Chapter 7:

Concerning Rivers

"Word will get out," Lord Zocc warned him. "I've done what I could, certainly, to minimize the news, but they'll know within hours."

Kronos yawned, stretching out. It was good to be back in Galam. He was always uncomfortable leaving his beloved city, though he'd done it on numerous occasions. "Hours, even one hour, is enough. You need not concern yourself with that."

He was rather tired after the strain of playing his part in Granseal. It had all gone as smoothly as they had hoped, however. None of them, Lord Kazin, not even Lord Bowie had expected the abduction, and now Kronos had Sir Astral. Granseal was doomed, and the regency was assured. He could afford to be generous.

The Green Baron was less at ease. He paced about the room, absently touching various objects. "If you announced your presence immediately, you would stop Lord Paul in the midst of whatever he's been up to."

"I also give Lord Paul a chance to start moving against my presence here," Kronos said sharply. "You know he's been planning for it. If we can call the lords to convene and give Lord Paul as little time as possible to know of my presence, then…" He paused, wanting to stress the significance of this point. "Only then will I be satisfied."

Lord Zocc paced back to the door in response. "As you wish. Incidentally, I have received an updated report on the movements of Parval."

"Ah." Kronos sat up, his eyes gleaming. "So he is in fact moving across the river?"

"If he is not," Lord Zocc returned, "then his ploy is one of surpassing cleverness. It has certainly taken me in."

"Good." Kronos nearly laughed, but he remembered himself. He was a stern leader, a compassionate, but distant father figure to Galam. It was disrespectful to the people he must needs serve if he tried to empathize with them too completely. Laughter could not be his way. The Green Baron had no difficulty in supplying good humor at any rate, and he smiled now.

"It gets better," he told Kronos, pacing over to a side table now. Never still, was the Green Baron. "My men tell me that Lord Bowie has taken the field, hoping to catch us. He won't, obviously…"

Kronos grunted in satisfaction. "But with Parval moving across the river, they run smack into each other. Perfect." He took a deep breath, savoring the sense of his victory, the sensation of knowing that he was uniquely placed to preserve Galam against all odds. These were perilous times, of course. Uncertain times. But uncertainty called out for bold action, and Kronos had not been shy about supplying it. "Parval must not return from this battle."

Lord Zocc glanced at him sharply. "Is it wise to discuss this, my lord?"

Kronos fixed him with a cold stare. His long years campaigning on behalf of King Galam had taught him that one of a commander's most potent weapons was his aspect, and Kronos used that accordingly. "It must be realized. I like a defeat of our forces no better than you, but in this case, such a defeat must be. Hopefully the majority of the force will be able to regroup and retreat, but Parval must not return from the river. No more than Lord Darell could return from Granseal."

Zocc grimaced. "I never thought that necessary. There was no guarantee that it would buy us any time. With the speed that Lord Bowie has mobilized, it may not have…"

"An atrocity." Kronos nodded his head. "The Gransi scum seized Lord Darell wrongfully, and we retaliated."

Zocc's eyebrows shot up. "Disgusting," he agreed mildly.

Kronos sprawled out across cushions, feeling rather abruptly tired. The Green Baron rankled him, he always had. Presuming to know better than me on every matter that is set before us. I must admit, however, he served me well in the matter of Lord Paul. And for the moment… He shook his head, vexed. His plans for dealing with Lord Zocc, the Green Baron, would have to wait for another day. "Parval must die," he said, returning to his most immediate problem. "Should he be slain, every lord in Galam, save Lord Paul perhaps, will swear themselves to my regency within the hour. He may well be slain in any event, but we must make certain that there is no mistake." He pushed himself back up. "How to do it is not difficult. One of my me-"

"No." The word sounded unusually hard coming from Lord Zocc. "If you mean to do that, my lord, then I advise you to send for the headsman immediately. It will save us a great deal of trouble; I know where that road ends."

Kronos bristled. "Have a care how you address your regent, Lord Zocc. I could have your tongue out for that disrespect."

Zocc nodded, smiling. "You certainly could, especially if you were regent. Though, if you assign this task to one of your men, you won't be. And ripping out tongues won't be very popular either."

"It is my command to give, not yours. By rights."

