It seemed to Hardin as though the situation had much improved, though he could only guess at why. Perhaps Sydney had needed some time alone with his gods to calm his soul. Perhaps he too had become irritated, having been cooped up in the city for much of the year - for Hardin knew that such problems were rarely the fault of one person alone - or perhaps he'd let his worries distract him to the point that he hadn't been paying enough attention to what Sydney was telling him he needed. Or rather, was not telling him; Sydney had a habit of shutting tight against the things that most troubled him, and instead venting his anger on the smaller matters. Perhaps they'd both been too busy and preoccupied.
Regardless of the cause, all seemed to be healing between them, if imperfectly. Hardin still was not pleased that Rosencrantz appeared to have business with Sydney that neither would discuss with him. On the other hand, it was Hardin who slept beside Sydney at night. Rosencrantz eyed him with a gaze that stopped just short of being a dirty look when they crossed paths, and Hardin acknowledged his presence with a nod. It was better this way, with no illusion of friendship to maintain. And if Sydney was sending the man away on some manner of secret mission, as he continued to disappear sporadically? At least he was not in the city all the time.
As for Hardin, he'd decided that any threat of imminent trespass by the Blades was likely past, and delegated the task of keeping watch over the tunnels to others - men he'd known long enough to trust with the task. This meant that he spent more time in the Keep with his men - and with Sydney. He felt no need to avoid him any longer, after all.
He'd only just become accustomed once again to waking up with Sydney beside him, when he woke late one night to find himself alone. Sydney hadn't gone far, though; he was standing at the window, looking out at the city.
While he was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Sydney spoke up. "The Blades will be paying us a visit this morning. You should go yourself, rather than sending Aryn and Kermiak - they would be overwhelmed."
There was no need to ask - Sydney had seen something. The idea that there would be enough to overwhelm the two excellent swordsmen he'd chosen for the day, however... "How many?"
"A dozen, at least. Likely not two, but I cannot be sure."
"That should be no trouble, unless they have something up their sleeves." Thanks to Sydney's lessons, Hardin had certain talents at his disposal that gave him an advantage over most of the brethren. He hesitated, though, as he sat up in bed, remembering a similar vision Sydney had seen years ago, and a choice that had been made. "...Sydney. Is this..."
Sydney shook his head, and perhaps sensing Hardin's uncertainty, turned to look him in the eye. "No. This is something which you can do, given advance warning and time to prepare, where our two brethren could not. You are not to die today."
Hardin gave him a small nod in reply, feeling relieved, and somewhat ashamed of that relief. "Even if it were so," he explained, "I would go in their place. But I..." It was difficult to put into words. "...There is a great deal I believe I must see through before I could rest."
Regarding him with a somber gaze, Sydney knelt on the bed again and reached out to cup Hardin's cheek in one hand. "May it be so," he murmured, with a soft, fond smile. "Few men go to their deaths feeling that they've accomplished all they could in life, and those who do often believe it was not enough."
Hardin gazed back at him, uncertain what to say to this, if it in fact required a reply. He wasn't sure, and for the time being, he was content to drink in that tired moonlit smile.
A caress that was barely there at all, and then Sydney sat back, removing his hand. "Prepare well for the confrontation tomorrow morning, Hardin. I assure you, there is much left to do before either of us is permitted to rest."
Hardin nodded. He already had a plan in mind. A dozen knights or more, was it...? ---
Hardin had indeed prepared well for the Blades' arrival, given the advance warning. The rooms in the cellar largely lacked doors, but those that remained were locked magically, with sigils. This would have been enough to keep most intruders from entering, but a sigil could be broken through various methods. Sydney had also warned him that some of the cardinal's knights now used magic, just as they themselves did; it might be possible for them to dispel an enchantment.
Hardin was more startled at the idea of holy knights of St. Iocus willingly using the Dark than he was at the thought that his sigils might not be effective - he had a backup plan, and the hypocrites would not come close enough to use the Dark against one of its masters. Before dawn had broken, he'd drawn all the necessary intricacies of a large magic circle upon the ground in the room he usually used for his scrying, and begun the early stages of the ritual. He would not finish now, for it would be exhausting to sustain - few could finish it at all, aside from Sydney, but he had more stamina and a stronger will than most.
