The first day, the hunting party had made a circuit of the land, looking for game and setting snares in promising locations. The expectation was that they would make the rounds again in the morning, checking the snares while they stalked larger prey, and would make their way back to Leá Monde in the evening with what they had caught.

None of them had expected, however, just what sort of prey they would be stalking, or with what catch they would be returning.

The land had been good to them - the gods perhaps showing mercy, Kermiak suggested, if they were to endure a difficult season - they would be returning with more meat and fur than they'd been expecting. Their good spirits were muted a bit, though, when they came across fresh footprints on the way back to Leá Monde. They were in an undeveloped land, no towns but Leá Monde for some distance, and yet the footprints seemed to be heading much the same direction as they.

"It may be only another hunting party," Aryn suggested. "Though a dozen..."

"And well-armed," Kermiak put in, kneeling beside a print. He was the best tracker among them. "The turn of the foot suggests they carry swords."

"It should not take us long to find out," said Hardin. After what had transpired recently - and with no resolution as of yet - he did not wish to take any chances. "Kermiak?"

Kermiak was able to follow a clear trail nearly at a run, and he had been assigned to such tasks by Hardin before. They covered ground quickly, Hardin scrying ahead so that they would not stumble upon the strangers if they had stopped. As it turned out, they had - and Hardin held up a hand in warning. "Hold," he murmured. "It is the Blades. ...In a sense."

It was rather odd, Hardin thought, as he described the scene to his companions. A dozen knights, but with only rudimentary armor and no emblems of rank, entering into their territory. They did wear swords, but looked to be little more than new recruits, rather than skilled fighters. Appearances could deceive, and yet Hardin was almost certain that he was correct, from the uneasy looks on some faces to the stubbornly determined looks on the rest as they glanced about. Some kept their hands near their weapons as they stood beside a fallen tree, seemingly waiting for something. "Whatever they wait for," Hardin commented, "they do not appear to be looking forward to it."

"We wait too, no?" Duncan muttered, idly fingering his knives.

"Exactly."

The young knights seemed to relax a bit as they waited, seeing that nothing out of the ordinary was happening. They lifted their heads, though, at a rustling in the brush nearby. "My apologies for startling you," said the man who emerged with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you might be more startled if I appeared having made no sound at all."

Hardin's eyes narrowed abruptly, enough reaction that Duncan gripped his knives, Kermiak reached for his sword, and Aryn and Domenic brought arrows to hand. "What is it?" Kermiak whispered.

"It seems I was right not to trust Rosencrantz," Hardin muttered. "...We do nothing yet. I need to make certain."

"You are not Commander Grissom," Rosencrantz observed, looking over the young knight who had stepped forward from the group. "Neither are you alone."

"After what happened to our brothers a few days past," he replied, his expression tense and tight, "they dared not risk it. Being of low rank, we are somewhat more expendable than Grissom."

"Doesn't it bother you," inquired Rosencrantz, "that your superiors consider you to be of so little worth? A full dozen, more expendable than a single man?"

"Our own lives are a small thing," spoke up another young knight from behind the first, "insignificant beside the need of church and country. Should we die here, our disappearance will tell them all they need to know about you, and what happened in the cellar, and thus will our deaths be of much value."

"Ah, that..." Rosencrantz shrugged helplessly. "I certainly gave them no encouragement. Did the commander forget that the sorcerers have a prophet? If I'd known they were intending a surprise attack, I'd have counseled them against it."

"As I thought," Hardin growled as he watched. "Rosencrantz has been passing information to the Blades. This is apparently not his first meeting with their agents."

His companions' faces grew dark. "Shall we do to them all as they deserve?" Aryn asked, looking as though he were merely asking permission.

Hardin shook his head, though reluctantly. "Not the knights. Just this morning, we spared the young buck so as to draw out the larger. We shall do likewise now, and wait until they are finished to attend to our traitor."

That seemed to be the arrangement that Rosencrantz and the young spokesman were debating now. "I agreed to meet with Grissom, and Grissom alone. Anything else is too risky - and besides, Grissom understands the rules of our game. You lot have barely grown out of painted toy soldiers - could you direct the doings of those who live and breathe?"

"Those who do sent us," the knight pointed out firmly.

"Only because you are expendable - you said it yourself," Rosencrantz replied. "All they wished to discover by sending you in Grissom's place was whether or not it was a trap. As you can see, there is no trap, so you now know what you were sent to know."