Zocc shook his head, looking mildly disgusted. "That is the attitude that almost handed Galam to Lord Paul. Do you realize, Kronos, that when you offer nothing, most men offer nothing in return?" Kronos started to open his mouth, but Lord Zocc turned away, still talking. "Be that as it may, I am here to help you, my lord. Consider this. Even if you give this task to your most trusted man, you will be asking him to raise his blade against his own countrymen. Against your own blood. Word will get out. To be sure, your man will likely only tell whomever he most trusts… and that will be someone who holds less loyalty to you than that man does. Before you know it, the word spreads through Galam." The Green Baron shook his head. "It does not serve. No one will follow you if they hear that."

"And what do you suggest we do? If Parval returns alive from this battle-"

"Then we are no worse off than we ever were. We have the provocation, and you have already seized Astral. That alone should assure you of the regency."

Kronos rose to his feet. "Parval can change all that. And you know that he will. The man loves me not, if it comes to such a choice he will choose Lord Paul. You know that."

"I know that it is better to risk that, than to risk knowledge escaping. Parval may be slain anyway."

"My lords." Shaita's voice was weary, hoarse. "I can ensure that the outcome of that battle is agreeable to you. But first…" The ratman swallowed. "You promised Lord Kronos. My… patron wishes to have a free hand with him."

Kronos frowned. "You can guarantee this?"

Shaita licked his lips nervously. "I… I must, ask, my lord. I do not command this being in the sense that you command your men. By freeing it, in some degree, I have done it a favor, and so it does a favor to me in return. By giving my patron Astral, I have done another favor, and may well ask for one in turn."

Kronos nodded, his mind turning away from the matter. "That should satisfy even you, Lord Zocc. We shall leave this affair to Shaita…" He turned his gaze onto the ratman. "Though you will die, if you fail me in this," he warned.

The shaman bowed his head silently, rising slowly to his feet. "Then I… may proceed?"

"You may," Kronos affirmed, though grudgingly. He had scant love for this affair of sorcery, these arcane matters. Shaita had delivered him Astral though… "Only be certain that your… your patron does not kill the old man too quickly. I wish to have words with him myself, aye, and to witness this questioning."

Shaita's face was grey. He bowed his head, though a trifle nervously, or so it seemed to Kronos. "Very good, my lord." The ratman strode quickly from the room, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

Kronos sighed, stretching back out. "We should be along to see that Parval is indeed taken care of in an hour or so," he declared. "Only then can I move as we have planned with assurance."

Zocc's pacing had not ceased. The Green Baron absently picked up a dented brass goblet, fingering it. Kronos had taken that long ago, from the first Yeeli he had ever killed. It bothered him to see Zocc pawing his things, even without avarice, but he said nothing. Until he was regent in fact, he needed the Green Baron's support. And he had learned even longer ago than that, that it was wise to keep one's own counsel.

"You rely on the shaman too much," Zocc said abruptly.

And on you not enough? Do you take me for a fool, my lord? "Shaita serves me well."

"Aye," Zocc muttered. He looked up, then paced to the far corner of the room. "I grant that. And he certainly wishes us to think so."

Us. Not you, but us he says.

"But," Zocc continued, his face troubled, "what do we know of the man? He has come but recently to Galam and his past is all unknown. I dislike the taste of that. What reason has he to serve so ably, so well, if he has this mysterious patron he alludes to?" Zocc shook his head ominously. "You would be wise to put your trust elsewhere, my lord."

Kronos opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Loath as he was to admit it, he knew that the Green Baron gave him good counsel in this. "What do you suggest?"

"Galam is your mortar, my lord. You must make your ties here stronger. If you were to make your peace with Lord Chelsted, mayhaps…"

Kronos's brows shot up. Lord Paul. So that is the way of it. "General Tiberius would still be my staunch foe," he said carefully, leaving the direct question of Lord Paul momentarily to the side. "It changes nothing."

"It changes everything," Zocc disagreed. "General Tiberius cannot move against you if he has no support amongst the high lords and their personal guards. You have what, but thirty men, my lord? Aside from Lord Paul, most of the others have even fewer. Together, you would have enough to cow even Tiberius. And he knows that without Lord Paul's patronage, he cannot hope to stand against you."