In the meantime, he would sit and watch from a chamber a bit further into the tunnels, behind another set of sigils and close to the teleportation circle. There was little danger to his person even if the Blades did manage to get through. As Sydney had said, this was a matter he could take care of, where others could not.
Once he had made the preparations, he had little to do but watch and wonder. It was a strange tactic the Blades were using, to send such a small force. Even if they did number two dozen, or even three, they must know that they could never take Leá Monde by force when Müllenkamp outnumbered them, and knew the city far better. The only chance they had to accomplish anything with so few men would have been for them to sneak in and mount a surprise attack - and if that were their plan, why would they not make the attempt in the dead of night? Perhaps they'd heard the rumors - rumors that had some basis in truth, though highly exaggerated - and had no way of knowing that using the Dark would largely protect them from the beings that prowled at night.
He didn't have to wait long; the sun was low in the sky when he began to hear footsteps along the old broken road. Not the clanking of plate armor, not today - these Blades were dressed in armor of hardened leather, and moved more quietly. A squadron intended for stealth, obviously, just as Hardin had suspected. They spent some time scouting the area as they approached, and Hardin noted that none of them seemed to be able to sense him there as he watched from afar. Going against an enemy that had that manner of talent could be troublesome, especially when his defense depended largely upon the element of surprise.
Having found nothing noteworthy, the Blades - eighteen, Hardin counted - gathered together by the entrance, apparently to compare notes and review their plan. Hardin listened with interest. "Seven rooms in," said a man who seemed to be the commanding officer, at least for the duration of the mission. "The room beforehand will have barrels on a wooden stand in the far left corner from where we enter, and bottles of wine in hollows along the left wall." Hardin frowned curiously, recognizing the room of which the man spoke. "You four - when we enter, you will pass by instead of engaging the enemy, and guard the far door so that there can be no escape."
"Teleportation?" spoke up another knight.
"I think not," the commander replied. "Few can manage it at all, nearly enough none without a circle. Cutting him off from the doors should do the trick."
...This was absurd, Hardin thought. At first he'd thought they'd managed to somehow identify the location of his trap, but their objective was now clear, and he could scarcely believe it.
"Some of us will likely perish," the commander added, more seriously. "Though we have agreed to fight fire with fire, he has years of experience over us - would we send so many if it were not so? But remember, we seek to exterminate a dangerous rebel, and dishearten the heretics. Even Losstarot himself may despair at this loss. To take part in such a holy mission would doubtless cover many minor sins, but I suggest that we take a moment now for each man to examine his heart, to ensure that you are all right with God."
So they thought to kill him specifically, did they? Hardin's grip on his sword tightened. It would have been almost amusing to be the target of an assassination attempt now - after his family's deaths and his disgrace, the holdings and titles had returned to the monarchy, and he now had no more prestige than any other criminal. At the moment, the irony was lost on him, for such a detailed plot made one thing obvious - someone had informed the Blades of precisely the spot from which he had kept watch.
Considering that there were few who knew, most of whom had been with Müllenkamp even longer than he, and exactly one who had recently been away on undisclosed business, Hardin had a strong suspicion that he knew who the traitor was.
His outrage, however, was allowed to last only as long as the knights' moment of prayer. As the commander gave the order to move in, Hardin changed vantage points, to watch as they approached the first sigil. They had evidently been trained by someone competent, for before any of them reached out to touch the door, one knight cast a spell to reveal the enchantment, and set about deciphering it. The sigils would indeed be only a very temporary setback, as they were simple ones; Hardin had focused more on what would be waiting for them if they did manage to break through.
It was time to finish the ritual. Again he changed vantage points, now scrying the room in which the Blades thought he waited. It was rather convenient that as long as there was a strong spirit present to take control, the Dark did not so much care where his physical body was. Footsteps echoed in the next room, the Blades having opted to abandon the hope of avoiding his notice at this point, and Hardin carefully spoke the last words of command.
