Chaos Stars: Madness Rising

by Soulweb Knight

Three years have passed since Harry Potter allied with the TSAB in search of the truth, but the lies are many. In the shadows of legends an old threat arises offering a tempting prize. The storm rises as the young mages take up arms to fight the dark.

2. Beyond the Blade, Beyond the Book I

As night fell I stole towards the Merchant Quarters. Even as the night grew cold, the streets were busy with a steady stream of movement. Merchants were leaving their stands for their inns or various parties held by noble families. Last minute shoppers hoping to exploit the merchants desire to depart quickly and snatch a bargain price, passed by. Men and women wandered down the streets bound for the many bars that dotted the city. Hunters and outriders returned to the city, covered in dust and sweat of long days. Mercenaries swaggered down the road, bound for the bars where their boast of valor would as fictitious as their lives.

They could easily leave this planet and fight for any number of Warlords who would pay handsomely for their services, yet here they hide. The shield of the Empire held back the Warlords and their bloodthirsty hosts, yet these men and women who called themselves by dramatic names with even more dramatic pasts had barely lifted a slipsteel blade or staff for any task other than calling for another drink.

I caught sight of Kelin before he saw me. In the shadow of a nearby building at the foot of a bridge he waited, arms folded across his chest. "Kelin!" I hailed him as I walked up. He quickly looked up as if surprised by my sudden appearance.

"I expected you to come the other way," he offered weakly.

"Why would I come from the Merchant Quarters? Then I would have to travel in a circle not to mention it would take longer, but you already knew that didn't you?" I wondered why he had forgotten such a thing. We had spent hours as boys exploring every nook of the city and racing each other along streets and rooftops. He couldn't have forgotten that where I lived and expected me to come another way.

"Ah, I knew that. It's…" he cast a quick glance down the street, "it's been a long day. We need to go." He stepped out of the shadows and started down the street.

I caught the flash of metal from beneath his jacket as I hastened after him. We made good time as the streets were thinning out and most of the heavy crowds had passed. Keeping an eye on him I saw the flash of metal over and over. He led me towards an alley and turned. As he did his jacket flapped enough to let me see the metal object. They were no less than a brace of splinter pistols, antique weapons favored by nobles of the Empire some two hundred years ago, but such weapons had fallen out of style quickly. That meant oval objects stuck to the bullet were splinter shards.

"You're a mage!" I blurted out in surprise. Splinter pistols were mage weapons of old. They used a mana trigger and spell carried bullets, but for the most part they were deemed inadequate weapons in the face of rifles, warstaves, and other bladed weapons that could use magic is similar ways.

He stopped, turned to me and nodded once with a serious face. "Aye, turns out I have the gift, but barely enough to cast a basic spell." He pulled one of the splinter pistols from his holster and handed it to me.

Gingerly I took the hilt and was struck by the masterful workmanship. It was made of some metal, heavy than slipsteel, but lighter than steel. Every bit of the metal was inscribed with oldstlye runes that I had been forced to study as a child. After the Returner War, runes came back into favor amongst certain high making mages due to their great versatility. The hilt was made of the same metal and inscribed in the same manner, but groves and cross thatches in the metal gave me a steady grip. The trigger mechanism was inlaid with some wood was I didn't know. I gave the runes a second look, but couldn't make out what they said. "Amazing! This piece is amazing. How old is it? Where did you get it?"

"Doesn't matter, not to ye at least. Let's just say I did a favor for an acquaintance and these were the reward," he told me evasively as I handed the splinter pistol back. He cast glance over his shoulder, down the alley and looked up. "We should go," he stated, walking away quickly.

I didn't question him. If he wanted to keep secrets then that was his choice. It was aggravating that our friendship wasn't enough to get straight answers from him, but what choice did I have? He had seen places and done things I couldn't begin to imagine. Back before he left, he would have openly worn those pistols, showing them off to ever pretty woman, boasting about them in the bars, and more. Once more I struck by this new person that had replaced my friend.

In short order he led me into a seedy little bar off the alley. No sign hung over the doorway and no less than four massive men, squinty eyed brutes armed with clubs, kept watch from the front door. Before we walked in I caught the sight of two more men patrolling the next alleyway. The bar was a surprise, a pleasant surprise. There was no sign of dingy little bar, but rather a sprawling room filled with rich woods, expensive fabrics and a vast selection of various drinks some of which I was unfamiliar with.

The patrons were equally high quality. The men wore fine tunics colored in reds and purples, the colors of merchantmen. The women were as finely dressed as their male counterparts. Sheer gowns and heavy gowns with plunging neck lines were common seen. This place had no mugs or barroom maid, every guest was served by lovely serving girls finely dressed with handspun glass cups and flutes in hand. Instead of a traveling singer and loud noises, there was a quiet hum as men and woman chatted over their drinks with occasionally burst of laughter that quickly died.

As we entered Kelin was hailed by a dozen different voices and more quick acknowledgments before the other patrons dove back to their conversations. He briefly talked to the bartender, a young man with dyed hair, and soon I found myself in a back room. A pretty redhead served his some rich amber colored drink and a wink when I caught sight of her lovely breasts. She was fine piece that I wouldn't mine taking any day of the week.

"The nectar of the Vassam flower," Kelin told me, raising his glass to study it in the light. "The color comes from the sap in the stem. Alone the nectar is poison to humanoids, but the sap from the stem nullifies the poison. Of course this makes the nectar bitter so the flower petals are placed in the casks and left to sit for several years." He took a sip of the drink after taking a long sniff.

I followed his lead and sniffed. The nectar was rich and earthy, yet pleasant to the senses. A sip revealed the sweetness and the mellow after bit of what I assumed was the poison. All told it was a rather exquisite drink that I had never heard of. Even in my father's vast vault of drinks I had never encountered this. In the few parties put on by the Great Families I had been to, I had never seen or heard of this drink. "Why are we here?" I asked putting the glass down.

"By the end of the night this place will see no less than nine attempted assassinations. Of those nine at least four will use poison; the others will be knives, shooting and the like. By the time the sun rises at least three bodies will be removed from this establishment for a nominal fee paid by the killer," he told me seriously, laying an arm on the table and leaning towards me. "We are here because of that reason."

"To die?" I asked with a hard swallow. I certainly didn't want to die. I gave the nectar I been drinking a leery look that Kelin must have caught. He snorted in laughter and shook his head ruefully.

"Hardly, but this place is safe in a time when safe places are few and far between. Here we will not be overheard and arrested upon exiting the building. A certain code of honor binds the patrons here and the assassins that frequent this place. Drink my friend, it's not poisoned," he assured me with a long sip of his own drink.

Gingerly I took another sip. It was no longer the heady, aromatic fragrance in light of the revelations I had learned. "We're here to meet assassins? Your friends…are they…" I left the question unfinished as he nodded.

"Aye, everyone I'm going to introduce to you tonight is a killer, some trained in the greatest schools, some self-taught, a few from families of killers, but, one and all, we are killers, assassins."

I didn't miss that he had included himself with as one of the killers. It explained the pistols though. For all the flak they had taken the splinter pistols were silent and when the bullets were hundreds of shards accuracy didn't matter. Anyone on the receiving end would be shredded and bleed to death if not killed outright. "I can't believe you're a killer. Find me when you're ready to tell the truth and we'll talk," I told him in disbelief. I stood, but had barely taken a step towards the door when he caught my arm. I tugged slightly, but his grip was like slipsteel. "Let go," I growled.

"No, you said that you wanted to change the Empire. I'm offering you the chance to do more than kill every Rubber Skin whore and hope they stop coming because they won't stop coming," he explained patronizingly. "Put away the childish actions and take real actions that can bring about real change. Embrace the adulthood and become the man, lose the man and rise with us."

I could see a fire burning in his eyes. He spoke passionately as if he believed what he said. Perhaps it was time to put aside the boy and embrace the man. He did have a point about the whores. The aliens would come one way or another. Like an endless tide they would swarm over the works of man so long as they could do so in the safety granted by the Empress's will. They would suck humankind dry, both literally and figuratively. When that was done they would move on to the next race that rose up when we were all gone. That bleak future would us as a shell, dry and empty of everything that made us great. For the sake of the humankind I could abandon my past actions, for that reason I could fight as a grown man against the aliens.

"I knew you were ready," Kelin told me with an easy smile, "You just needed the right push or I would have had to wait a few years. You know you space out when you're thinking deeply, right?"

"What of it?" I shot back with faux indignantly.