"Lord Paul is not trustworthy." The objection came out more sharply than Kronos had meant it to, the old memories beginning to stir.

"Nor is he stupid. He would like nothing better than to believe himself in alliance with you, it removes many obstacles from his field."

Kronos could feel his gorge rising, but a regent must be reasonable, he knew. "How would this become a reality?"

Zocc shrugged. "Lord Paul is as yet unwed. An ambitious man needs a wife, and you, my lord Kronos, have a daughter…"

Kronos was honestly surprised at that suggestion. Chelsted's creature, he thought even as a stream of other memories invaded him. The bold laughing boy with the cruel eyes who had mocked his grandfather's lordship… the rival who had soundly defeated the soldier's son… the man who had refused to recommend the legion to King Galam… the man who had always taken everything first… the man who would offer peace to the Gransi… "No," he rasped, the word hoarse.

Zocc arched a brow at him. "You must wed the lords to your cause if you hope to rule…"

"I shall," Kronos declared in a ringing voice, trying to mask his moment of weakness. "Parval shall do it for me."

Zocc's mouth twisted bitterly downward. "As you command, my lord." The Green Baron had finally taken a seat, but he rocked incessantly back and forth. "In that case, perhaps it might be prudent to consider again the matter of the north. I hold that Tiberius-"

"Such discussions must wait until I am regent in fact," he interrupted. "For now, there are other things we must do. Let us attend to Shaita."

Zocc stood, shaking his head. "Whatever my lord regent commands," he murmured.

---

The morn was crisp, fresh. A breeze had set in, and Parval removed his helmet, the better to feel it. It was a good omen, he decided. The last time he had been on active duty and there had been a breeze, such as this… He shook his head, feeling the weight of his hair, loose from the confines of the helmet.

The last time had been that very first campaign in which he had won renown. He had lost his horse, nearly been separated from his unit, but he'd cut through the Yeeli to rejoin his commander, even engaging in single combat with the Yeeli leader. He remembered that day very well. It was too far away now. It was all too far gone.

Galam had fallen on mournful times. His eyebrows crinkled with displeasure, as he considered the weakness of Galam. Bah! He spat, angrily. Had he truly been the only commander not blind enough to see that Galam could not have won? The devils had overrun them, what chance; therefore, did they stand against the Yeeli? The king had been old and failing even before that and as for the younger generation…

Kronos… He shook his head sorrowfully. A weak man. A weak leader. Galam had fallen on hard times. Slowly, heavily, Parval walked forward, through the camp. The days of honor may have left momentarily, but they could be restored. The Gransi had dealt them an insult, and the Yeeli still lived. It was a crushing victory that was required now.

That was where Lord Paul Chelsted was wrong. Lord Paul saw many things clear enough; Parval admired that. But not even Lord Paul saw the reason of this poisonous defeat, this noxious weed growing in Galam. Not even Lord Paul saw things half so clear as Parval did.

They had been challenged, and that meant that battle must be joined. The devils were beyond their reach, and Lord Paul was right to see that Kronos's dream of attacking the Gransi head on was foolish. But a forced march to take the city of Granseal… Ah, even that was risky. And yet, had not Parval braved every risk, fought against all the odds to come to this point?

"My lord! My lord Parval!"

The white haired commander looked up. One of his scouts. "Aye?"

The man knelt before him, as befit a scout of the Galamani army. "My lord," he said respectfully. "I fear the safe arrival of the Delegation is marred by worse news."

His ears pricked up. "A pursuit party." The scout nodded. Parval shook his head sadly. It was not difficult to guess. "How much treachery must we endure?" He looked into the sky, even as the scout murmured agreeing commiseration, and he saw only sorrow, only the bleakness of this new hour, this new dawn. A tragic age had fallen upon Galam. The insult must not go unpunished, yet how?

"We ride," he declared, abruptly, swinging around, striding purposefully forward. Behind him, he heard the scout gasp in surprise.