The sigil on the door collapsed into dust, and the knights burst in just in time to see the elaborate circle on the floor spring to life, spinning in place like a great glowing wheel. The lines and runes flared upwards, causing even Hardin to instinctively shield his eyes - then a great shape began to rise from the center. As the glare faded, the shape at first appeared to be akin to that of a large, dusty boulder, but then it straightened, unfurling and revealing its true stature. Standing upright, the titan looked like a gigantic stone statue of a man, but it did not stay still for long; from the will of the summoner, it identified the enemy and thundered into action at once.
Although the knights may have been well-prepared to face a sorcerer, a sorcerer was still human, and they were clearly unprepared to face a summoned creature such as this. While their swords and axes would have bitten deep into Hardin's flesh, against the titan they could only manage shallow cuts that annoyed him more than they harmed him. Since it seemed obvious to the titan that these creatures had come solely to harass him, he was all too pleased to systematically dispatch them. It was all Hardin could do to keep him from causing a quake - even a small, localized one might have damaged the tunnel.
The commander was one of three still alive when Hardin decided to release the titan back to his own world. His control was growing too strained, and he did not want the commander dead just yet besides. With only three Blades remaining, all wounded and shaken, he was in little danger. Just in case, however, he cast a spell of protection before dissolving the sigil and opening the door.
Though wounded, clutching their injuries and panting for breath, one foolish knight rose to rush at Hardin with sword in hand. He fell back, crying out with a curse, as a simple spell engulfed him before he'd reached his target. Hardin stood with his own sword raised to defend himself if necessary, and looked to the commander. "Tell me who passed you the information about my whereabouts, and I may be inclined to spare your lives."
"Think you we fear death?" the other remaining knight spat, trying to get to his feet despite a crushed, unresponsive ankle. "We will be rewarded for our efforts when we reach paradise!"
"Perhaps," Hardin replied, "were your soul permitted to find its way there. Did they not tell you what becomes of those souls who find themselves without a body within the bounds of Leá Monde?"
It seemed that the commander knew, because he held up a hand in surrender. "We cannot tell you," he gasped, the other hand clutching at his broken ribs. "Our general gave us the information when he assigned us this task. He did not say from whence it came, and we did not ask."
Hardin found that this was plausible. It would even have been wise. He had to know for certain, however. "Your comrades have already discovered what fate awaits those who die within our city. If you wish to join them..."
"I know not!" the commander repeated, more urgently. "The general told us only that he had an informant! Why would he tell us more, when we had sworn to follow the instructions that we were given?"
"What instructions were those?" Hardin supposed that he might as well find out just how compliant they were.
The knight Hardin had just wounded with a spell was less compliant than his commander. "Say nothing, traitor! Be you a man or a child, to be frightened by such tales?"
"Silence yourself!" the commander admonished him.
"God will save us from this evil, if-"
"Did not your commanding officer tell you to silence yourself?" Hardin growled, and turned his attention back to the commander. "What were your instructions? I am losing patience with your disobedient underlings."
"They ordered us to kill you," the commander said quickly. "To seek you out in the early mornings, in this chamber, where you were said to keep watch. We were to take you by surprise, then make our escape when we were done - it was not our intention to take the city, only to strike a strong blow against Müllenkamp..."
"Who was the general who gave you this order?"
Before his question could be answered, Hardin saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The spell was on his tongue as he turned, and the foolish knight fell burned and lifeless to the floor almost before he could scream.
Not so for the other knight, who cried out in alarm. "Benneit! Sir...!"
"He brought it upon himself, Gustave," the commander told him. "Be silent, lest the same come to you. ...Guildenstern," he said, looking up to Hardin with hate in his eyes. "Romeo Guildenstern gave the orders."
Hardin had half expected this answer, but he'd hoped for another. Guildenstern was the general behind most of the attacks and ambushes, but he was also too high in rank and far too cunning for Müllenkamp to get a spy close enough to be of any use. He waited a moment, to see if the commander would offer any further information, but it seemed there was none.