"And you yourself said that the cultists have a prophet," the knight retorted. "You still may be in league with them."

"What evidence do you have against me? The information I passed on was accurate, though acted upon poorly. I've threatened no one, though they sought to change the terms of our agreement."

"...Very well." The knight nodded, grudgingly. "I cannot promise they will agree to send Grissom, but I will relay your message. When shall the next contact take place?"

"The day following the new moon," Rosencrantz replied. "The heretics are observing some manner of ritual only a few days hence. 'Tis unwise to go missing at such a time."

The offhand explanation made Hardin all the more angry - now the Blades would know of a fortuitous time to attack. Unless they killed the knights before they could return... But then, now that he knew the Blades knew, he could plan accordingly. Perhaps he and Sydney could turn such an attack in their favor, if it occurred, and still lure their larger adversary...

Hardin smiled a grim smile. Despite his agreement with Sydney, he was obligated to act after what he'd just seen. It pleased him to think that he now had his evidence, and that he would be the one to present it for Sydney's judgment.

"We move, now," he told the others as Rosencrantz and the knights made the last of their arrangements. "The Blades will likely return the way they came, but we shall follow the traitor, to surround him as he returns to the city."

"I say we could drop him before he ever sets eyes on us," Domenic suggested, his expression serious, and Kermiak nodded.

The thought was tempting, and quite plausible, as they had multiple skilled archers among them at the moment. But... "No," Hardin stated. "We take him to Sydney, to see what he would have done with him. ...I suspect we may yet be allowed to practice our marksmanship."

The knights, having finished their business, turned to go. "Fan out, weapons at the ready," Hardin instructed his men. "You, to the north. You, to the south. Stay out of range until I give the signal. If he resists, do what you must to defend yourselves, but bringing him in alive would be preferable. Go!"

The men scattered at his command, just as they had many times before. Hardin kept an eye on each in turn with the Sight as he circled around to the southwest, intending to get in front of Rosencrantz. Well-practiced as they were, each of them fell into the proper position easily, moving with their target. As for the knights, they seemed oblivious to anything unusual as they headed back towards civilization. Good for them, Hardin thought, and focused on the one he was to catch.

Although his men were good, particularly this group that had worked together for so long, Rosencrantz was exceptional. He seemed already to know that something was not right, and he glanced about warily as he walked, quickening his pace. Hardin had thought to take him when they were closer to the city, but he dared not chance the skill of a Riskbreaker fully aware of what he faced, and his men were already in place.

At the sound of his whistle, they closed in as one, swords and bows and knives at the ready all around. Rosencrantz had raised his sword, but stopped short when he saw who had him surrounded. "...Am I to be captured by my own fellows?" he asked, acting puzzled. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Which fellows might you consider your own?" Hardin asked him sternly in return. "The Blades, perhaps? Or still the VKP? You'll be answering to Sydney for what you've done."

Rather than appearing concerned, Rosencrantz acquired a small smirk. "Indeed...?"

Hardin didn't like the looks of that smirk. "Drop your sword."

"Very well," Rosencrantz agreed, opening his hand to let it fall, and raising both in surrender.

Hardin kept his eyes on Rosencrantz as he reached for the weapon. "No worries. You have a well-armed escort." He gave his men a nod, and prodded Rosencrantz to begin walking, still at the center of a ring of weaponry.

They walked in silence for a time, but then Rosencrantz began to chuckle. "This amuses you, does it?" Hardin muttered. Was the man mad? Or just a fool?

"Quite."

"I doubt that Sydney will find it amusing."

"It is not impossible," Rosencrantz replied, folding his upraised hands behind his head as lazily as if he were out for a pleasant afternoon stroll. "But I agree - I doubt very much that he will be amused." He chuckled again, and Hardin watched him warily on the walk back to Leá Monde. The other men too remained silent and watchful. So much for the time away from their worries.

Upon arrival at the city, they didn't have far to go - Sydney was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs into the cellar. Arms crossed over his chest, fixing the men and their captive with a cold stare, he definitely did not seem amused. His eyes met Hardin's for a moment, and the look Hardin saw there made him very glad that he was not in Rosencrantz's position. A glance at the man showed him unconcerned, still with the hint of a smile. Certainly he was mad.

Hardin prodded him ungently with the tip of his sword as he looked to Sydney once more. "It is just as I suspected. We happened to catch him meeting with the Blades in secret, to pass information."

