AN: Sorry that it's been so long... I have many excuses, but ultimately, it's silly to excuse my neglect... although I have labored over this chapter, to make it as perfect as I can get.... thank you to reviewers, twilightm00n, Shang Leopard, SarahE7191, Alliekat1996, Eternityfalls, and Dragonfly257. And my beta, as usual, of course. ;D

Chapter 11

Reunion

April 2, 482 H.E.

"Again," Rikash insisted as the demonstration projected before his eyes came to a close for the third time. The commanding figure in the center of an arena gazed down at the bodies cast across the sand as the images blurred and Numair's ghostly face came into view. He was grimacing.

"Ri, this takes a gods-cursed amount of strength," he told his son, who rolled his eyes unappreciatively. "They aren't even my memories; Harailt gave them to me."

"I don't see how that makes a difference," Rikash said tartly; his father was a black robe mage, one of the most powerful in all the Eastern lands and beyond. Why couldn't he perform the projection spell one more time? "You have a link-" He gestured down at the speaking-spell crystal the boys had propped up on a windowsill. His father had its twin back in his study in Corus.

"But I have to summon the memory from Frasluk and then project it back there," Numair replied, exasperated. "Even with an instrument for the second casting, summoning is more difficult- and you've seen it enough times."

"Why couldn't Harailt just send us the information?" Damek asked. Rikash snorted with derision, but stayed quiet with a reproving frown from his father.

"Because Roger will be watching what long-reaching spells are performed within the fortress," Numair answered, running a hand through his hair wearily. The gray streaks were telling; he must have been very busy lately, if he had not bothered to dye his locks. "It would be believable, that Harailt would send a memory of the shock to us, back in Corus. All of the delegations have will have had a mage send that back to their respective monarchs. Any spying enchantments would be inexact, but they would tell Roger enough about how far the spell went, and if he recognized your magic on the receiving end-"

"-it would blaze a trail to us," Han finished, nodding. Kol sat beside him, on the floor, eyes wide as he observed the proceedings.

"I need to be at full strength," Numair said quietly. "I'm a reserve. For now." Rikash made a face, but flexed his hand; in the fire he brought to his fingertips, he forced the flames to replay the sketchy memory he had constructed of the events through Numair's spell.

As the first group of men the Gotzane slaughtered fell to the ground, he stopped the image, glaring at the shadowy silhouette of Tezock.

"And we are still at a disadvantage, until Prince Liam arrives," Rikash noted sardonically. "Where is His Highness?"

"You don't like him very much," Han observed mildly. His friend scowled.

"As much as I like any warrior who holds to the tiresome belief that if one hits hard enough, the foe will stay down." Han chuckled, crossing his arms as Rikash glowered.

"Like you, then?" A smile ghosted Numair's face, while his son's eyes narrowed.

"Except that I am left to deal with the sorcerers, the immortals, the Shadows-"

"Because you are best-suited to them," Numair cut in. "Leave the swordsmen to the swordsmen and the mages to the mages-" Rikash's lips curled in a nasty sneer.

"And if the mage happens to be a swordsman, too? Who deals with him then?" His gaze turned back to the frozen images above his fingertips; if it came to blows with this new foe, Rikash knew damn well who would be the one fighting. "And what does Deryne say about the mystery guest?" he demanded, completely changing the subject. "Why hasn't she told you everything yet?" What scruples were holding her back from ferreting out danger this time? He was annoyed, and curious, but he held his tongue. Numair was staring downwards, probably at something on his desk.

"I need your intervention," he said softly. "In Frasluk. As soon as is possible." Rikash scoffed.

"Since when does she welcome our help?" he demanded, and Numair's jaw set. His eyes were dark when he finally looked up; Rikash tensed in spite of himself as more questions flashed through his mind- what if it wasn't just her fickle morals? What if something had-

"Right about there, in the demonstration-" Numair nodded at the flames licking around the glittering outline of the amphitheatre of Frasluk. "Harailt says she turned whiter than the Goddess's moon- He said he thought it was the horror of witnessing those deaths… but from what he said, it was after that, when Tezock started to scan the crowds…." His face darkened. "-and every execution after that, she looked more and more ill. She hasn't said a word about it- all she asks is if she can meet with Cyne, which she can't, because Roger has so far kept the Kyprian and Tortallan delegations busy and away from each other."

"Divide and conquer," Damek commented, arms crossed. Han cast a worried glance around the room.

"Can you talk with her?" the earth-mage asked, but Numair shook his head.