In but a moment, the young man had caught up to him. "My lord, is that not foolhardy? To cross the Rhyl…"

Parval said naught. Another corrupted young man. Corrupted by the lies of the Gransi and Lord Paul's foolish dreams of peace. Still, that is preferable to being corrupted by the foolishness of mine own dear nephew. What was an age like this, where only one old commander remained with the foresight and vigor to see what must be done? That was a tale to make men weep, but Parval knew that things could no longer be delayed.

"Who commands the pursuit?"

The scout swallowed, betraying the name before he even spoke it. "Bowie. Bowie the Butcher of Granseal."

An honor to cross blades with such a man. Parval was only sorry that it was not that fat fool, Mrell. Bloody Mrell, he had been called in his prime. But a man could not ask for everything. "We ride," he declared a second time, the iron of command in his voice. His bearing was noble, and his voice was confident, secure. He knew that would be enough. It always had been.

The scout ran forward, in front of him, his face pale. "My lord," he cried. "To cross the Rhyl in violation of the Gransi borders, now is…"

"It has been too long," cried Parval. "Too long since we could seek honor. This is not a contest of borders, this is honor! The pursuit comes to us, openly, and we must punish Granseal. And then, yes, reaffirm with them that they shall always be our friends. For this is the way of a true man! This blood feud will end." Parval nodded gently. "Indeed it shall… after we have shamed them in battle, then when the falseness of the Yeeli is revealed…" He sighed mournfully. "Too long it has been, but no longer do we wait. We ride."

Kronos's hopeless war or Lord Paul's misguided peace? Why bother? Parval slipped the helmet back on. There was a better way. A Granserian way.

---

"We've been going at this nearly two hours, now," Sarah reminded him. "Nearly two hours, Bowie! What do we do when we reach the Rhyl?"

He averted his gaze from hers, his jaw set. "I had not considered that." Heedless, Graig's voice whispered in his ears. He had been hasty in gathering his friends, yes. Hasty in setting out to save Sir Astral, yes. He had been hasty before that too, in leading Granseal's forces against King Galam. He told me there were no crimes when you are the only one left, and I wept. Well, I am through with weeping. Astral, I swear on my sword you shall be freed.

It was time to stop counting on his luck, and it was time to stop lingering on his failings. Mayhaps he had been truly the loneliest man in Grans for a few moments back in the council's solar, but he was no longer. It was not how he failed that mattered, it was what he did. And who wouldn't have felt alone, closeted with Mrell and Graig?

"Are you even listening to me?!" Bowie turned back towards Sarah, his brow furrowed in apologetic confusion.

"Sorry," he started to say, but she talked straight through him, sounding angrier by the moment.

"You can hardly have a strategy to be going over if you hadn't thought of the Rhyl, which, I might mention, we can even see from here! Invading Galam's sovereign territory with the strength we have now, when they've obviously planned everything out up to now i-"

He cut her off, his guilt starting to rise again. "Dammit Sarah, what do you expect me to do? Do you take me for Graig?"

A strange expression crossed her face, and her mouth opened silently. Then her lips twisted sharply down. "I…"

Bowie swallowed. Dammit, I've got to stop doing that. "I'm…" The words were hard to find. His own emotions were still so raw. With a sigh, he brought his hand to her chin, raising her gaze back up. "I'm sorry," he said as gently as he could. "I didn't mean to shut you out. It's just…" He brought his hand back to his own face, brushing the hair off of his forehead. "Once we properly reach the Rhyl…" Even now, the words stuck in his throat. His shoulders slumped. "We'll retreat," he concluded lamely.

"Bowie," Sarah said, and her eyes still had some of that strange expression in them. "Why don't we do something when this is all over? Just you and me… and Chester and Jaha again, like it was?"

It can never be like it was. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. He felt a little sad. Had he really grown that far apart from his oldest friends? He laughed, belatedly realizing that a silence had opened up. "I'd… like that." It was only half a lie. And there are no crimes…

"Bowie!" He looked up sharply, as Chester came galloping in, his face tight, guarded. "We have company."

Frowning, Bowie followed the sweep of Chester's hand. He didn't need to look twice. "Galamani troops!" He swore savagely. "A trap… I've fallen into a fucking trap!" He shook his head, determinedly. Graig's voice was whispering through his mind. Heedless…

Dammit! I can still turn this around, so shut up! Politics may not have been his forte, but he could do Granseal… the king, his friends, Astral, even Graig good here. "How spread out are the rest of us?"