The door opened suddenly, and as I looked up several newcomers entered the room. More came after them, filling the large table I had been sitting at. Each was dressed differently; a merchant, mercenary clerk, guard, Imperial official, noble, knight and a few others I didn't recognize by their grab. Most barely gave me a glance as they took their seat. The pretty redheaded served the newcomers their drinks, but fled quickly with a fearful glance over her shoulder. It was a pity I would be getting anything from that one; she was a frightened animal and would run from a hunter like me tonight.

The last man entered the room came moments after the girl had fled. The door opened noiselessly and he entered, dressed in black. He wore the solid black of the Black Apostles and I watched him intently even as I returned to my seat. He moved with a predatory grace to the chair at the head of the table. He alone took no drink nor spoke to anyone.

"Let us begin," he intoned after several minutes. "By the will of the Black Apostles, let this meeting of the Heirs of Segmond begin!"

---

"There's no place like home," Yunno Scrya told himself brightly as he opened the door to his small apartment. The small apartment was all he needed and modestly decorated in a manner befitting his station. The TSAB had been more than willing to offer him a position in the Infinity Library; the reputation of the Scrya clan was well known and honored. They had offered him a mid-level officer accommodations and he had gracefully accepted. Anything smaller and he wouldn't have had the room to spread his texts outs.

Having never known his birth parents and the fact that the clan liked to move around, he made a point never to get too attached to an object. His apartment reflected that trait. The tables were plain and the lone couch was monotone, much like the rest of the apartment. The only true personal touch was the vast collection of texts he removed from the Library for various reasons and the bookcases he had ordered from Mid-Childa, but even then the cases were plain.

The small coffee table was covered in open books and it was those books he headed for first. He let himself fall into the couch and let out a content sigh before he grabbed one of the one texts he had been working on. Often the Library would get books written in a language that no one had heard over or hadn't spoken in thousands of years. This text in his hands was one such book. He had been attempting to decipher the language before he handed it off to the linguist, but the strange characters evaded him. His archeological work had led him to numerous stranger symbols and languages that the linguists in the Library thought he might recognize and had asked him to take a look at the texts first.

He called up a holoscreen and quickly typed his password in. The files appeared onscreen and he paused for a moment. "Notes or reports?" he wondered aloud. The reports would have official accounts that his clan published, but the notes might have the detail he needed that probably would have been excluded from the reports. "Notes," he told himself.

Upon opening the file he was confronted by thousands upon thousands of documents. The personal notes of his clan were kept here, each page carefully uploaded and the original document sealed away in one of the vaults they had hidden across a dozen worlds. He called up a scan he had made of the book's characters and launched a search program. There was a ringing noise as bell shaped icon appeared in the corner of the screen. Reading the caller ID, he minimized the search window and opened a new screen to take the call.

"Working again?" the elderly man in a fine bathroom asked with a smile.

"You caught me. What can I do for you Director? Is this about the books I checked out because I'll be done with them in two days," he said quickly jumping to what he assumed was the logical reason behind this call.

"No, nothing like that," the Director said, stroking his short reddish gray beard. "Besides, I told you to call me Jon. Not like I need every single simpleton in this placed sucking up at once," he grumbled.

"Sorry," Yunno replied sheepishly. "Has something happened? You're out of the office too." The Director was an apartment of some kind. Firelight cast long shadows on the wall behind the man.

"You could say that." Jon sat up straight and cleared his throat. "When I reached Ros- I mean my apartments I found a message from Director Crowbel."

"What?" Yunno gasped in surprise. It was rare that one of the heads of the TSAB called on anyone other than a division head and Jon was hardly the Head Librarian.

"Shh," Jon urged him, "let me speak." He waited for a nod from the blonde boy and went on. "As I was saying, Director Crowbel has something of a special assignment for us. It turns out a certain matter has arisen, the sort that needs to be dealt with carefully and quietly. This issue has taken on a personal note though, as it involves the book in the Library being altered."

"Impossible! Every book is an original copy or second edition. The dimensional flux in the Repository means we literally get every copy of a book not protected by certain magics. You can't alter the books because they are just data, plus the mainframe would have to be changed!" It was nearly impossible to think that his books, odd her hadn't thought of them like that before, would be or even could be changed. Only the highest ranking members of the Library could even enter the mainframe room, let alone the Repository. To suggest that books were being changed would mean corruption at the highest level of the Library.

"That's what I said, so I contacted the Director myself. She assured me that what she thinks has happened and the repercussions are spreading faster and faster. Right now she had a hand on the situation, but not for too much longer. You and I are to look into the altered books and find out was changed and why, how it relates to the message that is, and look into who did this and why," Jon finished and took a deep breath.

"They…changed…my…books…" Yunno muttered under his breath. Men thought they could play around with the knowledge of ages and civilizations, the works men and women spent their lives and fortunes creating, and then someone thought they could just walk in and change it to suit their agenda. Such a thing was treason to the past, morals, history, truth and most of all an affront to the books themselves. Such things could not be allowed to go on unchecked. Such things had to be fixed and the traitors who dared to mess with the true history punished like the Asuran people did; injected with a slow acting poison that would slowly turn the body to stone, starting with the skin and ending with the organs. The last organ to go was the heart, and then the soul was extracted and placed back into the stone body to suffer for all time. Such a fate would be too good for these bastards who dared to screw with his books!

He never saw the smile on Jon's face or the woman calling Jon to bed. "I see your realize the severity of the situation," Jon told him, breaking him away from sorting through various torture methods and needed equipment. "In the morning I will launch an internal investigation under the guise of a review and I want to you to take a look at the altered books then. To see what information you can come up with, " Jon clarified. "Understand?"

"I understand," Yunno parroted, hardly feeling like understanding anything. "This is all speculation right now. I haven't seen the evidence, no evidence of tampering yet means nothing is wrong yet," he told himself trying to calm himself down. "I need to see evidence then I can draw conclusions, yes evidence then conclusions."

Jon nodded sagely with a proud smile. "I know this is hard on you, but I applaud you on your self-control. I've known other Scrya would have demanded heads already and already be halfway to the Library to string up the entire staff until someone talked," he said with a mirthful laugh. "Your clan takes true history very seriously don't they?"

"Yes sir," Yunno said with a vigorous nod, "we have to. Too many people want to change the facts to suit their needs and that is wrong. It's a disservice to the people lived in the past, what they did and to those who went out of their way to record the events around them. It's the ultimate slap in the face that can ruin reputations that makes noble figures into monsters all because the words are changed."

The old man laughed openly, a hearty laugh that belied his advancing age. "Oh my boy," he wiped a fake tear from his eye, "that is why I love your clan. You are so serious from a young age and focus on becoming the perfect historians, archeologists and researchers. I only wish he had a dozen more of your clan working in the Library and not out digging for Lost Logia. We might even be able to get in the storerooms without losing someone under the cascade of books!"

Yunno smiled and laughed a bit. He had been subjected to the dangers of the storerooms more than once. It was a rite of passage within the Library after a fashion; the newest member of the staff would be sent to retrieve a book from the storeroom, but the moment one of those doors was opened all they got was a face full of book which they would then have to repack having failed to find the assigned book. Thus far not a single person had found the book requested every time. Some thought it didn't exist, but most thought it was buried in the very back of the storeroom in a corner or enthroned by its fellow books. The Throne of Knowledge someone had called in many years ago and the name had stuck. It was every librarian's quest to reach the one who sat on the Throne and some like Jon had dedicated their entire lives to finding the Throne, even if it was nothing more than office rumor.

"I suppose we'll need my entire clan to find the Throne though they might rip up the Library when they hear about this situation," Yunno jested thinking back to some of the more extreme members of his clan he had grown up around. He could name at least five who would go on a witch hunt that would be bloody and violent. Another ten came to mind that would lose all common sense if they heard of books being altered and the culprits would suffer. The use of barrier and restraining magic was amazingly versatile for mages who knew what they were doing. A barrier in the proper place wouldn't allow air in and chains could hold a culprit underwater with ease until they drowned.

"Oh no you don't," Jon said warningly, shaking a finger. "I know that look. You Scrya are all the same, down to the same glimmer when to think about making your enemies pay and I'll have none of that." He lowered his hand and went on. "Besides, your methods have nothing on Lycian Fire Blood torture, truly nasty stuff. Turns the victim inside out and replaces their blood with fire," he shook his head ruefully. "Creative I'll admit, but you should look it up some time."

"I'll be sure to," Yunno answered slowly. "In the morning then, I can wait that long." He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

"Good, in the morning then- omphf!"

Jon was suddenly engulfed by woman in white loose bathrobe. Yunno identified the woman as one of Jon's three sectaries. Rose was an older woman, but the rejuvenation treatments did their work well. Yunno smirked as she whined about being ignored in favor of work, nuzzling Jon's neck. Yunno felt a blush starting to form and quickly said his farewells. "Goodnight Director, I won't tell anyone about you taking advantage of your staff."