Finally he lowered his weapon, though he did not sheathe it. "Very well. You may go, and tell Guildenstern that his informer knows less than he believes he does. And I would advise you to hurry," he added, glancing around the room at the remains of the knights slain by the titan. "You may have heard the tales about what happens not only to the souls of those who perish within the city, but to their corpses as well... Now that you have drawn the attention of the Dark, it should not take long."
With that, he turned his back and headed towards the city. With the Sight, he kept watch over his shoulder, just in case, but the two remaining knights were now far too wary to attempt anything further.
Once the door was closed behind him, their conversation was urgent and hushed, debating what to do with the bodies of their fellows, and deciding that it would be safest to just leave as quickly as possible. Hardin placed a sigil on the door behind him nonetheless. There was no sense leaving it open to further intruders.
That was the end of what he was required to do according to his position in Müllenkamp. Now, on a more personal level, he was free to be furious once again. He was of a mind to find Rosencrantz and confront him directly - but perhaps fortunately, the summoning had exhausted him so that he thought it safer to walk back to town, rather than using one of the circles to teleport. The walk gave him time to calm down, and to think.
There was a chance it was not Rosencrantz. He was by far the most likely suspect, but if the knights could use the Dark, perhaps one had bewitched another of their number. It could be, also, that the Blades had someone who shared his own talent for scrying distant locations. But then, would they not have utilized that ability during the mission, and seen the trap that had been set? Sydney had said that it was a rare talent, besides, so it was unlikely. But possible, still - and there may have been some other explanation that he was unaware of.
The wisest choice, he decided, was to inform Sydney of his suspicions. He was to report the incident to Sydney anyhow - and had he come to any other conclisions, he would have offered them as well. Yes, turning the matter over to Sydney would be best.
Scrying revealed that Sydney was prowling the keep at this early hour, restlessly making rounds to ensure that all was as it should be. It was easy enough to catch up with him in a corridor, and his expression turned curious at once. "For a relatively simple task," he noted, "it seems to have caused you a fair bit of distress."
"They never planned to attack or invade," Hardin told him, grim. "They came in search of me, specifically. They sought to kill me, in hopes of causing you and the others to lose heart."
Sydney's eyes widened, just slightly, the only indication that he was at all surprised - but then, that in itself was telling, for he seldom gave such indications at all. "Let us speak in private," he suggested, turning towards the library.
Once inside, with the door closed and a sigil applied, he spoke again. "At the very least, we now know how badly they underestimate you."
"Little comfort, when they did manage to find out precisely when and where I've been known to keep watch," Hardin replied, his agitation beginning to bubble up again. "Someone told them of the exact location, Sydney - right down to a detailed description of the chamber just before."
Sydney regarded him in thoughtful silence for a moment. "...I shall speak to Rosencrantz."
Hardin was surprised but relieved to hear this. "You suspect him as well?"
"You quite clearly suspect him," Sydney pointed out, "and it's as fine a place to begin as any other. As for myself, I could not say that it was impossible-"
"Or implausible," Hardin muttered.
"I will take care of the situation, Hardin," Sydney told him again. "Was there anything else noteworthy about this skirmish?"
"Nothing you had not already seen, or that I could not guess." Hardin relaxed, somewhat. "Someone has taught them to dispel a sigil - and unsurprisingly, Guildenstern was responsible for organizing this mission..."
Surely Sydney would take care of it. If Rosencrantz had spoken to the Blades - even assisting them in such a plot, against any of their number - then Sydney would see that he suffered for it. Hardin had seen before what Sydney did to those who would betray them, and sometimes had been the one to carry out such orders.
"Hardin," Sydney spoke up abruptly, interrupting what he was saying out loud to respond to what he was thinking to himself. "I said that I would take care of it. Do not concern yourself."
Hardin found this frustrating. "...With all due respect, Sydney," he began, "someone sent a squadron of knights to kill me, very likely someone in our midst. I cannot help but be concerned."