"Too risky; Frasluk has housed the greatest conspirators and traitors of the ages," he muttered. "More than likely, someone has developed a way to listen in to speaking-spells over the years." Han's brow furrowed.

"Then we can talk to her," he decided, rising from his chair. Numair nodded.

"That is what I need from you now," Numair added, jaw set. "Intervention." His gaze locked with his son's; his next words were slow, measuring. "I know that we agreed that we would refrain from using you if we could, espionage being dangerously politically, let alone risky for you, but the rules are changing before our eyes; we need to know anything possible about Tezock and his fellow immortals… what they are, preferably." The four in Hamrkeng stiffened.

"Immortals?" Rikash echoed, looking back down at his distorted, vague image.

"Well, he isn't human," Han reasoned; he did not seem surprised. "I cannot sense it, in a mere memory, but no mortal ever killed a score of men without blinking- or tore them to pieces with his bare hands," he added, mentioning the final demonstration, when the Gotzane had been unleashed upon a score of hardened, armed criminals.

"Except Deryne," Rikash muttered sourly, only considering the first demonstration; for that, he received a none-too-gentle punch from his friend. Han gripped him by the arm.

"She's never done that," the earth-mage hissed firmly in his ear. "You know that damned well." Rikash grimaced, then nodded, irritated; Han had taken to defending her like a court matron protecting her daughter's reputation. Maybe it had been wrong to say, but Han had to know that he didn't really mean it….

They broke apart and turned back to the conversation; by some stroke of good fortune, no one had heard the exchange.

"If they're immortals, aren't they recorded somewhere?" Damek was asking softly. "If no sightings now, surely in some other era-"

"They are not," Numair replied flatly, voice tired. He rubbed his face with a hand. "And I've been searching- that's the other reason I'm not sending that spell again, Ri; I'm exhausted and left with no results." His lips twisted in a scowl. "Although, if anyone knows, Deryne does, and I'm not excited about that prospect," he mentioned darkly. "Why else is she keeping so quiet?" And what could be so terrible that she cannot talk about it? Rikash wondered, before scoffing; she was just acting like any panicky female....

"Has she seen Tezock since then?" Damek wanted to know. Numair shook his head.

"I think she's staying in her rooms, pleading sickness- which Roger is probably crowing to himself about. He's given her a nasty surprise, whatever she's found out." His frown deepened. "What concerns me is that she's shaken up enough to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to her." Rikash's jaw set; his father was right. Deryne was like him, and Rikash knew he would rather die than give Malvyn that pleasure.

"I'll find her," he said, mind puzzling out the plan of attack they had already half-formed. "We'll enter posing as servants, and I'll go to the party, and either find her or Sir Alan- Han can check her chamber, but I'll bet she'll be there." Two days, and Deryne would be itching to slap the smirk off of Malvyn's face; she would go, or her insufferable bird would make her. Rikash would bet his last copper on it. "Kol, Damek could use your help finding Tezock's quarters- or better still, Malvyn's- and then he can help you look for your sister-" He turned to his father to elaborate. "Deryne will want to see me or Han, and Damek has learned the mage craft of the raka mages all his life- masters of illusion and espionage, from all those years of persecution-"

"I am aware of the raka's reputation," Numair assured his son with a small smile. "And I approve. You have worked out your positions as servants, I hope?" Han nodded.

"Just this morning."

"With any luck, any checking the chancellor has ordered is for two youths, not four," the black robe mage said with a sigh. "I suppose Deryne will have to hold out until tomorrow night." Rikash gritted his teeth; it was a long time, especially in negotiations… Roger could throw any number of threats and promises in the way of the countries gathered before they could puzzled out exactly what was going on.

"Maybe this Tezock is the only one of his kind," Damek said wearily, leaning back against the wall. His eyes fell shut, and he spoke to the ceiling. "Maybe Roger's bluffing, and you can blast the Gotzane in the Divine Realms, and all our problems will be done with." Rikash's smile was daggered.

"Maybe," he allowed, before his amber eyes darkened. "But I doubt it; he's ready for us, this time."

Deryne hissed a curse under her breath as she fumbled with the collar of her gown; although the rest of the dress was noticeably Tortallan in style, the high neck was to add some semblance of warmth for cold Scanran nights. Lalasa should not have bothered; all events took place inside, anyway, and Frasluk was snugger than the chilly passageways of the palace in Corus- the fortress was designed to retain heat… which meant all the effort was for nothing. She tugged on the soft material, unsure what it was, but savoring the feeling against her calloused hands.