Sydney hesitated in his response, as if he were trying to find just the right words, and Rosencrantz spoke up with a shrug. "What defense could I offer?" he said, his smile growing wider and more amused as he addressed Sydney. "Caught in the act, I'm afraid..."

Even the look that Sydney gave him in response didn't seem to faze him. Hardin couldn't say the same when Sydney turned the look on him. "You may all lower your weapons," Sydney told them. "Rosencrantz has been communicating with the Blades at my request."

There was a silent moment of surprise before the men obeyed, with a few nervous chuckles as reality began to sink in. Some glanced at Hardin, who still could not believe what he was hearing. "...I was not informed of this," he stated, with a questioning look at Sydney.

"It was a delicate operation," Sydney answered. "The less who knew, the better. I suggest that everyone now present forget that this happened at all."

"This never happened," Kermiak agreed, with another sheepish glance at Hardin, who was now completely confused. He would have felt embarrassed, having made such a significant mistake in front of his men and in front of Sydney, had he believed it was a mistake at all. There were too many details of the conversation - which he alone had heard - that suggested Rosencrantz had betrayed them, even if Sydney had intended to use him as a spy.

"But Sydney!" he protested, stepping forward. "I heard him speak-"

"Enough, Hardin," Sydney said firmly.

"Will you not let me finish? I-"

"I am aware of the situation," Sydney said, slowly and dangerously.

"He has betrayed us!" Hardin insisted. "He admitted to-"

He was cut off this time not by Sydney's words, but by a sudden sharp pain and the sound of metal against bone, as Sydney backhanded him across the face. From one with ordinary hands, it would have been no more than a forceful rebuke, but when delivered by Sydney's hand...

"The rest of you may go," Sydney said, never taking his eyes from Hardin's. "We will speak later, Rosencrantz. I have other matters to deal with at the moment."

"I see." The others, as they disappeared, regarded Sydney and Hardin with worried looks - except for Aiden, who gave him a sympathetic look that Hardin found all the more frustrating. Rosencrantz, however, gave him a smirk. "It would seem that someone needs to learn his place."

Hardin tensed, the urge to strike the man nearly overwhelming. Sydney held him fast with his eyes, though he spared a meaningful look at Rosencrantz. "Hardin knows his place well," he said. "You would do well to remember yours."

"Of course." Unaffected by the suggestion, Rosencrantz followed the rest with a small bow for Sydney. Hardin had a feeling that his men would be apologizing for the misunderstanding, which was a thought that did not please him.

Meanwhile, he and Sydney were left alone, and Sydney's glare still left him near paralyzed. He did lift a hand to his cheek - the blow had left him rattled, and he was sure that he was bleeding.

Finally, Sydney turned away, and muttered a few words of command. At once the two of them stood not in the cellar, but in the bedchamber they had shared until recently. Hardin suspected that he would not be sleeping there that night.

"Did I not tell you to leave the matter in my hands?" asked Sydney, his voice at last betraying his anger as he stalked the length of the room. "I can only thank the gods that you had enough sense not to slay the knights!"

With his cheek still stinging, Hardin was reluctant to speak again, but he had to defend himself. "...What was I to do, Sydney?" he began cautiously. "When I see with my own eyes someone speaking to our enemies..."

"You knew the matter to be complicated, in this instance. Had you come to me, we could have avoided this unpleasantness, and you would not have looked the fool in front of your men." Sydney stopped pacing and turned to him once more, eyes flashing. "You could have ruined everything with your disobedience!"

Rather than continuing to defend his own actions, Hardin decided to get to the point. "I heard him admit his responsibility for the attempt on my life."

"And as I said, I am aware of the situation. I said I would handle it, and I have."

"Yet you continue to trust him? Knowing that once already he has betrayed us?"

"I made it abundantly clear to him that my mercy has its limits, and he has reached them. I believe him to be intelligent enough not to tempt me."

He believed, did he? Hardin found this to be ridiculous. "If you needed a double agent, Sydney, surely you could have found another. Someone whose loyalties would be clear to you..."

"If it were I who made the decision to take on Rosencrantz, yes," said Sydney impatiently, stopping Hardin short with another stare. "It was not I, but the Dark who chose Rosencrantz as one of us. The gods have confirmed that he is important. Shall I go against their wishes, and not take advantage of what they have provided for us?"

Sydney's words brought to mind a conversation that he had overheard - a conversation that he'd nearly forgotten in the midst of everything else. Though he feared the answer, he knew he must ask. "...How is he important, Sydney? For what purpose do you keep a viper who has already struck at our heels?"