Chester gripped his spear tightly. "I left Jaha, Kazin and Sheela to hold the south bank. The others should still be resting."

Bowie frowned, his tactical mind coming to the fore. The south bank was an essential spot to hold if they hoped to do as much as repel the enemy. The question was, were just three enough to hold it while he gathered the rest of his swords? Those three, he mused may be just enough. Kazin to keep the enemy mages and archers from gaining too much headway from afar while Jaha cuts down any that approach… Sheela to back them both with healing as needed…

"Leave them," he said curtly, resisting the tug of friendship on his heart. "We'll approach from the east, and hopefully catch the force full in the river."

---

Kazin conjured another ball of fire, wondering how long he could keep this up. "Got him," he muttered as one of the archers fell into the river's embrace, already dead. "Jaha," he shouted, "that one, to the left…!"

The dwarf was already moving though. Kazin nearly bit his tongue. I have to stop doing that. Trying to take command where I'm clearly not qualified… I'm no hero like Jaha… or Bowie.

His thoughts increasingly dark he released another pent up blaze spell. It took an archer directly opposite him in the face.

"Sheela," he heard Jaha scream. "Help!"

Kazin's brow puckered in blank incomprehension for a long moment as he stared at the battlefield. Jaha fighting a soldier, but he'd tripped was on his back…

In another moment he realized exactly what was wrong. Instinct more than anything else brought his staff up to meet the sword swinging in at his head. The jarring sensation in his arm shocked him. Gods, it hurt to have to swing weapons about in blocks!

The soldier facing him now brought his sword in again, low. Kazin blocked it, but lost his balance. As he regained it, the sword point came up to his throat. The soldier smiled grimly. "Do you yield, Gransi?"

He stared into the Galamani's face, facing a storm of memories at the simple designation 'Gransi.' How many people had insulted him for the simple fact of not being born in the city? How many of his friends made that separation from him, in their minds? How often did Sarah make that separation from him?

He threw his staff at the soldier's face, fueled by a sudden anger and despair. The man jerked slightly backward, startled at the seemingly futile gesture, and Kazin desperately grabbed at the blade, trying to wrestle the point away from his throat. The soldier was stronger than he was, though not by much, he started straining back. Kazin's grip slipped, and he found himself clutching the blade of the weapon. "Die," snarled the soldier, straightening his arm for the final thrust.

With few options left, he deliberately fell backwards, ignoring the deep gashes in his hands. As he hit the ground, the soldier started to adjust his trajectory, but just missed Kazin's neck and shoulder, instead stabbing his blade into the ground just above him.

"No," Kazin rasped, summoning a blaze of fire and releasing it just into the man's face. "You die."

Abruptly deeply tired, Kazin bent his knees and rose to his feet. It took an eternity of just a few seconds. He vaguely noticed the blood on his hands and robes, and when he managed finally to look around him, all was chaos.

Bowie and the others had attacked, catching the Galamani forces in midstream. The huge armored knight that commanded them had a spear sticking out of his side… ah yes, and there was Chester. Bowie had been clever about it, putting his more mobile units in front, while the rest struck where they were needed. And there was Sarah…

Jaha was still fighting off a small contingent of enemies, further across the river than the rest of the Galamani forces. Kazin vaguely realized that he was watching some of the best use of a dwarven shield he'd ever seen, but he was too tired to care. There was something vaguely niggling the back of his mind, but it took him another moment to identify what was wrong. Sheela.

His gaze raked the south bank, trying to locate her. Jaha wouldn't have noticed with his hands full, and Kazin taking all that damn time to kill that single soldier… He spotted her. Another enemy had soldier had somehow gotten away from Jaha's axe, and was holding her head down in the waters of the Rhyl.

With a sigh, he seized up his fallen staff and directly approached the back of the enemy soldier. He was far too tired for subtlety and it wouldn't have mattered anyway; Sheela was struggling enough that the Galamani's attention was fully occupied.

He could have cast another blaze spell, but he was starting to run low on magical energy, and besides that would have been more likely to hurt Sheela too. He raised his arms and took a single strong blow at the base of the man's skull. The soldier stiffened and fell to the ground.