The Crown had been very generous in supplying her wardrobe for the expedition; the Tortallans had to match the finery of the other delegations, other nations that took much greater stock in appearance than Deryne did. The gray, periwinkle color matched her eyes almost perfectly, and made them more vivid, vibrant against her pale skin and dark hair…. She sighed, thinking of her cousin Nora as she carefully pulled her locks into a cascade of curls; her young cousin had taught her the simple style for nights like these, when the imperious girl would not be present to fuss over the squire. It always looked better when Nora did it, but it was passable… and the formalness of her attire made her look older, haughtier… more than a match for the Lord Chancellor. She smirked, and her face was more recognizable. She silently dared Roger to do his worst, then crossed the room to pound a fist on the wooden frame of the bed. This was no time for foolish challenges to whatever gods listened.

I agree, the Chamber said coldly. Duskwing preened his feathers. Find out what you will about Tezock; I like not the sound of this.

"You mean you don't know what he is?" she asked, but the Chamber did not reply, which meant either she was right… or he did not want to tell her what the Gotzane was. She was not sure what would be more reassuring. "Frejonak, help me," she whispered as a knock pounded on the door.

"Deryne?" Alan called. "Squires don't get more time to dress just because they're girls! We aren't holding up the whole ball for you, you know!"

How she despised balls… Deryne glanced once more into the mirror, reaching a hand up to the pearl earbobs her aunt Kel had given her. All the ceremony and pomp… the noise and the dancing…. There were parties, but this would be beyond that, with ostentatious formality, elaborate rituals, and no expense spared.

She had not attended one of those in quite some time.

And Roger knew it. She cursed once more, then turned to open the door.

When the king, his consort, the Lord Chancellor, and Tezock were announced, the bolder and the ignorant lined up to greet the four; Deryne waited patiently as Harailt bent over the hand of Lady Orbea, the fair-haired, dainty courtesan upon whom Ingmar's favor had landed. Deryne pitied the girl; she was probably only a few years older than the squire, and as trapped in Roger's web as the rest of them. Deryne did not miss the smile the chancellor gave Orbea, who smiled demurely in return despite an obvious pallor that betrayed her unease. But Deryne was not here to aid unfortunate damsels, but to ferret out more about the mysterious ally; she was as ready as she would ever be to confront the immortal and his new master.

When she was greeted, she gave the best smile she could to the consort before sinking into a low curtsy, hoping she would not fall. Her mind was completely sealed to any sort of magic… she did not want the Gotzane setting her off balance again.

"Your Majesty. Your Ladyship. Your Lordship. Master Tezock." Her gaze slid from Ingmar to Tezock, passing over Roger completely. "Your demonstration was remarkable." He eyed her for a moment, before nodding deeply.

"You are a mage yourself." His voice was a hushing scrape against her ears, alluring and agonizing in the same breath. His cool assumption sent ice through her veins. His black eyes seemed to grow hungrily as he continued. "Of great power. Unique-" He gestured off a way, and Deryne knew instantly that he wanted to speak with her. She was torn, torn between apprehension and eagerness… she was curious, of course…

"Perhaps later you may discuss matters with the young Tortallan," Roger interjected smoothly, gaze on the next person waiting a greeting. Tezock cast a hand in dismissal.

"I will greet mundanes later, Lord Chancellor," he said disinterestedly, eyes fixed on Deryne. The squire warmed to the terrifying immortal as a faint frown crossed Roger's face.

"Orbea, show the squire the refreshments. Lord Tezock will approach you later, if he still feels the urge," he ordered, voice growing snappish. Deryne watched, interested, as Lady Orbea curtsied.

"It will be done, my lord," she murmured, but, with a small smile, Deryne shook her head.

"I'll wait here," she suggested pleasantly. Roger's mask cracked; he fixed her with a cold stare that confirmed her suspicions. He didn't want her talking with Tezock.

"Then such a hindrance and proximity will be interpreted as either interference or a threat to his Majesty," he retorted. "Orbea, escort her to the drinks. Now."

"Go," Han said lowly, face expressionless as he absorbed the news the stones beneath them gave. His three, tense companions peered about as Rikash opened the sack they had pilfered from the laundry and tugged out a nobleman's overcoat to put over his black breeches and white shirt; when they had entered through the servants' entrance, the chamber lord had sniffed at their formal, well-made attire, but had appeared to attach no importance to it. Now, with the single earring and midnight blue, embroidered jacket, Rikash could pass for a younger son or adept of one of the many mages employed by King Ingmar. Han cast a glance over them; Kol looked the most anxious. Of course, he was worried about his sister… wherever she was. Rikash looked pointedly at the other sack in Han's hands, with a similar robe for the other mage.