Though clearly understanding what Hardin was asking, Sydney answered only what he had said aloud. "...I know not." Despite the admission, his determination wavered not at all.

"They've not told you?"

"Not yet. I am only to obey. As are you, if you can recall your oath. You are mine."

This was true... and yet Hardin had the feeling that Sydney was not telling him everything. Was it fair to be angry about this, when it seemed that the gods were not telling Sydney everything either? Even so, only the look in Sydney's eye, coupled with the ache that lingered at Hardin's temple, kept Hardin from responding as he wished. "...I understand," he mumbled, wishing he could lower his eyes. Sydney's gaze was too intense... and gods, why did he have to look so beautiful when he was furious? It was more than fear or loyalty that kept Hardin rooted to the spot.

Perhaps this was as Sydney willed it, for abruptly he stepped forward. Still aware of the pain from being struck before, Hardin began to back away, but this time Sydney's hand rose to the back of his neck, pulling him down into an unexpected and none too gentle kiss. Hardin made a quiet, surprised mumble in protest, but Sydney held him fast. The cold blades against his skin made him shudder, but as much from discomfort as pleasurable anticipation. He could not do this, not now. He was too angry, particularly when he realized what Sydney was doing, pressing in closer. This would not set everything right - it would not set anything right, for he knew that it had never meant much to Sydney at all. Hardin had never deluded himself into thinking that this was what had set him apart. Neither had it been what kept him obedient.

Smaller though he was, Sydney managed to maneuver Hardin up against the wall. Hardin made another muffled sound as his shoulders made impact, quickly followed by a groan as Sydney's fingers bit in. Even so, he tried to turn his head away. "Sydn-"

As always, Sydney was overwhelming, his persistence not allowing Hardin to give voice to his protest. He'd managed to get a knee between Hardin's, and the length of his body held Hardin against the wall as, deprived of Hardin's mouth, Sydney explored his throat instead with lips and teeth. Hardin's hands clenched on Sydney's shoulders before doing as he'd intended for them to do, grasping and pushing their upper bodies apart. "S-Sydney," he gasped, all the more ashamed at how desperate his voice sounded, rather than angry. He tried to push himself upright, instead of sagging against the wall. "Stop this."

"And why should I stop?" Sydney murmured breathlessly, still pressing their hips together. "...Even were you not mine... I know very well that you enjoy this."

"...I..." The claws of one hand were tantalizingly cold and sharp against Hardin's side, even through his shirt. He resisted the urge to move against them. "...This is not what I want."

"No...?" Sydney smirked, and the claws twitched, making Hardin take a sharp breath.

"...No..." Not like this, not now. Not when it was coersion - nearly bribery!

His body said otherwise, and he couldn't quite bring himself to stop Sydney from leaning in again, murmuring against his neck. "I thought we'd passed this, Hardin. I know what you want."

Sharp teeth closed on Hardin's collarbone, simultaneous with Sydney's hips moving against his, and he had to stifle a cry. Sydney was clearly not going to take no for an answer, and there was no way around the fact that his body wanted it, even though his mind may not. It wouldn't change anything... whatever Sydney intended to do to him, he would do it, and then Sydney would be pleased with him again. Things could return to normal. "...Yes," he whispered, letting himself sag against the wall once more.

For some reason, Sydney paused at the word, and only then did Hardin have a moment to consider what he'd just said. ...When had 'no' last been the truth, and 'yes' the lie? Why was he so willing to please Sydney, when Sydney had not been giving him what he most desired?

All of a sudden, the pressure against his body lessened, as Sydney pushed himself off from the wall - and vanished. Eyes wide, still breathing heavily, Hardin slowly lowered himself to the floor and put his head in his hands for a moment to steady himself.

...Sydney had heard that, hadn't he?

Hardin shook his head, trying to clear it. This was not good. Self-absorbed as Sydney could be, he'd always known that there was more to him than that. He'd been told long ago that Sydney would not pursue those who did not want to be pursued... and if Hardin no longer wished for that sort of pursuit...

Of course he did. No one had ever done such things to him as Sydney, no one had been so fascinating, or had known just what to do to him. As the aching of his body now testified, he still wanted Sydney badly.

But then, a man's body could want a great many things that were not helpful. As Aiden had said, there were those who had no shame about indulging them anyhow... but there were those, like Hardin, who required more.

Sydney hadn't given him more for some time. Instead, he'd been given indifference, impatience, anger...