"You brat! I'll-"

Yunno ended the call just as Rose realized he had been watching and screeched. He would never be able to look at the normally serve and reserved woman the same again. He was sure that every time he walked past her station to reach Jon's office he wouldn't be able to help, but snicker quietly. At he had something to hold over Jon's head for all the good blackmail would do on his, after a fashion, mentor.

There was chime telling him the search was done and he quickly opened the file. He would have to keep himself busy and think about other things other than the desecrators who had touched his books! He quickly slapped his cheek and banished such thoughts. "Focus on the matter at hand," he chided himself.

The search had come back negative, but another icon appeared in the corner. The icon for partial matches was flashing green. With a shaking hand, excited by the thought of breaking the book's code, he touched the icon and his jaw dropped. Hundreds of records were listed. Opening the first he jumped to the correct section and saw what he wanted. The notes had the same characters as the books! Holding up the book and started comparing the two sets of characters with glee. There were identical, though in different orders. His clan had encounter the characters before and that meant he could at least add to their knowledge if not decipher the entire language. Eagerly he started to read the notes. "No sleep tonight," he told himself exuberantly. "You're mine," he told the book with a smile. What was sleep when he had work to do and a code to crack? Nothing, nothing important.

---

Silence fell over the freighter yards, yet amongst the ships lights still blazed and men moved about. Frost covered the windows as cold winds whipped past the ships and warehouses. Winter was coming to Mid-Childa and soon the freighters that carried supplies from Cranagan to the frontier towns in the Altseim District, to the small towns beyond the mountains would stop running for the most part. Many of the forecasts called for one of the harshest winters and no captain was willing to risk their vessel making the dangerous journey up and down the Altseim Straight with such a chance looming overhead. The threat of sea ice was grew by the day and the last of the freighters would be in port within two days.

For one Knight of Belka the situation was far more treacherous than mere sea ice. She gambled with lives and had no choice, but to win. Stamping fur clad boots to try to warm her feet, she once more hated the tight coat she had been forced into. Around her men in matching black uniforms, each with a pin of a snake on the collar, shifted nervously. Five more waited by the back entrance, fingers twitching in anticipation.

A year of work had led up to this moment. Today they would capture one of the biggest names in the drug smuggling and slaving rings within the administered worlds. By morning they would be locked up or she and her allies would be dead. It could either way she thought grimly and felt around in her pocket for her Device. The familiar sword shaped necklace gave her confidence even when her dress did not. The woman she was supposed to be should have loved such clothing, furs and uncomfortably tight, short dresses.

"Dame Gabrielle," one of the uniformed men called out as he ran from the other entrance to the warehouse. He reached them easily and caught his breath after a moment. "They're here. They must have brought fifty men at least."

Signum let out a long breath, letting the let wisp dissipate before she spoke. "They have us surrounded by now. The moment something happens to their boss we'll be hit from every side," she stated flatly. "We cannot take them today," she told one of the men who wore a silver stripe across his lapel in addition to the pin.

"Nonsense, I won't take orders from a convict. The op goes ahead as planned," the bald man commanded confidently.

He was her handler, her chain to the TSAB, and her executioner if it came to that. "We'll all die if we try to take Allen here. They have the numerical advantage and the tactical advantage. Even if we take him and his people as hostages we will still be killed. The op has to be aborted, we make the trade and try again later," Signum insisted, trying to get the man to see reason.

"No, I give the orders, end of story. We go ahead, am I clear?"

His tone had been threatening and she knew why. One bad word from him and she would be locked up for the rest of her life, however long that might be. One back word and Hayate would never have her guardian knight back by her side. The bald man didn't know what crime she had committed and she intended to keep it that way. Telling another person without clearance about the Book of Darkness incident would land her in jail. She held her tongue and turned away, watching as the warehouse doors on the other end of the building opened. Two dozen men entered; their staffs and other exotic weapons in hand. She saw her men go for their weapons, but held up a hand to stop them. Most obeyed as six large, brutes of men escorted a smaller man in. The armed men spread out in front of the small man and his giants as they advanced towards the center of the warehouse where she waited.

"Ah Dame Gabrielle, we meet at last," the small man greeted her, pushing past his giant guards.

"So we do, Mr. Allen." Allen Wetrons was what many would call perfectly average. No one feature stood out from his brown hair, black eyes, slightly tanned skin, and healthy build. It was what lay beneath that had made him so dangerous; his mind. A genius in his own right, Allen had joined the TSAB quickly climbing the ranks before he was discovered to be taking drugs in his office and dealing them from his home. His fall had been swift and merciless. All at once his entire life's work was ripped away leaving a gaping hole that filled with loathing and desire for revenge. His mind had driven him into the shadows and so he found himself as the newest and best smuggler on Mid. Every drug shipment that passed through his hands was money that became the mercenaries and weapons he planned to use against the TSAB, or so his file claimed.

"Then let us not waste time with the pleasantries." A nasty smile formed on his face. "As your man no doubt informed you, I have this place surrounded. Insurance you could call it. I've lost good, good friends to those mages in the TSAB in these kind of deals, you understand of course?"

The false sincerity in his voice when he spoken of his good friends was indisputable; many of those raids had been formed due to his tipoffs so he could remove his competition without having to dirty his hands too much. "I understand. In this line of work one can never take too many chances."

He clapped his hands and his men brought out several large crates. "Open them for the rich lady."

The men quickly lifted the lids after placing ladders on each side and placed a small ladder for her to peer inside. Allen offered to hold the ladder, an unnecessary task, but she knew what he wanted to see. She wore a dress and the crate was just higher than two men. He was hoping for a panty peek and she couldn't refuse him. Dame Gabriella was a loose woman, both physically and morally, and as much as she loathed it she had no choice. This was the role she had to play so she might stand beside Hayate in freedom. The TSAB hadn't forgotten the deaths caused by the Book before Hayate was their master and they were slower to forgive such crimes even if the Wolkenritter had little to do with the actions the Book took after it was awoken.

Inside she suppressed the urge to snarl and cut Allen down here and now. The crate was packed with nude slaves, every single one of them female and marked with a brand on the palm. Most of these girls were taken from non-administered worlds to become mysterious vanishings, alien abductions and cold cases. Allen Wetrons had recently gotten in the slave business and the TSAB had decreed that enough was enough. Drugs were one thing, put slaves were another. The fact that Mid had a booming underground slave trade within the pleasure districts was an issue few in the TSAB were willing to tackle head on.

"How many? I asked for at least fifty," she reminded him, having composed herself back into the mask of Dame Gabrielle.

"And I have brought you seventy," Allen told her, graciously offer her his hand as she climbed down. She ignored the hand as he went on. "Two of the crates have the girls for your club and the third has the drugs. I have another eight crates of girls and eleven of drugs being loaded onto a truck that I've decided to throw in for free. After all, you have just become one of my best customers."

"The extra twenty girls, how much?" Signum demanded as her persona would.

"Nothing, nothing at all," Allen assured her, waving away her concern. "Consider them a gift…though…"

"You and your boys will always have a place at my clubs Mr. Allen," she told him, giving the answer he expected. That was the way the industry worked; give and take. Some of those girls were little more than children, but for some of the sicker minds on Mid the younger was better. The TSAB existed to stop men like Allen and left the social battles to the planetary governor, one of the last vestiges of Mid-Childan autonomy.

"Good, I suppose you want to see the drugs as well," he asked and she nodded. Another crate was quickly opened and once more she climbed the ladder giving Allen a show. The lacy yellow panties had been picked as Allen had a weakness for the color, something a powerful and connected woman like Dame Gabrielle would know and play to.

Instead of slave girls, she saw packages of a blue grey powder, package neatly and carefully laid into the crate in such a way to maximize the amount per crate. The drug was called Tranquility and officially classified as a dangerous club drug. Signum ran over the symptoms as she checked a bag; hallucinations, giddiness, hyper sensitivity, increased reaction time, memory loss, strength enhancement came first. Then came the withdrawal; loss of appetite, blood poisoning, cellular degeneration over a long period of time, degeneration of internal organs, memory loss and death. Possessing Tranquility was enough for four years prison time, using it was five years and selling it was a fifty year sentence. For a man like Allen that would be compounded by slave charges, which meant he would never walk free once he was taken.

"It does seem to be in order, Mr. Allen," she said beckoning one of her guards to come forward with a large case carried in both hands. The man set the case down and unlatched the top. "Open it," she commanded the slaver.