Sheela sputtered weakly and fell more fully into the river. Kazin sighed again. My cursed luck he thought is that I save people who need the saving. He dropped the staff again, absently noting the deep stinging in his hands. They were slick with blood. Maybe Sheela can handle that once she can breathe properly again.

With a final sigh, Kazin leant down, and seized hold of her around the waist. She was almost as tall as he was, so he certainly wasn't going to carry her length-wise. He grunted. She was quite a bit heavier than she looked. "All that muscle," he wheezed. Master monks trained, of course, to be able to use their bodies as weapons.

With another grunt, he managed to flop her out of the water and across his shoulder. He almost fell over himself, but managed to steady his balance. He took about three strides further from the river, and rolled her down onto the ground, unceremoniously. She made a vague whimpering noise. With a sigh, Kazin rolled her over so that she wasn't breathing into the dirt. He promptly groaned again.

The armor that master monks wear is light and flexible which makes it splendid for agility, but offers little in the way of practical defense. He eyed the ruins of Sheela's dress with something less than favor. It looked as though before the Galamani had managed to overcome her, he'd had to slash her a few times first. She was practically naked from the waist up, with a few wounds on her upper torso to boot.

Kazin glanced back at the raging battle. Jaha seemed to have the contingent at the southern end pretty well stymied for the moment, and Kazin supposed that he probably should do something to preserve what was left of Sheela's modesty before rushing off to a battle that didn't seem to particularly need him.

With a grunt of annoyance, he turned looking for a convenient corpse. The nearest dead Galamani was several meters away, though, and waterlogged besides. Getting that livery off would have been impossible and… Kazin sighed, and looked down at his own robes with something less than favor. With a dark shrug, he slipped out of the robe, and stood there in nothing but his loincloth, looking awkwardly at Sheela.

"Cold," she muttered, her eyes vague and unfocused. Kazin shook his head unhappily, and draped his rust-colored robe across Sheela's breasts. He turned and trudged away, surveying the battle grimly. He certainly wasn't going to try to arrange things more neatly than that; it took care of the main problem and anything further might have been very awkward to explain.

The battle was still being waged, but it looked as things had turned pretty decisively in their direction. So long as Kazin and Jaha could hold the south bank, the enemy force was cut off from any means of breaking through their forces and that was all that really matt…

So long as the south bank is held… There was a strong roaring in his ears. He remembered the way he had said to Sarah, the night of the feast, "Bowie honors me…" That honor had left a bitter taste in his mouth and as for this one… This is more Jaha's honor than mine, he reflected. And it was Chester who granted it rather than Bowie.

His shoulders set. He could still do something useful, something else. Sweeping the field with his eye, a determination rising in his chest, Kazin's gaze fixed on an enemy centaur somewhat further out into the Rhyl than his fellows.

Not quite certain where he had found the will, Kazin took off running towards the bank of the river. As he reached it, he made an awkward soaring leap. The gods were good, and he landed precisely where he wanted to be, on the enemy centaur's back.

"Kazin!" He heard Jaha's boyish voice as though from a great distance. "Wait! What are you doing?! We have t-"

"You hold the bloody bank," he roared. "Muddle," he commanded the wildly bucking centaur, raising his hand sharply. A vague unfocused look spread into the centaur's eyes, and it calmed somewhat. Kazin tightened his knees against it, oddly aware of what a ridiculous sight he must make with no robe.

The centaur would be a bit unpredictable now, but Kazin was confident that he could command it to at least some extent. "Those men," he said, pointing at the archers, safe on the northern bank. "Attack th-" he gritted his teeth, clutching his right arm which had an arrow in it. "Attack them."

The centaur started to gallop off, but more shafts came whistling his way. "Blaze," cried Kazin, setting off the largest conflagration he could summon in mere moments, hoping it would provide enough cover. It did not. An arrow punched through the chest of the muddled centaur. As it fell, it bucked again, and Kazin jerked backwards, at least two more arrows in him. The water of the Rhyl splashed him, cold and strong. He could feel himself sinking into it.

"Sheela!" Jaha's voice rang out, just barely in the range of Kazin's hearing. "Sarah! Somebody, help! Kazin, hang in there! We need help!"