"Are you coming?" he asked edgily. Han gestured towards the grand hall.

"I will follow," he promised. "It will take several minutes to find Deryne and Cyne; there are three halls, and- of course- the Tortallans and the Kyprians are on opposite sides."

"And Tezock?" Rikash asked, lips pressed tightly together as he waited for the reply. Han shrugged.

"Anywhere."

"Can't you find him with the… stone magic?" Damek queried. Rikash looked annoyed; Han was prepared to bet that the blond firemage had been on the verge of asking the same question.

"I'd rather not," he replied. "Not without setting my peepers on 'im first. Go on, Ri; be nice, will you?" Rikash rolled his eyes.

"Wouldn't dream of anything else, Ma," he retorted before spinning around. As the first of their group walked away, Han's eyes fell on Kol again; the boy was fidgeting.

Han liked him, but he wanted somebody to keep an eye on him… which is what he whispered to Damek before they had left for Frasluk. The earth mage turned to the Kyprian.

"Do you want me to go about for Roger and Tezock?" he asked lowly, holding up the sack. "You could find Cyne-" Damek's eyes slid over Han's shoulder to the corridor beyond, from where the sounds of laughter and talking echoed. His eyes narrowed slightly, and then he shook his head.

"Rikash was right; this is my specialty. It would be hard to find a cover story for me, when I'm obviously not Scanran. I'd attract attention, and if someone asked any questions, I'd be stuck. Besides, there's no need to get yourself in trouble for snooping- and someone will need to keep Rikash from going off at any Scanrans." Han's lips twitched.

"Now you've got a measure of him." Damek shrugged, gazing at the green and gold tunic Han tugged from his sack.

"I've had my fill of great magics for some time," he said candidly. Kol had taken a few steps off to the side and now stared at a tapestry on the wall studiously. Han raised his eyebrows.

"Of Cyne, too?" Damek scratched the back of his head.

"I don't know," he said wearily. "But this is not the time, or place." Han nodded, quietly filing his sudden whirl of thoughts away for future use as he tugged the shirt on.

"I'll send him off," Damek muttered, gazing flicking to Kol and back to Han. "Watch for a few moments, and then find Tezock's chambers."

"Good." Han clasped his friend on the shoulder. "See you back at the house," he murmured, then turned. Numair had warned them, several times, to keep their wits about them.

They were in the lion's den now, and if they were caught, it would be by the grace of the Lord Chancellor that they escaped with their lives.

Rikash shook his head as he maneuvered his way through the crowds; there was a main chamber, larger than several training yards put together, and at least four antechambers branching off, and people were everywhere- He approached the center of the room and broke free of the crowds milling around and into the place cleared for those dancing; he made a hasty retreat, cursing to himself as several forward young women noticed his lack of a partner and stepped towards him. Sweating, he glowered at a petite brunette and made his way to the wall, which he followed; there was a break in the crowd ahead, where several windows had inexplicably been opened to the cold winter air.

His suspicions proved correct; Deryne stood with her back to one of the windows, ignoring the glares from shivering passer-bys. He smiled.

I'll have to remember that for the next ball I attend. Not that he ever did attend them, with all the loud people and carousing frivolity of fools with nothing better to do- no, he kept the kingdom safe so they could keep to their fine clothes and jewels.

He was uncertain how he felt about seeing her again. If only he knew how she would act, he would not feel so awkward. There would be no heartfelt reunion with meaningless greetings and embraces; it would not feel right. Besides, they had not been on very good terms... and had never really said goodbye before parting, either.... It was just another day of service to Tortall, even if it had been weeks since they had seen each other. As he approached, Han's reproach from several weeks past sprang unbidden to his mind, chastising him.

I am not a skittish yearling. If he and Deryne fell out of sorts again, Han would laugh with Damek about it; Rikash was determined that tonight, at least, they would get along. He straightened as he strode towards her, noting her flushed cheeks and uncomfortable expression as she listened to her gudruna. Rikash could tell she was letting the winds fly through her; he had known her too long not to recognize that distant pensiveness, as though she was wistfully recalling something from her past…. He watched as she shifted slightly, face changing- she had heard something of interest on the winds, something that pleased her, from the tiny curve at the corners of her lips. Her head turned towards him, and her eyes opened; her smile widened, and Rikash felt his own mouth tugging in response.