At first, Hardin had thought to go after Sydney, to find him and bring him back. But then... that was an instinct. Instincts could be suppressed in the face of logic, and logic was currently asking him why he would go after Sydney, after the way he had been treated today.

Once Hardin's breath had evened out, and he could stand straight again, he got to his feet and walked out of the room. No, he would not be sleeping there tonight. Unless something changed, perhaps not again.

Sydney hadn't intended to send himself to the great temple, particularly. It had been instinct that had taken him there by the magic... or perhaps it had not been so random a choice after all. Perhaps there had been a nudge in that direction on the part of the gods - a reminder, Sydney thought as he paced before the altar, of who he served. Of whose companionship he truly required, regardless of his dalliance with mortal man.

Either way, he could not have said that his destination had been by his will. No, he had panicked. For the second time that afternoon, no less.

Hardin had had the right to resist, of course, but he'd never before exercised it. This time, he had wanted to. And yet, he hadn't. He'd given in, against his wishes, and left the decision in Sydney's hands. Curse the man and his honor! Sydney was unsure which troubled him most - that Hardin had wanted him to leave him be, or that he had submitted to Sydney anyhow.

His surroundings calming him, Sydney took a deep breath and considered the matter. Neither should have troubled him at all, logically speaking. The gods required willing servants, and obedience was obedience whether offered to the gods themselves or through an intermediary. This had not been about the gods, granted, but self-denial was to be admired in a sworn man. As for the other...

What need had he for Hardin's desire? True that he was no longer able to fool himself into thinking that Hardin was no different to him than any other consort he'd ever taken, but it mattered not when all would come to an end. Soon, at that; he'd received a message from the ducal manor just that morning. The old Duke's health was failing at last...

Sydney found himself sighing, almost in relief, at a much-needed epiphany, unpleasant as it was. In light of everything else that loomed large in the near future, the prospect of losing Hardin's companionship was the smallest of sorrows. He'd considered many times putting more distance between them, solely so that it would be less painful for them both in the end, when the inevitable claimed them.

The prospect of losing his expertise - losing his strong swordarm, his knowledge of those who opposed him, his firm will - was far more troubling. Such a thing could not be permitted, for Hardin was required by the gods just as Rosencrantz was.

What had happened today was not enough to send Hardin away, fortunately. If it were, no doubt Sydney would have found himself holding audience with a very displeased Lady. The situation might turn itself into something more dire, though, if he did not exert control.

Indeed, a lack of control had been what made the situation so precarious now. Sydney wished that he could say that he'd struck Hardin willingly, to make an example in front of Rosencrantz that no one was allowed to show him insolence.

That was what Sydney would have liked to be able to give as an explanation. In all honesty, he had simply panicked. If Hardin had voiced his evidence before his most trusted men, men who were nearly as loyal to him as they were to Sydney, questions may have arisen which Sydney could not yet answer. The illusion of his grand plan would have been shattered. It was far more adventageous for the incident with Rosencrantz to appear nothing more than a mistake.

And now, it was going to require a great deal of diplomacy to ensure that nothing more came of it, to make sure that the careful balance was not upset. Rosencrantz, already having decided that Hardin was his rival for the legacy, would consider this a victory. Those who had witnessed the scene were trustworthy enough that they would not speak of it, but Sydney's momentary lapse of control towards Hardin would leave them uncertain. As for Hardin himself, Sydney already knew the conflicts of anger and shame and fear in his heart. The brethren must know that Hardin's place was not diminished in his sights, and Hardin must know as well. Sydney thought he knew how he could say such without it sounding as if he were granting Hardin forgiveness, as if Hardin should have lost his favor. Perhaps he could spread the word among the brethren at the same time.

Which left Rosencrantz. He should know too that Hardin had not lost his place... but then again, it might be better to let Rosencrantz think what he would. Would he be tamer, or more unruly, if he believed himself to have gained ground where Hardin had lost? Sydney would think upon it.

He would think upon it sooner than he expected, in fact, for he was spared the trouble of dealing with Hardin that night. Hardin did not return to their quarters, nor did he seem to be anywhere within the keep. Still nearby, for Sydney's attempts to sense him returned a deep, stern determination nearby, imperfectly paving over the undercurrents of anxiety. If not for that, Sydney would have been worried - Hardin had always returned after an argument.

It was much less uncomfortable for Sydney to lie awake and consider what to do about Rosencrantz, than to lie awake and consider whether it should bother him so much not to know whether or not Hardin was ever going to return.