With a hint of greed in his eyes, Allen flipped the case open and smiled widely. Quickly he shut the case and turned to her with a wide smile. "All fifty million?" he asked slowly.

"In the other cases," Signum told him beckoning the rest of her men to come forward with the other five cases. "Ten million per case, where is my truck?"

"Just a moment," he said suddenly backing away from the money. He took a small orb from of his men and a hologram of a man she recognized as his chief lieutenant.

Warily, she watched the slaver when she saw movement of her own men. It seemed the bald man was done waiting. The fool was ready to give up everything and try to take down the slavers here and now. When she saw the bald man open his mouth she realized with horror what he was about to do. Cursing under her breath, she slid her hand over Laveatien and almost activated the Device. The TSAB men had stayed back and the distance to Allen's men was too great. The slavers would have a free shot at the TSAB men.

"Take them!" the bald man cried out, charging Allen.

For a moment there was confusion in the slaver's ranks. Allen dropped the hologram, but the damage was done. The slavers had heard the TSAB man and had the advantage of distance. Then the shooting started as the yells and screams filled the air. Silently she activated Laveatien and her Knight Armor. The familiar armor was a welcomed relief from the damned dress.

Men screamed and fell as magic came into play. Diving behind a crate she watched a TSAB mage fall prey to a bolt of white magic and his chest explode. Blood and shredded organs coated the floor. The slavers were playing no games; the safety protocols on their magic had been removed. Killing was the only option the slavers considered now. "Purple Lighting Flash!" Her blade burst into flames and she threw herself towards the nearest slavers who had advanced far ahead of their fellows.

In two blows the men fell to the ground, arcane flames flickering on their clothing. Battle honed instinct called out to her and she threw herself away the ground where she had been erupted. In a moment she saw the caster, a weedy looking fellow, but her time was up. She saw one of Allen's brutes lunge at her from the left. She barely caught the fist with the flat of her blade. The brute screamed as arcane flames brunt its hand.

Throwing herself backwards she landed lightly, wishing she could fly. The TSAB restricted such things in the city and she was no exception. The brute, half blind from pain, screamed as he charged her again. With a steady hand she dodged the wild swing and Laveatien bit deeply into the leg. The brute went down, screeching in pain as its leg bled.

Wild shots from some weapon hit the ground near her. She found her target and in a flash was upon him. The man, he was no mage, went down after a swift blow to the head, still confused by her sudden appearance. Another man rushed her, firing his weapon as he did. "Panzerschild." The Belkan shield caught the bullets and she quickly overloaded the spell. He stumbled blindly in the afterglow and she brought him down with a solid blow to the back of the head.

Looking up she saw her handler fighting two men in spiked clubs. Most of the fighting was done, the TSAB had been beaten. TSAB mages lay still on the floor, a handful still fighting the slavers. The floor was soaked in blood, the air thick with the tang of blood and screams of pain as men died. The familial scent of death hung over the warehouse, mingling with the smell of feces and shredded organs. Though it was something, she supposed as she brought another slaver down, that most of the slavers and their brutes had fallen. More slavers were entering in ones and twos. "Time to go," she told herself before rushing the men assaulting her handler.

She needed the bald man alive in any case. "Purple Lighting Flash." The flames came to life with greater ferocity. The handler caught one of the slavers blows with a hastily shield spell and it gave her an opening. Without a moment's hesitation she struck from behind, a downward blow to the head toppled the slaver his hair burning. With the same momentum she blocked a vicious strike from the other slaver with the hilt. The slaver began to push and she saw his mistake in a moment. He locked his legs in a vain attempt to overpower her. She lashed out, shifting her stance enough to allow her leg room to bend, and her armored boot connected just above the kneecap. The slaver went down in a flash, screaming and cursing as he clutched his knee.

"We have to go," Signum firmly told the handler, pulling him behind a row of tall crates.

"No we can still win," the man insisted, trying to push past her. His clothes were ripped and his forehead was bleeding, obscuring the left eye in blood.

She grabbed him and held him in place against a crate. "You're in no condition to fight. Your men are dead or dying and we surrounded. Retreat is the only option if you want to live," she rationalized. She kept a hand on the handler and watched for other slavers. The screaming and moaning blocked out any chance of hearing the enemy approach. Shamal's wide area search spell would have helped, but she quickly moved on. There was no point in thinking about what she didn't have.

"We have to fight. We can still win!" The handler went on, insisting the same thing over and over. He was confident the two of them could win.

If she had access to every spell and weapon form she might have been able to bring all the slavers down, but it was no so. The TSAB had sealed most of her spells and Laveatien was stuck in its sword form. "Release the seal on me, quickly!"

The bald man glared at her suspiciously. "Why would I do that? You're a felon. You'll just fly away and I'll take the fall for it."

Slavers were gathering, she saw them moving through the warehouse. Screams of dying mages became worse as the slavers found them and began to play with the wounded. "If you don't release the seal, we'll all die! I swear to you, on my honor as a Belkan Knight, I will not abandon you and you will survive this night," she told him solemnly, turning to meet his eyes as she took the vow. There was no vow more solemn she could offer this man; he was hardly worthy of the Kaiser Vow.

He regarded her with open distrust, but slowly nodded. "I know you Belkans. You take your oaths seriously." He raised a hand as she turned her attention back to the slavers.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the telltale light of the magic circle as her handler removed the seal. The man said something, a voice command, as she saw Allen enter the warehouse, having apparently fled when the fighting began. With him came a dozen more slavers. Their time was running short. She felt a thrill rush through her body as mana began to flow almost as it would if she had no seals. Every spell was open to her expect Laveatien bow form and its spell, but she had made due with less in tighter situations than this.

"You have twenty minutes," the bald man told her. "That's all I can do."

"That's enough," she said, watching the slavers movements. She saw a TSAB mage be hauled up by two slavers and Allen approached the man. Two more brutes entered the warehouse and took up station behind the TSAB mage. Allen appeared to be questioning the man and Signum knew this would not end well for the TSAB mage. The TSAB had underestimated the slavers and would pay the blood price today. For all their work on Mid-Childa, the TSAB could not change the evil nature that lurked in every man. The more light they brought to the planet, the more the darkness grew.

Just before she could cast her flight spell, the foreseen blow fell. One of the brutes smashed the TSAB mage's head into the floor, over and over again. She didn't need to see the blood and gore on the brute's hands or the floor to tell her there was no hope for that man. Death would be a relief if he wasn't already dead. "Time to go," she told the man. "Hold on to my shoulders," she instructed as she crouched.

"My men…"

"Are already dead or will be dead within a half an hour. The slavers were more powerful than the TSAB expected." It might have been stating the obvious, but the man needed to hear it for his report. Signum began to layer a barrier type spell in over her head. She wouldn't be able to slice a way out with a passenger. Smashing through was the only choice she had. "I have no idea how long I can carry both of us, be prepaid for anything."

"Are they…are my men…dead?" the man asked in horror. He deactivated the device with shaky hands, the standard staff vanished and he gripped her shoulders.

"Yes," she replied tensely, grunting as she stood. The he weighed more than her and had a death grip on her shoulders. "Hang on," she warned him one last time and jumped. The added weight forced to her pour more mana into the flight spell. She aimed herself towards a section of the roof between two beams were the metal should have been thinner.

The impact was jarring, she felt the handler nearly lose his grip, before she narrowed the barrier spell. The purple light from the impact cut through the metal, even as spells and bullets raced past them. She heard the metal groan after a few moments. A second later it burst and they shot through the new whole as the metal gave way. She felt metal shards slip past her barrier and cut her legs.

She guided them towards the next rooftop as the slavers gave chase, wincing in pain as she touched down and took a running start to reach the next rooftop. The night air was clear and free of stench of blood. Whizzing bullets reminded her of the wars of Belka when she fought in the skies as the world died below her. Once upon a time she would have placed her handler down somewhere safe and faced the slavers alone, but the times had changed. She had to live free to be with her mistress again and she needed this man on her back safe to reach that goal.

As she jumped and glided towards the city she felt her mana begin to burn. She had forcibly feeding the spell and it was hurting her body. Soon she would have to stop or run the risk of damaging herself permanently. It was too far to the city and more importantly people. People seeing the slavers would end the chase. The dark would not stand to be revealed to the light.

The number of bullets and magic bolts started to fade as the first lights of the city came into sight. She wanted to fall over in exhaustion, the stress of force feeding the flight spell and supporting the weight of her passenger was taking a heavy toll. Just a minutes to catch her breath would be a welcome reprieve, but a minute could be the difference between life and death. Hayate would never accept her death and Signum honestly feared what her mistress would do if one of the Wolkenritter died. So she pushed herself onwards, forcing her body to move.