He thought he could hear Jaha splashing towards him. No, Kazin thought, abruptly resentful. He had been unhappy, with Jaha, he remembered. He did not want the dwarf to spoil that now by displaying finer qualities. It would destroy everything. And not Sarah, he thought. Not now. Not… like this. The thoughts were becoming heavier, slower. Harder. A gauntleted hand closed about Kazin's throat, slowly lifting him out of the water.

---

"My lord," Shaita, rasped nervously. "Please, my lord." The ratman glanced behind his shoulder at the small side room where Kronos and Zocc had closeted themselves.

The voice sounded, dusty. "I asked not to be disturbed."

Shaita licked his lips. "Please my lord… a single boon. I have granted the favor you asked."

Kronos glanced at Zocc, wondering what the Green Baron would make of it all. For once, the man was quiet. There was a somber, thoughtful expression on his face. Kronos was ill at ease in this place, this subterranean landscape beneath the castle.

He strode forward abruptly, as Shaita dithered about, still begging in that insipid way he had. "What my man means to say," Kronos said in a harsh voice, carefully putting stress on the 'my' "is that we'll take the old man back unless you can guarantee the death of a man called Parval for us."

The… presence, for that was the only true word for it, seemed to pause, although indeed, Kronos could not see this patron that Shaita claimed was there. After another moment, the air approximately three meters above him started to condense, and swirl, harden and form, and eventually, a shape was there.

Kronos sucked in a startled breath. The figure hovered in the air and a sense of power emanated from it. The figure's face was pale, dominated by a great curling beard and a blue faded hat. The dress was elaborate. "An arrogant man," the figure said, the voice still dusty. "But… honest." The figure laughed abruptly. "For the courage of this moment, Kronos of Galam, I shall grant you your favor. Parval will not live. Now go!"

Kronos nodded shakily, feeling a compulsion to obey that he could not recall ever before feeling. Speeding away with as much haste as he could summon, Kronos felt some of his confidence starting to return as he strode up the stone steps. He glanced behind him, and saw both Zocc and Shaita following, similarly quiet.

"Zocc," he commanded, feeling the need to reassert the truth that he in fact was the authority in Galam, "we have a suitable guarantee. Call the lords together. Upon the hour, our plans shall reach fruition."

The Green Baron nodded wordlessly, and sped past Kronos up the steps. Kronos took a moment, placing his hand on the stone wall, still slightly overwhelmed. After another second or so, he shook his head and resumed his path, his shoulders set back, his face stern. It will be as it should be, finally, Father. I shall make it all right.

---

Kazin was dangling high in the air, staring down at the great armored man, commander of the Galamani forces. The voice beneath the helmet was deep, but oddly weak sounding. "You fool. You'll die yet. The bank shall be ours."

With weak desperation, Kazin kicked ineffectually at the armored legs of the man, even as the gauntleted hand started to tighten on his throat. "B…" he rasped. The hand tightened harder.

"No!" Jaha lept forward, his axe swinging in hard. It smashed against the commander's other hand, and the broadsword he had been drawing went flipping out into the Rhyl. Recoiling slightly, the commander started to turn, but he was weighed down by his plate armor and Jaha's axe struck true again, scoring a hit on the side.

Kazin could feel the grip on his throat receding. Air was returning to him. Jaha would probably not last long though… Kazin looked up, and he could see Luke sweeping in, sword outstretched. The birdman struck the commander hard in the back. They were doing solid damage, but the commander's armor was protecting him. He might be able to hold on long enough for support troops to reach him, and if that happened… It had to be stopped.

Struggling weakly, Kazin whispered. "B…" His throat was too dry, still too constricted. He tried again. "Bl…" With sheer force of will, he pictured Jaha and Luke slain. It helped, but not much. He imagined Sarah, a cold blade in her heart. The word tore out of his throat then. "Blaze!"

He'd aimed the spell downward, at the water the commander was trudging through. The water bubbled ominously for a moment, and then the Galamani commander screamed. With a howl of pure pain, he sank to his knees, dropping Kazin with a loud splash. The commander raised his head to the heavens, howling in agony as his plate armor melted against his flesh.

