'our' side of the new border. They did not understand that this land, on which they had grown up, now belonged to Zexen. The council sent the knights to drive the Grasslanders off. The Grasslanders resisted." Chris shook her head. "It turned into a slaughter. Every man, woman, and child was killed."

Alron's jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. "No. You lie."

"This happened a few months before the attack on Danay. If you had read your history as you should, you would know this."

The fallen knight's eyes were wide now. She could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to process this new information. "The Grasslanders broke the treaty when they settled on our side of the border…"

"A treaty forced upon the clans. A treaty the settlers may not even have known about." Chris shrugged. "The Karaya took their revenge. The slaughter that took place in Danay… the lives lost… it was an inexcusable act. But it was revenge."

"No." Alron was shaking his head, staring but not seeing. "It's… different…"

Chris reached her hands out towards Alron in a conciliatory gesture. "The path you walk… Alron, it ends only in death. This is not justice. When you burned Karaya, you killed women and children. What you did is no different from what the Karaya did to your mother and the others at Danay."

The man flinched as if slapped. Had she done it? Had she broken through to the man? If she could get Alron to see the truth of the matter, he could choose to end all of this, to make amends. So much bloodshed could be avoided, if he would only see reason.

Alron raised his sword. His hand had been trembling, but now it became steady. His mouth twisted into a spiteful grin. "Every word that comes from your mouth," he said, "is a lie. You are a snake. You're trying to destroy this great nation with your lies and your deceit. Look at you! You stole into Brass Castle, wearing barbarian clothes! You brought foreigners into our walls, and now they're shedding the blood of Zexen patriots!"

Chris could not keep the words from spilling from her mouth: "I am not the one who cut down my own soldier in cold blood! You Harmonian dog!"

"People are fools," Alron said, shaking his head angrily. "They love their Silver Maiden. They are so dazzled by your beauty and your polished armor, they do not see the corrupt, self-serving traitor that hides beneath. Only I am willing to do what is necessary to save Zexen. We must bend to Harmonia. To resist them is to invite destruction."

Somehow, Chris found the strength to draw herself up and square her shoulders. Painstakingly she lifted her sword into a neutral guard position in anticipation of a fight. "I see. I see that your mind is closed. Perhaps it is a mercy that your mother never knew what a monster you have become."

Alron bared his teeth in a snarl that made him look like a beast. "For that, I am going to take my time killing you."

Chris thought that was an all too likely outcome. As long as Alron had the Gale Rune… But what if he did not? She was running out of options, so she decided to find out just how deep the man's pride ran.

"A pity you have that rune," she said. "I would have liked to see if you could stand up to my swordplay."

Her words drew laughter from the fallen knight. "Don't fool yourself, woman. You couldn't match my blade even if the Gale Rune was on your hand and not mine."

"Borus thought the same," she said. "A pity he had to die. It was the poison from your lips that drove him to it, you know?"

Alron was taken aback. "You defeated Sir Borus? You?"

She shrugged one shoulder. Borus had taken his own life using his Rage Rune, but Alron did not need to know that. "You underestimate me. Just as he did."

The fallen knight's mouth twitched. Finally, he said, "You are trying to goad me."

"How fortunate that you have nothing to prove. Go on, then. Show me the power of the rune your Harmonian handlers gave you."

The green glow from Alron's gloved hand dimmed, then faded. "Fine," he said. "I want you to die without illusions of grandeur. I want you to die knowing what a weak, pathetic little worm you are."

Chris felt a thrill of triumph, but she pushed it down. She still had to win the fight, and despite her boasts, Alron was no slouch with a sword. Given her own state, it would take every bit of concentration she had to come out on top.

"Raise your sword then, Sir Alron," Chris said. "Let us fight with honor. As knights."

Alron advanced with caution, feinting and making a few half-hearted attacks. He was probing her defenses before committing his skill and natural quickness in a decisive attack. Chris held her ground, tapping her blade against his when he intruded inside her reach. She watched his face for the least twitch that would betray an opening.

Finally her chance came. Sweat dripped down Alron's brow, and the fallen knight reached up to wipe it away with the back of his hand. The movement made him vulnerable to attack, but the opportunity was there only for the space of a heartbeat. Chris seized it.

She aimed her swing at his shoulder. Alron easily sidestepped the attack, letting her swing pass harmlessly through the air. It was a half-hearted, ineffective stroke, and if Alron had not been blinded by his contempt for her, he would have seen it for what it was. A ruse.

A grin flashed on the fallen knight's face. With a step, he was inside her guard. Almost in the same motion he lifted his knee to slam it into her belly. The blow knocked her back against the table and folded her back against it. A bed of maps did not break the fall. Her head knocked hard against the hardwood, and her vision turned black around the edges for a moment. Her sword clattered against the floor.