~Unidentified object, you are in restricted airspace! Cease all flight and await contact with TSAB or local officers. Acknowledge.~

~Acknowledge, identity 465D7-charles-alpha-fly,~ she told the TSAB observer. The nearest observation point was a tower that overlooked the port. ~I need a medevac on my location. Wounded officer with head wound and armed hostiles in pursuit.~

~Understood, am I to assume you have Captain Reyonlds?~

~Correct~ she told the observer as she landed on a lit street. The civilians around them scattered as she landed and watched in curiosity. She grabbed the Captain, who had fallen to the ground unconscious as they landed, and dragged him to a storefront. Leaning him against the glass she waited, sword out, and watched for slavers looking to finish the job. She couldn't go on for long, but she might be able to draw the slavers into a prolonged battle long enough for the TSAB support to arrive.

The crowd looked on, but none came forward to help or voiced an offer to assist. As she scanned the crowd men and women flinched away and melted into the crowd, new faces taking their places. No one wanted to be the first to offer aid; each thinking that the person beside them would be the first to say something and then they would jump in.

"What on earth?" a middle aged man said, pushing his way forward. "Oh my!" He quickly ran to the Captain's side and knelt down. "I'm a doctor," he told Signum as she menacingly stepped towards him. "Or rather I'm a surgeon with the TSAB." Fishing a card form his pocket he flicked it at the Knight then began to examine the wounds.

"Doctor Rufus Beckard." Signum repeated the name a few times, wondering where she had heard it before. "That's right!" Shamal had mentioned he was one of the foremost surgeons the TSAB had on staff with dozens of papers she had found fascinating, but the man was supposed to be on vacation. "Can you help him?"

The doctor didn't look up as he examined the head wound carefully. "Not here, not without my equipment, but I can do something about the bleeding," he went on speaking as a Mid-Childa circle appeared in front of his hand. "You see I have to talk when I work. Too many thoughts at once. Makes no sense to me, but I never been into the whole impulses and neurons. I'm a surgeon, not a scientist after all."

Signum tuned the man out when she saw the blood flow all but stop. The time limit was up. She felt the mana pathways tighten and dissolved the passive barrier she had kept around herself. Once again she was sealed, back to a mere fraction of her power. Overhead she heard of the roar of a helicopter. A flight aerial mages descended from the helicopter, landing near her, and began to usher the crowd. The whirling lights from local law enforcement arrived moments later as the area was blocked off. She sagged against a streetlight and deactivated Laveatien, slipping the necklace around her neck. For a moment she considered deactivating her Armor, but ruled against it. It would put her back into that damned dress. She shut her eyes slowly as the doctor assisted the others medics in loading the Captain onto the helicopter.

"What happened?" a woman dressed in an Enforcer uniform asked her as she helped Signum to her feet.

"Arrogance took its payment," Signum told the woman through half lidded eyes. She was exhausted, far more exhausted then she had ever been. Once upon a time she could have done everything she had done on this evening a dozen times before she felt such exhaustion, but mana was the life blood of mages. It supported their bodies. Her body was operating at less than half its normal amount and she suffered for it. She let herself be led along by the woman and helped on to the helicopter.

"Blood has been spilled. Death has wetted its tongue." Those words were of an ancient mantra of Belka she mummured in her native tongue as the helicopter roared to life. After the first battle every knight would utter those words to remind themselves it was the start of a greater conflict and more blood would be spilled before the end. How many times have I uttered those words? How many wars have fought with those words said? She leaned against the metal and tried to rest. The sealed mana flow was wreaking havoc with her body and she needed the rest now even more than ever before. She muttered the last lines of the mantra. "Into the jaws of death I ride forever. To forever be wed to war, this is the oath of the Knight I uphold here and beyond the jaws of death."

---

The thump of fists on chests and the sound of marching feet filled the cool morning air. Warsmith pro tempore Ronald Weasley watched as the wizards gathered on the blasted lands before Hogwarts. The Forbidden Forest was all but gone, brunt to ash. The lake was a third of its original size and once more wizards gathered before their venerated school to go to war again. The Merlin Resolution had passed after two long years of debate; with no evidence of aggression many families were unwilling to commit to any action. Day in and day out, he had spent waiting and watching the politicians play their games. The saving grace was simply that the Witches Coven had barely moved and never once in three years made a threatening move against them.

He still hated his job, but he had come to accept it. Harry was gone, no one had heard from him since he vanished in Japan. Aurors and reporters had scoured the world for their Warsmith and found no trace of him. In time he was declared missing and the official searches halted, yet every few weeks he would see a report of another failed private search to find his friend. The title hadn't been passed on and Ron knew it never would. The wizards loved having Harry as their Warsmith and the love affair didn't abate even when he wasn't around. Personally he knew that Harry was in seclusion, probably working out his problems and enjoying life, but he didn't want to lead this army into battle. That was Harry's field, he after was a just a strategist.

The last six months had nothing but training. Wizards and witches from many nations slowly gathered. At last report he had less than six hundred men with most being the recently arrived Russian units. Wizards liked to fight by themselves, to seek out their enemies and duel them. For hundreds of years that had been the tradition of wizard wars, and he had to go against the paradigm. Most of these men and women were his age or younger and the fighting they knew was schoolyard brawls. Harry had led a successful campaign against Voldemort using the individualistic nature of wizards to great effect, but this was different.

Creatures from the Far Realms had been brought into the world to serve the Witches Coven. Sightings in Africa and the Americans reported appearances of homunculi and even a sighting or two of the dreaded fay. A spotter in Beijing claimed to have seen a lich, but was unsure. To Ron such a report was disturbing to say the least. One needed only look at a book on magical creatures to see the vast lists of creatures wizards had banished to the Far Realms ages ago. He hadn't even heard of the fae and fay until Hermione had dropped by his office and dropped a dusty tome on his desk mere days before. She had uttered one word and departed. Read, she had said and he did.

Against the enemies of wizards this army would be needed. Fairy, lich, fae, minotaur, orc, beastmen, Al-Ghouls, Hunters, fay, Lamenters, Highborns and a host of others answered the summons of the Coven. Every single race been imprisoned by the wizards in the past, all banished at the height of Arcadia's power after the Glade Wars. It was a bloodthirsty host gathered for the sole purpose to wipe out every witch and wizard. So the wizards trained to fight in rank, to support their friends, to unlearn everything they had learned, yet he had no plan to give the Coven a standup fight. If he had a hundred times the amount gathered here he might consider it, but six hundred was nothing even when the Chinese wizards linked up with them with their four hundred fighters.

He turned to face the grim faced men and women behind him, his war council. Most had fought in at least one of the last three uprisings of Dark Lords. Even for them his tactics had stunning and so unconventional that even those he had fought with in the Second War doubted them. Nervously he rubbed his palms once down his robes, plain and practical black for the winter season. "I'll explain the battle plan once more. We cannot attack the Coven directly," he gestured to the conjured table and map of the world.

"You've gone nuts," the commander of the American exiles commented. "This plan is insane."

"If you have a better idea then please share," the grim faced, bone thin Agatha Wolen silenced the American.

Agatha was a veteran of three uprisings and commanded of the Russian units. Ron knew a little of her past. She had been born in London, but her father moved the family to Moscow before the Second World War began. She never left Russia, fighting for the Russian Ministry as one of the foremost masters of alchemic warfare. Agatha of the Thousand Blades, the Bladed Demon the Nazi SS had called her and she had rightfully earned it. Where other alchemists sought the Philosophers Stone she recreated an entire branch of magic, imbedded alchemy that allowed one to seal things into oneself for later use. Where others might have chosen different things to seal, Agatha used her skills to cut the SS. Rumors stated that she had a thousand seals on her body, each containing a blade of some kind. Other rumors stated she took her enemies heads and sealed them into her body to use as distractions.

Ron gave the old woman a nod of appreciated that she returned with a scornful look. He wasn't the leader she wanted, but he was all they had. In his heart, he was a strategist; tactics and logistics were his forte. Harry had been the master of all aspects of warfare, from assault to siege, his friend had proven his worth from the front line; a god of war in the modern age, an unstoppable machine of death when he got going, the Merlin and Dumbledore of the new age.