Kazin struggled to get up, but his strength was all gone. He heard the wrenching screech of metal on metal and supposed, vaguely, that Jaha must have ended it. Or perhaps Luke.

Kazin could not have said how long he lay half-submerged in the waters of the Rhyl using all the strength he had left to keep himself from being swept along with the current. It seemed like an eternity, but he supposed it could have only been a few seconds.

A hand roughly seized his elbow, propping him up. He looked dazedly into Jaha's excited face. "Come on, Kaz," he said, not unkindly. "Let's get you back to shore, and healed up."

"Battle," he mumbled questioningly.

Jaha laughed with exultation. "I won't say that you didn't worry me there, but what you did was incredible!" He laughed again. "Would you believe it, Kaz old buddy? We're the heroes of the Rhyl!"

---

Kronos looked around the throne room, a smile threatening to break past his iron control. All the lords of Galam were assembled, great and small. Even Tiberius was there, looking as gloomy as ever. He could already feel the heady sense of success threatening to overwhelm him.

He took a moment, straightened himself, and then strode purposefully down the center of the room until he stood in front of the throne. Naturally he did not sit in it, only the king or regent could do that, but that he stood before it was an important symbolic gesture. He met the narrowed gaze of Lord Paul Chelsted, and allowed the corners of his mouth to perk up for just a moment.

Then he cleared his throat, and began, a somber expression on his face. "My lords of Galam," he began, for it began with them and ended with them as well, "all men know me as the trueborn son and heir of General Koroll, a great hero of the last wars against the Yeeli. I speak to you now truly, as the man who went to our so-called allies in Granseal. My lords, only treachery met us there! They feasted us well, and when they believed us lulled with wine, they seized Lord Darell, doubtless planning to take the rest of us as well. We retaliated, we fled, for what could we do in the enemy stronghold?"

His blood roared in his ears as he surveyed each set of eyes suspiciously. Thus far, he was making the obvious pitch for control, and the guarded expressions of the lords might mean anything. What poison has Lord Paul been spreading behind my back?

"My lords…" His voice broke for good effect. "We were pursued. By Bowie of Granseal, the man who cut down our king!" He was picking up some interest now. Kronos plunged full ahead. "Pursued, my lords," he cried. "By a bloody butcher and his handpicked friends. Gransi butchers riding with their Parmecian friends. Gransi scum who would sell out our proud history to the mainland. The same man who had seized young Darell, who had cut down our king, was now pursuing us! We had taken a hostage in Sir Astral…" Ah yes. That had them murmuring. "And they meant to cut us down! And I remind you, my lords, the Gransi betrayed us before! They murdered our king. Through all these years we thought of them as friends, why then did we never fell the Yeeli?" He was starting to rasp with passion now. Lord Zocc caught his eyes, a wild look in them as he shook his head.

It's beyond your control, Zocc. I play for keeps. He took a savage pleasure in that. "The Gransi," he gasped, nearly overcome himself at this point. "The Gransi were always secretly in league with our enemy, and they cut down our king. How many of us lost personally to them in that war? Their humiliating peace settlement takes how much more than just pride from us? How much gold, would they have demanded? How many of our daughters, our swords? How many hostages to good behavior? How much, for traitors?!" He broke off, breathing heavily. "And now, my lords… My beloved uncle, Parval, one of the greatest heroes of our times… He was performing routine duty on the Rhyl. And when we fled through Bowie's fingers, he cut down my uncle! An old man, my lords! He violated our borders at Rhyl, to slay one of the greatest of our men."

The murmuring was louder now. Kronos knew it was time. "Well, my lords, we've had enough kneeling now! I am the blood of my father and my uncle, my grandfather and others, heroes all to Galam! I am the blood of the Galamani that have always bled and fought for our honor! We offered the serpent a chance to make good, and it struck! First our king, now Lord Darell, now my own beloved uncle…" The roaring was in his ears. "I mean to protect the honor that we've lost, in the names of all the fallen, our king and my uncle foremost of all. My lords of Galam, who stands with me?"

At that moment, Kronos could not have said which was more satisfying; the sound of dozens of swords being drawn as one or the look on Lord Paul Chelsted's face.