He was at her side; a simple, unnecessarily formal nod was exchanged to lessen any curiosity onlookers might have towards the intimacy between the Tortallan and the nameless, unfamiliar Scanran adept. As she meet his gaze, her pale eyes glittered, and Rikash could not think of a greeting to give her.

"It is warm in here, isn't it?" he observed. Rolling her eyes cheerfully, Deryne groaned in agreement, tilting her head back, then smirked, as though it was any other day back in Tortall… before they had fallen out of sorts. Rikash felt a wave of relief race through him; at least his first ordeal was over. Her dark curls dangled down as she leaned against the windowsill, arching her neck so that she could better feel the frigid air outside. Rikash suspected that she would have sat on the sill with her feet over the side if it would not cause a stir among the matrons bustling about.

"I suppose you're quite at home." He was grateful that she was at unusual ease; whatever trouble Malvyn had stirred up, it appeared to have endeared her to him, rather than make her decide that her old friend was yet another nuisance conjured by the gods to bother her.

"On the contrary," he retorted, casting a wary glance around. "Too many people. You can't see a man before he's snuck up on you." Deryne snorted.

"Of all the diversions before you, you can only imagine folk assailing you." He shrugged, and her lips curled with incredulous amusement, an expression he had not seen on her face in a very long time. He wondered, for a moment, if he was in a dream, so unreal were his surroundings… but he would enjoy this, a renewal of their old comradeship, while it lasted. "Merriment abounds- and all your mind can conjure is paranoia."

"You're exactly the same," Rikash volleyed back, and her small smile told him she was in agreement with him. Then he cleared his throat; he should not waste time with pleasantries. "What's the trouble?" he murmured, knowing very well that she could hear the faintest whisper across the chaotic hall. Even though her expression did not change, he sensed a shift in her emotions; her eyes were no longer playful when they locked with his.

"Tezock," she whispered back. Rikash raised an eyebrow.

"So I surmised." A soft laugh escaped her; she raised a hand to her face. It was only then that he noticed the dainty glass in her other hand. No wonder she was being so friendly. "Too much punch, Queenscove?" She snorted, then downed the rest of the liquid in a ladylike sip.

"Too little," she retorted, biting her lip as she stared out over the crowds. "I remain as sharp as ever, Salmalin- although I'm beginning to wonder how sharp that really is." She jerked her head to the right. "I know Roger's separating me and Cyne… but, more importantly, I believe, is how he works to separate me from Tezock." Rikash frowned.

"You mean he isn't showing off his little friend to you?" he asked. She nodded grimly.

"Now that I've got my fears in hand," she said with a dry little grin. "I tried to approach the Gotzane, and he seemed intrigued by me- but the Lord Chancellor sent us each our own ways… a little too eagerly, if you ask me."

"Why would he be intrigued?" Rikash asked sharply. "You're just a squire-" Deryne's laugh was loud and slow.

"Oh… now we come to the amusing bit," she told him, gazing into the bottom of the glass she held in her fingertips. Her grip tightened as she turned to her friend. "He knows, Ri," she said softly, and a chill raced over him from the look in her eyes. "About my… powers." Before Rikash could speak, she continued with a wryness that betrayed her shock. "Gods above, he has them." The blond mage stared down at his shorter friend for a stunned moment. She cocked an eyebrow. "Now there's something I don't get to do every day; strike you silent. But it gets better; he sensed me, but I'm not certain how much before I blocked the gudruna from me." Her lips twisted. "And, before we broke, I'm certain I felt more than my magic… he has more than just my-" She broke off, taking a sip from her empty glass before she glanced down at it, bemused. Then she sighed, raising her hand to her temples once more. "I cannot use the gudruna around him, Ri; he silences them, smothers them- as invisible to me as a black moth in the darkest night." She laughed hollowly. "More so, even." She glanced back up at Rikash's aghast face. She lifted her arms in a helpless shrug. "I have nothing against him." His jaw set at the resigned moroseness that clearly weighed heavily on her.

"You might not, but the rest of us are ready for him," he said grimly. "And, in the meantime, you'll just have to become accustomed to using your eyes again." Deryne glowered.

"Not funny, Ri." He suppressed his sudden irritation; he had been trying to help. The fault Han seemed so determined to put on him for their disputes was not entirely his!

"Another time, another place, and you would find it very entertaining."

"But it isn't," she retorted, crossing her arms. Despite the childish pose, Rikash could not help but notice the haughty regality of her figure, garbed in elegant, tasteful clothes which brought a no-nonsense air about her.