"We cannot match the Coven with the forces here. When the Chinese join us we will still be outnumbered ten to one at least. So I've come up with a plan that will work what we have." Ron took a deep breath and prepared himself to sell his plan one last time. All the commanders had to agree before any of their forces could act. "Using small teams of three to five we will hit the Far Realms. The teams drop in, blast everything they can see and then get out. We hit them over and over again. The creatures of the Far Realms should be force to defend their homes or fight here. We have to make them want to defend their homes. Once that's done we'll move into China with two thirds of our forces, reequip everyone, link up with the Chinese Ministry and move into Japan. The half that remains here will have to keep the pressure up on the Far Realms. We can't let those creatures get wind of the assault on the Coven until it's too late. The ones in Japan advance on foot to the Japanese coast then take the gate they've set up there." He pointed to a small stretch of land in the Shikko region and drew a line out to sea. "Here," he pointed to a stretch of empty ocean, "the Fortress Camelot is located."

"What? You mean THE Camelot? As in Merlin and Arthur?" the French commander, Louie D'Tantale, asked in shock. "Do legends live again?" he asked with a hearty laugh. His men called him Louie the Baker, the man never went anywhere without a sweet food in hand and he had the gut to prove it, but his wandwork was far superior to the average wizard.

"Yes, they do. The fae and fay stole it in the last days of the Fifth Glade War. They took it with them into the Far Realms and Arcadia fell," Agatha informed the Frenchmen sharply, though her voice was tinged with regret when she spoke of the loss of Camelot. "Arcadia collapsed without the keystone we called the Fortress of Camelot. Those bastards will pay for it now though."

"Because we're a-comin' to collect the rent with extra interest!" The American exile grinned savagely as several other commanders agreed.

It wasn't that the American exile was an arrogant man; he wasn't really all that bad. The witches of the camp certain thought highly of him, but he had a few rough edges such as a habit to argue with the other commanders and advocate spur of the moment decisions that seemed good. A former military man that had resigned his commission after the American wizards refused to get in involved in a war against the Coven; that alone spoke volumes about Hunter Valen's true character.

"Exactly," Ron agreed. "Once we're aboard the Camelot we can reseal the Coven for good using the four Treasures of Britain that we know are within the walls. With a bit of luck we might even be able to recapture the Camelot and take control of it." It was hard for him to miss the pleased smiles from the commanders. Every witch and wizard would want the Camelot returned to its rightful heirs. The chance to be a part of the army that took back their prized fortress meant a chance to be enshrined in glory eternal. "We only need to decide which squads will be where, if you are all in agreement."

"Ah, to hell with it! You're an insane son of a bitch, but I'm game," Hunter quickly agreed, no doubt hoping he would get the honor of leading the first assault on the Camelot.

"I find this plan satisfactory upon consolation with my Ministry," Louie informed him.

"My comrades and I will march with you," Agatha asserted. "We insist on being the ones to attack the Far Realms though."

"I had you in mind already," Ron told her. He had expected the Russians to insist on leading the charge into enemy lands and their battle magic was uniquely suited for such a task. The other commanders gave nods of approval, but most of them had already spoken to him before this meeting. The big players had needed to come around to his plan, though it sounded like the French were playing hard to get. The second sell attempt had been a smashing success and he was pleased.

A zephyr kicked up, blowing through the dead forests and pounding the ruined castle as it whipped about. Ron shivered as the cold air blew by. A greater believer in divination might have called it a sign of a doomed plan that would lead to cold deaths, but he had been utter rubbish at that class. It was nothing more than a cold win that was common as winter approached. "The Russians will raid the Far Realms, the rest of us begin preparation to move to China."

Hunter pushed his way past Louie and placed a hand on the table. "Let me and my aces take the first assault on the gate. We'll give 'em hell before the rest of you arrive."

The American was referring to an odd spell American wizards had created some years back. It was a strange hybrid of Native American shamanism and European magical tradition, given a uniquely American spin. The spell enabled a type of flight that only allowed the caster to hover a meter so above the ground, but let them accelerate to speeds a wizard could never achieve unless they had rediscovered the lost art of flight. The spell had a certain type of fame amongst the wizards as most of the larger wizard populations had rejected it, but the Polish had embraced it with gusto. Several Polish aces had come with the American exiles and a few more would arrive within the next three day.

Ron weighed the benefits of sending the American aces against the possible costs. He studied the map of the Shikko region and frowned as he stroked the irritating fuzz on face. He hadn't shaved in a few days and knew he needed to take care of it soon, before it became a distraction. "I'm not sure yet," he said cautiously. He silenced Hunter's protest by quickly continuing. "There are too many unknowns at the moment. We need a better idea about the number of Far Realm creatures guarding the gate. I send you in then I don't have you when we face the walls of Camelot. On the other hand, a slower assault on the gate would allow the Coven to reinforce the gate and will cost us more. I wish I had a dozen more of your aces," he bitterly remarked.

"Once again, you Europeans want the Americans to help out, but you don't want us to do anything." Hunter laughed at some unseen joke. "It's the greatest dysfunctional relationship in the whole of the damned world and neither of us wants to get out of bed, but can't stand the other." He slapped the table with his fist as he laughed, drawing some snide snickers from more than one commander.

Agatha gave the American ace a sharp look of disapproval, before she coughed lightly. "The way I see it, we have two options to take the gate. One, the Americans smash the guards and we follow up, but the aces will take heavy losses. Two, we assault the gate with ground forces and take greater causalities, but the aces will be stronger numerically and just might be enough to reach the top of the walls. Either way we will take many losses and every comrade lost is one less wand that we can't afford to lose."

"How very optimistic," Louie drolly remarked. "Your analysis leaves no room for hope of a perfect victory does it? This fight should be as art, raw as it starts and slowly becoming a masterpiece. If we believe we can achieve a flawless victory then it will be so," he finished confidently.

"Believe to achieve," Agatha scoffed. "What a silly idea! No wonder your people have always been the first to give up when the going got tough. And to think you spawned that Napoleon and were once a great empire!"

Louie's ruddy complex made for an odd contrast with the deep green robes he wore of his large body. He spluttered and hissed for a moment then lashed out. "Hmphf! Says the woman from the lot that killed millions of their own people! Ever since the days of the Mongols you've been subservient to your masters, no matter if they are Czars or mad muggles."

Ron saw the anger flare in Agatha eyes and a hint of white runes on her hands start to form. He moved quickly to head of the argument. "Take it somewhere else! Work out your bloody differences somewhere else and some other time. I ask that we all behave like adults and work together to save our collective arses from genocide," he finished hotly. This was the reason it had been so difficult to gather even the six hundred here. Each witch and wizard had some kind of axe to grind with those of another nationality, despite their status as wizards and witches in a world where they were the minority. Russian to German, English to French, Italy to Turkish, American against just about everybody and with everybody at once; it was little wonder this small force didn't shatter in a day let alone lasted the last six months, but the game was ending.

"Damn! I'm impressed," Hunter complimented him. "I guess you learned a few tricks from the Potter kid."

Ron was glad to see that Louie and Agatha no longer looked ready to murder each other. The heavy Frenchman had stuck his hands in his pockets and waited with a smug smile, no doubt thinking he had won the argument. Agatha had returned to her normal cold self, any thought she had was hidden behind those age worn green eyes. At least the faint light of the glowing runes had vanished for the moment. "Yeah, best friends and all. I suppose it was bound to rub one way or another."

A strange look came over Hunter's face. It was some cross between a leer and outright glee. "Say, can I ask you a question?"

"About the plan?" Ron replied warily.

"Nah, it's about something else," Hunter answered evasively. He waited for until Ron nodded and went on. "?"

"What? What was that?" Ron blinked a few times after Hunter spat out his question. "Did I have a three…oh…" He suddenly realized the full question and blushed.

"Ah, he's blushing! It must be true!" Hunter cried triumphantly. The American fist pumped the air then held out a hand towards Louie. "Pay up, it's true! I knew it!"

How had he lost control of the situation this badly? Ron desperately sought an escape, but for all his skill in strategy there was no escape. He had been trapped and checkmate had been called. Even though he had never had a threesome with Hermione and Harry, he couldn't help but wonder where such a scenario could come from. "Wait a minute!" he protested as the Frenchman reached into his coin pouch and started to pull a coin out. "I never admitted to anything!" There was little hope of saving face now, but perhaps he could drag the American down with him.

"He has a point," Louie pointed out, removing his hand from the coin pouch.

"Fine," Hunter admitted, turning to point at Ron. "Just admit it and we won't think any less of you."

Ron doubted the man could look anymore insincere. Any answer would be rejected by the rumor mill instantly and lies would be accepted. This was the price he paid for being a friend of Harry Potter and the paper loved to gossip about all three key figures from the Second War now more than ever. Freedom from the shadow of death had only made them bolder than ever before.

"Come on tell the truth already. I'm dyin' over here," Hunter impatiently said, stamping his feet. "Damn my feet are asleep."