Alron crawled on top of her, straddled her roughly. He had tossed his sword, and with madness shining in his eyes, he extended his hands like claws and closed them about her neck.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die," Alron said, his voice somewhere between snarling and laughing.

Chris struggled to breathe through her constricted throat. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she fought it with everything she had. She had to stay clear-headed. She had to focus. Just for a moment longer. But focusing was hard. Breathing was hard. Resisting was hard.

She felt her hand down her side, searching. Just above her hip, she found what she was looking for. A bulge against her skin beneath her Karayan tunic. As Alron's face blurred above her and she felt herself sinking away into darkness, Chris forced her trembling, numb fingers to lift the hem of her tunic. Her fingers closed about the object hidden there. Did she have a good grip, or were her fingers slipping? She could not feel them anymore. On top of her, Alron was laughing. She could not exactly hear the sound of it—all she could hear was a ringing sound—but she could see his mouth was open in hideous joy. She pulled at the slender object strapped to her waist. With every bit of strength left to her, she thrust it upward, against Alron's side.

She saw his laughter turn to pain. She saw his struggle. She did not feel the blows he rained down on her, even when he hit her so hard her head must have snapped to the side because she found herself staring at what she thought might be a bookshelf. She did not need to see. All she had to do was to keep stabbing.

Finally, he stopped moving. She wondered if she were dead, but slowly her senses returned. Pain was the first sense to come back to her. Her throat felt mangled. Her head ached in twelve different places. Breathing was still hard. But she could breathe, and she was alive.

When her vision returned, she dispassionately confirmed the existence of a bookshelf in her field of view, then turned her head to see what had become of Alron. The fallen knight lay on top of her, like a spent lover. Only, his eyes were as vacant as the night sky. Blood still spurted from his ruined side, drenching them both in a spreading pool that would soon engulf the entire table and all the maps laid out there. Judging by the state of his torn shirt, she had managed half a dozen stabs, at least.

Chris tasted blood, and coughed. She managed to turn her head to look at the object in her hand. A Karayan dagger.

Hugo's dagger.

My Hugo, she thought. For once, she was too exhausted to even feel sadness. No matter: that horrendous wrenching feeling of loss and regret would be back soon enough. For now, she had a job to do. The sounds of battle in the courtyard still drifted in through the window.

Grunting with effort, she set about trying to push Alron's corpse off of her body.

Lily stepped out of the gatehouse and into the courtyard, followed by Yumi and Nash. What she saw there did much to lift her spirits.

The Grasslanders had broken the Harmonians at the gate. Karayan riders poured from the gatehouse passage into the cobbled space of the courtyard, where they fanned out to encircle the remaining Harmonians. A hail of bolts flitted through the air as crossbowmen on the surrounding parapets strafed the Karayans. The Karayan archers returned fire from horseback, trying to keep the snipers at bay.

Yumi lifted her hand. The Earth Rune engraved on its back flashed to life. One by one she pointed to where the crossbowmen gathered on the parapets, and wherever she pointed, the earth's fury erupted. Stone shattered and mortar crumbled, and broken rock came crashing down, bringing screaming men with it. Yumi's magic left entire sections of the walls with deep gashes.

As the magic faded, Yumi muttered to herself: "Sorry, Chris…"

"Lady Lily!" a familiar voice called out. The clop of hooves approached, and then the rider drew up her horse beside Lily. Leaning down in her saddle was a blonde Karayan warrior—Lannin. She looked pale and anxious as she studied the madness that gripped the courtyard. "Where is Chief Chris? This wasn't part of the plan, was it? We weren't meant to fight these people…"

"There was a change of plans," Lily said. "Chris is in the keep. These men were Harmonians in disguise, set to hold the gate against Zexen and Grasslander alike. Now that they are gone, we can—"

The battle in the courtyard had been winding down as the last Harmonians surrendered to the Karayans. Suddenly, there came the call of trumpets from the top of the keep, and then the sounds of hundreds of pairs of boots marching in unison. A host of soldiers emerged from the keep. Zexen soldiers. At their head was a knight astride his warhorse, his armor gleaming silver in the moonlight.

Nash had a look on his face like he'd just seen his dog run over by a cart. "Well, shit."

The Karayans drew up into a line, their horses stomping and fidgeting anxiously.

The knight at the head of the column held his hand up to call a halt to the march. Silence descended on the courtyard. "Warriors of the Grasslands. Stand down!" The knight's bellow carried throughout the courtyard, echoing against the walls. "I am Galayd, Knight of Zexen. In the name of the Council and the Captain of the Knights, throw down your weapons and surrender, and on my honor, you shall be spared. If you do not surrender, I will order my men to attack."

"Well, shit," Lily echoed.