Unlike Sydney, who didn't seem the slightest bit troubled. If it had been Sydney - and many times it had been - Hardin would have been outraged, ready to confront any suspects right away. And here they were, talking about things they already knew instead of worrying about a possible traitor?
"I have taken precautions," Sydney told him. "As for you - did you not defeat them easily? You've put yourself in far worse danger for my sake than this before."
"Yes, but never before did someone have a vendetta against me, personally," Hardin replied hotly.
"On the contrary - there is no evidence that it was someone with a personal reason to wish you harm. There are many who would wish you or I dead, because of what we do and what we represent."
"Not so many who know the tunnels and have seen me below."
"I shall deal with it," Sydney repeated, slowly and firmly. "And I tell you, Hardin - if you take this upon yourself, rushing to conclusions and hastening towards vengeance, you will ruin everything."
He sounded so certain that Hardin was unsure whether he should be even angrier, or simply comply. "...Is this something you've seen, Sydney?"
"Does it matter?" Sydney inquired. "Is my word not enough? If I say that it will be taken care of, then it will. Have you forgotten my power?"
"True, that I know your power," Hardin acknowledged, albeit grudgingly. Sydney was not answering his questions. "But when you yourself have admitted that your power does not work against the most likely suspect...?"
"The ability to read hearts is not the only power I possess. I have other methods at my disposal - and I will make use of them. There is no need to fret."
Indeed, Sydney looked perfectly calm, not the slightest bit bothered by any of this. That left Hardin all the more disgruntled. "...If it had been you at the center of this plot, I would have been fretting all the more, even taking into account your immortality."
Sydney looked at him, eyes narrowing abruptly. "Your heart is that of a child, Hardin - crying out 'Why do you not care?' I tell you this: I have seen no reason for concern. We shall worry when I have seen cause to worry."
...And why should his heart not cry out thus? If it had been Sydney, concern for his safety would hardly have been an issue. The thought that someone would dare turn against him, to try to harm him - that was what would have set him ablaze. As for Hardin, being far more mortal... and Sydney did not see everything, besides. Hardin knew that all too well.
They had seemed closer recently, yes. But what had Sydney done during this time to make it so? Once, being allowed to care for Sydney, to share his bed, had seemed a privilege. But many had shared his bed, and the right to watch over Sydney in his weakness had been a singular, thin privilege. Then, it had spoken of something new, but now, it might as well be a habit...
Sydney, despite his talent for hearing the unspoken, watched Hardin with cold eyes. "...As you have said, then," Hardin said gruffly, turning away. "You will handle this."
He'd taken only two steps towards the door before Sydney spoke, in dangerous tones. "Do not try me, Hardin. My faithfulness to you is true, but truer is my faithfulness to the gods - and you know not their ways."
Hardin paused for a moment, and chose to speak aloud this time. "You may as well be one of them."
Almost immediately after leaving the library, he wished that he had not agreed to let Sydney handle it. His temperment could only have improved by having the opportunity to confront Rosencrantz - still sleeping, Hardin Saw, and wouldn't it be entertaining to wake him? - but he had agreed. Regardless of Sydney's warning, he thought that it just might be time that someone 'tried' Sydney.
...Surely this was a test that would be passed. A traitor in their midst required investigation and ultimately punishment. Truly, this was no test at all.
The thought allowed Hardin to calm himself - over the betrayal, over Sydney's unperturbed acceptance of the matter... and though he hated to admit it, over his own guilt for daring to test Sydney.
Regardless of Hardin's lack of faith, Sydney was very much aware of the danger - and of the probability that Rosencrantz was responsible. All the pieces fit into place quite neatly. He disliked Hardin, and would have had the perfect opportunity. Further, he had the perfect excuse if found out.
It didn't matter. Even were the excuse more than an excuse, Sydney was every bit as furious as Hardin, and not any more inclined to let it go.
Unfortunately, even if provided with absolute proof, Sydney could do little. The gods had decreed that Jan Rosencrantz was important, and thus he would have to remain, no matter how much Sydney desired to demonstrate to him just how useless his defenses were before the power of the Keeper.