"Perhaps not," he allowed, wondering when Han would find them; he should have, by now….

"And so we are forced to suffer through the evening," Deryne sighed. "I must find Tezock… and you ought to socialize, find out what you can." She gave him a sly look, then nodded in the direction of several Marenites. "I'm sure the women will reveal more to your dashing figure than to mine." Rikash raised his eyebrows in reply.

"I am not my father," he remarked dryly. She chuckled.

"Certainly not; one would assume you to be the prickly old man." Rikash scowled.

"I have been patient thus far," he said warningly. She snorted, sinking back onto the windowsill.

"Then go and find a young woman who won't tax you so much." Her eyes twinkled. "Go on, then; ask someone to dance." Rikash glared, and a small smile curled across her lips. "I dare you. Surely you haven't completely forgotten how to?" She spread her hands to gesture to the enormous room before them. "I'm certain you can find one who won't turn you down." There it was, that almost suppressed smirk; she was laughing at him. Rikash's eyes narrowed. Now she would never leave him alone-

Unless he got the better of her. An idea blossomed in his mind, and he smirked back at her.

This will fix her, he thought triumphantly as he bowed deeply.

"Will you dance with me, then, my lady?" he drawled mockingly, laughing at her to himself. I've beaten her at her own game this time. A rush of excitement intoxicated him. No wonder she enjoyed taunting him so much; the power he felt when angry was negligible compared to this satisfaction…. "Surely you have not forgotten?"

When he looked up, he started, his savage glee arrested at the sight of her pale face; she was sickly white as she placed her empty glass upon the sill. When Rikash took a step towards her, she nearly backed into a debutante speaking with her suitor. Alarmed, he noticed how her hands shook; she saw his gaze and clasped them tightly together.

"I fear my memory is worse than yours," she whispered. Then, before he could reply, she was gone, weaving off through the crowd, as quickly as she could in the pressed masses. As Rikash stared after her, Han appeared at his side. The blond mage glowered at his friend.

"Where were you?" he demanded heatedly as Han picked up her discarded glass and studied it. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he perused it. "That was worse timing than the time when I got walloped by that Shadow masquerading as a hurrok." Frustrated by the lack of a response, he added, "And now Deryne's off and worried again-"

"It matters little," Han answered calmly. The glass began to blur before Rikash's eyes.

"Oh, really? And why's that?" Rikash watched as Deryne's dark head swept through the chaos; he saw her pause by another set of open windows.

"Because you are going after her." Rikash glared at Han.

"Absolutely not," he retorted. "No, this would be your job-"

"It's about time you figured out how to pick up the pieces yourself," his friend retorted, eyeing the blur in his hands. "I shouldn't always have to do the dirty work." A small noise of protest escaped Rikash.

"Why do I have to do it?" he repeated indignantly. Han's eyes never left the glass; as he gazed, the glass reformed, this time as a crystal goblet; he held it up to the light, admiring the colors produced by the shimmering glass.

"Because I am not," he answered calmly, tilting the crystal this way and that. Rikash scowled.

"And why aren't you?" he demanded doggedly. A small smile crept across Han's face.

"Because you are." Rikash glowered.

"That makes about as much sense as a sow with wings," he said sourly. Han's smile grew.

"Exactly. And it is impossible to argue with the impossible, isn't it?" he queried, sounding as though he was on the verge of a laugh, which irritated his friend even more.

"Country boy turned philosopher," Rikash growled. "I never would have believed it." Han ignored him.

"I thought you were going to prove you were not a skittish yearling," he replied, voice suspiciously neutral. "Besides, you want to talk with her. She really isn't that scary, except on Yama's Festival. And at that time, you're just as scary, catching flame and all." Rikash glared once more, then turned, frustration and fury boiling inside of him as he bumped into a wiry man in his flight from his friend. He strode onwards, but a cold hand wrapped itself around his wrist, dousing his rage as water drowns a fire. He tried to slide away, but he was stuck.

"I beg your pardon, sir. I did not see you," a dangerously soft voice spoke in his ear, and Rikash spun, eyes wide, to a man with skin as white as snow, and eyes as dark as the pits of Chaos.

AN: Okay, I have many things to do, BUT right now, I'm on a roll, because of this cliffie, SO reviews WILL help me decide that writing THIS is more important than my history paper.... OR, at least, encourage me to hurry up with the paper on the impact of the Korean war... eeee.... ;D