"Nothing happened."

That voice! He knew that voice all too well. That voice that had once been sweet, until the war had taken her looks, her voice, and her health. Only one witch in the entire world had such a gravelly voice that sent Death Eaters flying away in fear. "Hermione!" Ron called out pleased by her unexpected appearance.

The commanders parted and watched in awe as a figure of raw power stalked towards the table. She hid her scared body behind billowing gray full body cloak and deep hood. He could barely make out her chin. A bit of scraggly brown hair was visible, but for the most part she was a shadowy enigma to the outside world. Most saw her as the Hermit, a jaded flower that had lost all its color, yet still filled its veins with power. She had retreated into isolation after Harry vanished, rarely speaking with anyone expect the bookstores owners. Meaning had been lost to her during the war. What she had once believed was false and what was false was a truth. The only constant, she had told him once, was power. She had reached a threshold were even her own body was unable to contain her power and it showed as she walked in odd magical happenings. Some claimed she was one of the few witches that would have a chance to defeat Harry or vice versa. Others called her the new Dark Lady and wanted her dead, but none had the will to try to take her on.

"The fae have moved. They have been seeking avatars in this world and fools have accepted. The fay have begun to create contracts and make ready for war. The Coven controls the president United States. You will enter this war and have to fight non magical peoples and their technology." She stopped on the other side of the table and watched him.

"You're to the point today," Ron remarked. She had become more direct the longer she spent away from the community at large. Simple matters like pleasantries and greetings, small talk and the like had been brunt away.

"Not relevant. Focus on the war effort or you all will die. Use this information. It was acquired at great cost," she told him succinctly.

"Come back with me. You need to be a part of us again. You're destroying yourself with this exile thing," he pleaded.

She spoke again after a moment passed. The wind kicked at the ends of her cloak, revealing nothing but darkness beneath. "The light has gone out from this race. We will all die. All you do is slow the descent into the void. The endless night will take us despite your efforts. Fight and perhaps you will die before the end comes. Be one of the lucky ones."

At her grim words Ron saw more than one commander glance uneasily around. As much as he hated it her words would destroy this army. Men would doubt themselves when she, a powerful witch, claimed their war was a failed effort. He needed those men in high spirits when the battle came. That was what he should have done, but he couldn't do it. This was his Hermione, his friend and closet thing to a sister he had living. "Where did you lose faith? What happened to you?"

The wind quieted for many long minutes and she was silent. As she started to speak grass pushed it way up from the dusty ground at the edges of her cloak, small sprouts that would die the moment she moved away. "In the dragon flames, in the trench, in the siege, in the assault, in the madness, in the chaos, in the anger, in the hate I withered. Many withered though they never knew it. Harry hurt, he withered, you did not. You twisted. Inwards and so you survived to thrive. Unnecessary actions, foolish thoughts, vain hopes and dreams, vain actions were revealed to me. In the war I learned truth. Wizards are not able to handle the truth. They twist like you and they will die for it." With those final words she turned away and began to walk back the way she came.

Ron watched her go with tears in his eyes. She hurt so much and she wouldn't let anyone help her. As much as it pained him to admit she had drifted away from him and their friendship withered in the last days of the war. Harry had been her pillar then and he was gone. He had abandoned his post, his duty and his friends who needed him for selfish reasons. Most of those who fought with her and Harry in the last days were dead or vegetables. She had no anchor and she drifted, broken and lost. Ron clenched his fists in anger when he saw the damage Harry had brought on Hermione and at his own helplessness. He watched the sprouts wither and die before his eyes, but he had no need of that analogy.

He couldn't muster any words before she vanished with a small, purposeful pop. Nothing he could say mattered. He was just another wizard in her eyes. He was no light to her, not anyone. She gave her words and left, leaving uncertainty and fear in her wake. In many ways she was worse than the Dark Lords at ruining her own kinds will before a fight. Tales would spread, commanders would talk and the army would learn. Within a day every man and woman would know what she had said. Despair would fill the camp, then some would leave and others would raise questions that would lower the morale and their willingness to fight. In a single meeting lasting less than ten minutes she would undone all his work swifter than the Coven ever could hope to do.

"On that note, I will close this strategy session," he said stiffly. He needed to do some serious damage control and it had a small chance of working. "See to your men." He dismissed the commanders hoping they would try to assist with damage control. Rolling up the map, he tapped the table with his wand and it returned to a piece of Hogwarts masonry. Perhaps the piece had been the victim of a Blasting Curse and the student who had manned the wall as the Death Eaters stormed the castle had come along with it. It was impossible to know, though he imagined he could see the masonry coated in the blood of a child who died too early.

"I don't feel my age," he muttered to himself as he walked towards his temporary office in what remained of the Hogwarts. "I'm not even thirty yet, bloody hell! Don't even feel twenty four," he moaned the loss of what should have been the high point of his life. The age where he could enjoy the fruits of his work during the war, parties and enthralling the ladies with grandiose war stories should be where he was, not commanding this army. "Where did I go wrong with my life?" he asked the cloudy sky. Even the sun seemed to have forsaken them on this day. A cold wind was his only answer and answer was nothing he liked; a cold winter was coming.

---

The next three hours passed in a blaze. Every topic affecting the planet was discussed from trade to the boom in the Ghetto Quarter. Morals questions were posed, philosophical meanings shared, tactics and weapons talked about and demonstrated. Charts and reports of the various powers were discussed. It appeared to have no rhyme or reason. I could see no pattern or trend and so kept to myself. I spoke sparsely and watched as I slowly sipped at an array of different drinks.

This was little more than a club for intellectuals by all appearances, but I felt there was something more behind this group. Some deeper cause had brought this odd mix of company together and it was hardly the exchange of ideas. Any man could do such a thing openly within the Empire; there was no need for this clandestine meeting in the night.

At one point Kelin turned to me as the conversation reached a lull point. "So do ye get it yet? Why I brought ye here?"

I couldn't help, but give him a negative reply. "It seems like a bunch of talk like any group of intellectuals would have. That doesn't explain the meeting time or the mixed company," I replied in confusion. "Tell me the meaning."

My friend palmed his face and groaned in annoyance. "I thought ye were smarted than that. Ye can't even see past the smokescreen. Your skills must have degraded when I gone," he said with a slow shake of his head, as if he disbelieved me. "What's the common thread?"

I took another sip of my drink and thought. I reviewed the conversation, seeking a common thread through them, but found nothing. As I placed the drink back on the table, I answered. "I can't see anything. It seems like a serious of unrelated sets of data, reports, and such. Other than the Empire being mentioned a lot, but ever loyal man does that."

He groaned in disgust and shook his head sadly. "Ye see it, but ye don't get it. The thread is the Empire!" he said, throwing his hands in the air. "Every bit of it is a status update of the Empire and the enemies of the Empire. And here I was thinking ye were just as sharp as your father."

"Sorry to disappoint," I said coldly. I disliked being compared to my father. His legacy overshadowed me at every turn. It was always to my father's standard I had held up to and I failed ever time. I was no great Knight, or hero crafted in the eternal fires of war. I wasn't a great merchant who played the game as easily as breathing, able to make anyone buy anything for any price.

"Ye aren't stupid. Ye can see the pattern so just tell me straight up. What do you see?" Kelin asked as he poured himself another drink. Redness was starting to show on his face now, his high tolerance of alcohol was finally being approached.

"The Empire is in decline," I told him succinctly. I as acutely aware of the room falling silent as I uttered those words, but I kept my gaze locked on my drink. That fact was hardly news to me. Every report an agent of the Empire would give would be measured against the Empire; that was the way it was done and had been done since we won our freedom from the Warlords and their puppets.

"Go on," Kelin urged me. "Expound."

"The Empire is on the decline. Immigrating alien races and refugees from the Warlords sectors have settled here. They are draining our resources faster and the worlds of the Empire cannot support the new population. The trade routes are drying up as Warlords fight, making the merchants uneasy. Newcomers to the Empire have no allegiance to the Empress, yet hope to be safe behind her power. Moral decay has taken the highest echelons of the Empire and the people have followed suit. The Belkan tongue is being replaced by a hybrid Belka that uses various other words from other languages. The armies of the Empire are shrinking and fewer young people are joining them, in favor of pleasure instead of the pain and death brought on by war. Within two hundred years the Empress and the Empire will be unrecognizable or gone, annihilated by the Warlords or infighting. Civil wars are brewing across a dozen worlds and the Empress has to join the war for land, resources and morale so she can retain her throne."