On the other hand, Rosencrantz was not aware of this. Sydney therefore was free to frighten him as much as he wished. First, he would need to take a quick look in the wine cellar, to see that all was as it should be in such a place, after such an event...
Not much later, he had tracked down Rosencrantz, who was sparring in the courtyard with some of the men. Obviously he was holding back, if what Hardin had told him of the Riskbreakers was true, but he did so with such skill that it was not apparent in the least.
His opponent was on the ground soon regardless, and Rosencrantz extending a hand to help him up. "Congratulations on a well-earned victory," Sydney told him, stepping forward to get his attention. Immediately, he had the attention of everyone in the courtyard - such was the manner of the Dark. "If I might have a moment of your time, Rosencrantz?"
"But of course." Rosencrantz slid his sword back into its scabbard, following Sydney as he turned to leave the courtyard
"...Why do you so deceive my men," Sydney asked, as they made their way through the town center, "by pretending mediocrity? Or are Riskbreakers truly little more skilled with a sword than an average man?"
"Ah, but would they not resent me," Rosencrantz replied, "if I were to best them without effort? Most men find the experience humiliating."
"Better to be bested repeatedly by an ally, that one may learn, than to be bested once by an enemy and perish," Sydney pointed out. "Think of what you could teach them. If we should chance to face the Riskbreakers one day, would it not be to their advantage to have faced such talent before?"
"Facing the Riskbreakers?" Rosencrantz shook his head, incredulous. "I mean no disrespect to your men, naturally - but even years of practice would not prepare most to match swords with a Riskbreaker. Perhaps the Dark could even the field to a degree, but even so... Not that I would be unwilling to try," he added. "If you've come to request that I instruct them..."
"No, not at all," Sydney replied. "At the moment, it is you who will receive instruction."
"Oh...?"
"Patience, Rosencrantz." Sydney led them to one of the magic circles, tucked back in the shadows of an alley. "You shall see shortly."
In order for Sydney to teleport the two of them, Rosencrantz did have to stop blocking him briefly. In that moment, Sydney was pleased when alongside the dizzy rush of the spell at work, he felt a very distinct aura of nervous agitation radiating from Rosencrantz.
As soon as the wine cellar had materialized around them, Rosencrantz had shielded himself thoroughly again. "There was something of a skirmish here this morning," Sydney said, nonchalant as he led them onward.
"The Blades?" Sydney suspected that the worried look on his face was authentic, though for the wrong reasons. Or, given why he had brought Rosencrantz to this place, perhaps for the right reasons.
"Correct. It seems that they thought they might take us by surprise to dishearten us, having somehow learned a trivial bit of knowledge." Sydney opened the door and strode through, into the center of the room. "Come, see the outcome for yourself."
Rosencrantz stepped into the room and took in the sight - at least a dozen armored corpses, crushed and bloodied from wounds that had obviously been inflicted by no sword. "...A terrible battle indeed. And was it truly only this morning? These look..."
"Only this morning, Rosencrantz. You see, the Dark has many ways of affecting the flesh, besides the obvious." Even now, he could feel it gathering around them, whirling and cackling, intrigued by the presence of Rosencrantz and the possibilities it presented. "These knights were not slain by spells, nor by a skillful swordsman. Rather, a skillfull swordsman cast a spell to summon a creature - brought forth by magic, but as solid as you and I, and just as capable of destroying its opponents without the use of the Dark."
Rosencrantz's head jerked to the side suddenly, as he saw something move amidst the carnage. One hand moved slowly towards a cracked sword that lay nearby, and a head raised, displaying a crooked helm and a desiccated face. All around the room, the dead began to stir.
To his credit, Rosencrantz did not panic, but drew his sword with a wary look. "...And this is how the dead walk..."
"The Dark prefers warm, fresh blood to feed upon," Sydney said simply, arms folded across his chest as he observed the dead rising all around. "It is happy to use the flesh it has already sucked dry to seek such out."