"Correct," the Black Apostle boomed as he stood. "The Empire has entered its twilight and we will save it." He flung his arms out as if embracing the entire room. "These men and women are the ones, who like you, have seen the twilight and want to stop it. The purpose of this group is to bring that change. We come from every walk of life for this common goal. Are you with us?"

"Yes," I told him, raising my gaze from the glass to the Apostle.

"You will have to kill and kill again. Are you with us?" the Apostle asked.

"Yes."

"You will have no place in the history of the Empire. You have no future, but the Empire's future if you fight with us. Are you with us?"

"Yes," I firmly insisted hoping he would end this game.

"Very well, you are now one of us, an Heir of Segmond now and forever. Within these walls your name will be…Zalcad" he intoned gravely. "Now that our newest member understands the gravity of our situation we will move on to more important matters."

There were nods of agreement from the other members of this group, while I was stunned by the name. I knew my history and one of teachers had been fascinated by the origins of modern words. Zalcad was the Belkan version of the name Alucard, the demon mercenary who had fought nearly a thousand years ago in the Vemal Rebellion alongside the Empire. He had become a legend for his actions during that bloody civil war. Every child knew of his conquest of the Fortress of Solitude, who he went up against ten thousand traitors and slew every one of them within the Fortress and the valley it guarded. It was said that when the Empress arrived herself she met the warrior as he died on a throne of corpses, stretching to sky. With his last bit of strength Alucard moved off the seat of bodies and bade the Empress sit. She lifted him into her lap and kissed his brow as the man drew his last breath. Legend of not, he was forever known as one of the few men who had ever been kissed by the Empress. When he died she personally carried his body and laid him to rest in a mountain cave, where she left a lock of her golden hair. The tomb entrance was sealed with magic and the bodies of the dead stacked before it. In death the dead would guard their killer until the day came when Alucard would be reborn and welcomed back to the Empress's side to stand there in glory forever and ever. It was little more than child's story, yet many believed it was truth.

A woman who called herself Vera stood and took the floor. "I have identified the next target." Her long brown hair swayed as she pulled an old fashion paper map, weather worn and stained, out of a bag hung on the back of her chair and unrolled it on the table. "This is a layout of the House Meora grounds. They are Lesser Family, but the head of the House is a fierce advocate of alien immigration and some of the Greater Families have sided with him."

"I know them." I was surprised to hear myself speak, but went on despite the fact that I had interrupted Vera. "He's involved in a number of housing projects and craftsmanship deals. No doubt he stands to prosper the new aliens and their needs and their talents."

"Correct," Vera agreed coolly. "Don't interrupt me again or you will suffer," she warned me with a glare. "As I was saying, House Meora has been playing both sides. Their Head has been organizing protest behind the scenes. From what I've learned they are mostly human protests against alien immigration that are supposed to turn into riots and rampage through the Ghetto Quarter. Afterwards House Meora plays to come in and save the aliens by rebuilding and provided protection. The cycle then repeats on an odd cycle. This kind of corruption cannot be allowed to exist," Vera declared passionately.

"I agree. Something must be done about it. A message needs to be sent to House Meora to pick a side or not to side with anyone. Does anyone have any ideas?" the Apostle asked the group.

The Black Apostle seemed to be a leader of some kind. It was hard to miss the respect every man and women in the room gave him. Ideas began to fly around after he posed his question. Some suggested killing the Head and wiping the family out, but others called for the death on the heir or a lesser son or daughter. Some wanted to confront the Head in private and sway him one way or the other. Someone suggested exposing the House's plan for the riots to the public and shaming them, but none were accepted or could gather enough support from the entire group.

As the debate rolled onwards the meeting was entering its fourth hour. Kelin had kept quiet most of the time, occasionally supporting a motion to assassinate a son or daughter of House Meora, but little beyond that. I still didn't know his codename. In one of the lull points, when everyone broke off to gather support this idea or that idea, I confronted him as he stretched his legs. "So what is your codename?"

"Roalain," he answered coldly. "I hate it."

"As in Roalain the Dragonbane…?" I asked hesitantly. I noted that the Apostle was steady moving around the room, talking with one of two people at a time and getting them to nod to something before he moved on to the next group.

"The same." Kelin took a long gulp of his drink and slammed the glass on the table.

"Oh…" I wasn't sure how to respond. Roalain the Dragonsbane was an infamous legend of the Empire, but a traitor. He had turned against the Empire and his own brothers, the Dragons Fangs, in the midst of a battle against the Golden Lady. He cut down his own brothers and stood in a circle of their bodies as the golems of the Golden Lady tore the army of the Empire to bits. He spent the next twenty years raiding, looting, burning, raping and pillaging his way across the Empire. He never gave a stand up fight and it took the Empress sending her elite assassins, the Delirium Dreamers, to end the man, but the damage was done.

"Return to your seats," the Apostle commanded. He waited until everyone was seated and stood. He folded his arms across his chest and gazed at each person seated in turn. "There is another course of action available to us. A unique opportunity," he said slowly. "In three days House Meora will host a party. Those from the merchant families will be in attendance and the eldest daughter of the Head, Eleanor. The Empress has brought us one such man who can get into that party with ease."

I saw him look at me pointedly and the rest of the room watched me intently. I shifted slightly in my seat, a bit uncomfortable. I swallowed hard and dared to meet the Apostles eyes. "Me?"

"Aye, you. Roalain tells me your quiet the ladies' man. All you have to do is seduce the girl and get her away from the party. Roalain, myself and a few others will be waiting to break in and take her away. It will send a message to the Head when you leave our mark on the door to whatever room you take her to," the Apostle explained as if it were that simple.

"Wait a minute!" I protested. There were too many holes and variables in this plan. "You want me to seduce a complete stranger, make her want to have sex with me within a few minutes of meeting me, not to mention you want me to do this under the nose of her own father, kidnap said girl then have me leave a mark on a door, then what? Walk out the door as if nothing happened? It the eldest daughter! Her father will have an eye on any man who talks with her, his men will never allow her to slip away with a new friend to someone dark bedroom while he can use her status as virgin to his advantage." As I pointed out the flaws I had to admit it was gone in a certain sense. House Meora was known for its lavish parties and the beauty of its females. I had seen the Lady Eleanor from across the room once or twice when the Grand Court was in session. Many of the other sons of the Lesser Families had lusted after her, but behind every tale of their supposed conquest of Eleanor I saw their lying nature. She would never settle for a lesser bedmate than the best. The sons of the Greater Families came to visit her regularly, but not even they could claim to have had their way with her and not be a liar.

The boyish part of me wanted me to try just to prove myself better. It was a childish thought, but a tempting one. She was a beauty and I could imagine the feelings would be far better than the boasts that could come from taking her virginity. It was a challenge in a way, testing me. I had never been one for contest of 'manliness', but I felt something odd rise in my chest. A thrill of attempting the impossible…and I tried to ignore it.

"Aha! You're interested!" Klein proclaimed suddenly. "That's my friend!"

"So you'll do it?" the Apostle asked.

I needed to learn to control my emotions better. These people could easily read where my thoughts were by facial expressions apparently. "I'll admit that I'm interested…" I said slowly. I knew a bit of red stained my cheeks and it wasn't the drinks. The image of those perfect breasts bouncing as I…I pushed the thought away, but the damage was done before I could reach my drink to conceal my face.

"Hmphf! You men are all the same," Vera snapped from the other side of the table. Several of the other females agreed with her and glared at any male near them. "You all think with your dick!"

Suddenly I liked the plan a lot more than before. Odd.

---

A/N: The Atlseim Dirsict is cannon; it's supposedly the birth place of Fate and is something of an unexplored frontier. There's some interesting uses for this region that I might use in the future.

Yes, I have nerfed the power of teleportation. At the current stage only the TSAB has teleportation devices on starships and those are extremely limited in what and where they can be used, to stay closer to what cannon says or doesn't say, about teleportation. Personal teleportation is useless for cargo and few mages have the strength for such spells.

The term a-comin' is anarchic in the modern world, but not a dead word. Rarely used outside of some regions of the American south and southwest, Dropping the g at the end is also something of a stereotype of Southern American English.

The misspelling of fae and fay in the last chapter was on purpose. They are different species, but to non-native English speaker there might appear to be no difference phonetically when they hear the words (even then an English speaking muggle might not catch the difference, but a wizard would!).This is fanfiction, I'm allowed to do that!

As for the Nanoha scene in the last chapter, it was a spurn of the moment addition. The old saying what you write first is best came into play and I followed it. More squick moments might happen as the story goes on, but do recall this piece of fanfiction is a first draft in many ways.

The offer made at the end of chapter 1 still is open. PM if interested.

I'm looking for a new beta reader. PM if interested.

Remember to read and review!