Rosencrantz raised his sword protectively as one corpse lurched to its feet. "So I see. I dare say I've gotten the point of this lesson, Sydney."
"I don't believe so, no." Sydney gave him a smile from the midst of the zombies, which paid him no mind as they began to wobble and lurch slowly in the direction of their prey. "The point is, dear Rosencrantz, that there are many ways in which the Dark can be used to kill someone - just as Hardin, for instance, disposed of these knights who somehow knew of precisely when and where he had been keeping watch, and made an attempt on his life. Similar principles could be used, say, against one suspected of passing along such information to our enemies. Even if, perchance, this suspect cannot be touched by an ordinary spell."
At that, Rosencrantz's eyes finally widened in alarm. "Has the Dark led me astray in my suspicions, Rosencrantz?" Sydney inquired.
"Sydney...!" His eyes narrowed abruptly as one of the creatures hobbled towards him, and he slashed at it with his sword, causing it to crumple in a heap for the moment. Another followed, and he did likewise. "I had to give them something useful," he explained hurriedly between blows. "Why would they provide me with information without receiving something in return? They are fools no more than you or I! Obviously, as we can see from this slaughter, Hardin was never truly in danger."
Sydney watched from across the room as the dead closed in around Rosencrantz. Already being dead, they were not deterred by the loss of a limb here or there, or a blade through the heart. "Nor are you truly in danger now. You, who were a Riskbreaker... But you are not enjoying yourself, are you?"
"I should say not!" A ferocious swing of Rosencrantz's sword spattered blood in a great arc, as he cut down several of his attackers at once, earning himself more room to move. Although he was fighting seriously now, he seemingly was able to comprehend Sydney's words. "This is not intended as my execution, then?"
"As I said before, you merely required instruction." Not in fighting, by any means; once Rosencrantz had determined what was going on, he made short work of his undead opponents. In moments, he and Sydney were staring at each other across a room filled only with gore and a mad, mischievous cackling that Sydney alone could hear. Someday, Sydney assured it. Someday, I will let you have this one.
"When I assigned you a task," Sydney began, "you sought recompense, and I told you that to start, you would work to earn my trust. Instead, you have worked a plot against my second. A betrayal such as this earns not trust, but rather a painful death. But no," he added, "I will not kill you. We shall, however, start back at the beginning. You will have to work harder for your hire, Rosencrantz."
Rosencrantz did not sheathe his sword. Sydney wondered with ironic amusement if he thought to slay the zombies, should they rise again, or Sydney himself. "What am I to do then, Sydney?" Rosencrantz asked. "I must give them something to gain their trust - if they will not kill me on sight, after this defeat. They may believe that I set them up..."
"If they doubt your authenticity, it may be wise for you to point out that it is rather difficult to surprise an enemy that has a prophet," Sydney replied. "This is naught but truth - you do know how to use truth for your own purposes as well as lies, I am certain. As for the information you will pass to them, we will discuss the matter before and after each outing. This second chance is my generosity, but I will not be so generous as to offer a third."
"...You put me in a difficult position," Rosencrantz muttered. "This may be my execution after all. What if they have heartseers, like yourself?"
"Should not your own talent be sufficient to confound any besides the Keeper?" Sydney suggested. "And should they turn on you physically, you have more skill than you have yet shown. I told you not to play the fool with me, dear Rosencrantz."
"...Very well, then. I shall try," Rosencrantz agreed. "But please do keep in mind that I would be of little use to you as a dead man."
Sydney raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? I believe these men -" he gestured around the room at the remains of the knights "-who worked with an enemy against me, were all far more use to me after their deaths. If nothing else, they served me well as a tool for teaching a lesson. Further," he added with a dangerous smile, "I have little use to begin with for treacherous fools."
"Of course." Rosencrantz had regained his composure, but remained in a moderately defensive stance. "I would be pleased to hear any further instructions now, in fact - but could we perhaps find another place to speak?"
Sydney smirked, and indicated the door through which they had entered. Perhaps he could teach Rosencrantz obedience. He had a nagging feeling, however, that it might not be a simple task.