The coliseum loomed large in front of Galen Claymore. He was easily half an hour early for shift change, but he didn't care much. Being early meant he would have the opportunity to talk with Gemm and Corwin. It also made up slightly for Artemis, who would surely be late again. He and Artemis were night security at the coliseum.

Galen liked to get in early and converse with Gemm. Corwin on the other hand he could live without; the man was contrary. If Galen said the sun was setting Corwin would argue the point all the while his nose in the air as though trying to look down on Galen. He wasn't sure why Corwin tried he was a good six inches taller than the man.

Gemm would be full of information; he always told Galen if new gladiators showed up. He would describe them quite accurately and give his opinion as to their prowess in battle. Corwin would be negative of course, but Gemm had the enthusiasm of youth, and Galen enjoyed those conversations. Galen was certain today would be no different.

He was not disappointed, although today Corwin and Gemm seemed to be having a snicker-fest. Galen approached cheerily, the drab green sport coat coming off and going to the back of a chair. "You boys seem chipper this eve. C"mon, give over the story." He said with a chuckle.

Gemm came out of it first, "you missed it Galen. We just saw what had to be the oldest gladiator we've ever seen pass through here." He said with a guffaw.

Corwin took up the tale. "Aye, though he didn't put gladiator on the list' Corwin held it out to Galen. "He wrote in Blacksmith under his fighting name." Now Corwin broke into fits of laughter.

Gemm having regained himself continued. "Oh he was strong enough, easily an axe handle wide at the shoulder, but too old for this kind of work in my opinion. Have you ever heard the like" A blacksmith in the fighting arena?" Gemm lost his control.

Galen took the roster and glanced at the last name written there. Clearly it said blacksmith, and just as clearly the name Aristotle Kruger Allen. Galen sat awkwardly as his legs refused to support him.

Gemm looked at him with concern "you okay Galen" You look as though someone stepped over your grave."

Galen waved him off as he approached. "I'm all right boy, but I don't find this near as funny as you." Galen leaned forward and stared the laughter out of both men. "It just so happens I have heard of such a thing, though it has been years since this one has come around here." He said holding up the clipboard and pointing to the name. "You two just witnessed a legend, one of the greatest champions the coliseum ever knew."

Corwin snorted. "Right! And his record is better than Shalandar's too right?"

Galen shook his head gravely. "Not better no, but he did fight Shalandar to a draw. The two men might still have been fighting today if the ruling council hadn't called the match."

Gemm gasped, even today one rarely mentioned Shalandar the way Corwin just had. He hadn't missed the finger curling to ward of evil that Corwin added as he said it either. Gemm was more concerned for Galen though; no one ever called the assassin something mundane as a simple man, let alone mouth something as impossible as Shalandar not defeating an opponent. Gemm looked around nervously, maybe no one else had heard.

"You don't believe me. I understand your hesitation, but it is all in the archives. The blacksmith took the title nearly as many times as Shalandar did. It is also very conspicuous that the two never faced one another again after that first meeting. There was some talk about fixing the roster to prevent it." Galen was about to continue when Corwin broke in.

"How do you know all this Galen" It seems unbelievable to me; it sounds like your just trying to impress the kid over there." Corwin said in a smug drawl.

"So I'm just telling stories am I?" Galen's voice grew heated. "Tell me Corwin, did the man have the brand on his left cheek?"

Corwin nodded, "aye, no different from any other brand I've seen."

Galen stood angrily "Really Corwin" How many brands have you seen that were on the fighter's face?" Corwin shifted nervously, and he remained very quiet. "That's what I thought, none. To my knowledge gentleman it was only done once." Galen sat back down, controlling the anger that had come from nowhere. "Story goes like this; the blacksmith was fighting as a volunteer. He said it kept his reflexes up, and showcased his merchandise. He had drawn a fight against a slave. The slave was favored to win the fight, so his master bet heavily on the fight. The blacksmith gave him a drubbing; he wiped the arena floor clean with the slave. You trust me boys he was that good. The slave's owner believed his slave had purposely lost in order to ruin him. When the blacksmith stood over the fallen slave, the man's owner convinced the ruling council to give a thumbs down. The blacksmith refused to kill the man. <I'll not kill a good fighter to suit a slaver's whim.> he said. The ruling council became enraged, they sentenced him to fulfill the last two years of the fallen gladiators time. The slave master wanted everyone to know of the blacksmith's disgrace, so instead of branding the man's shoulder, he had him branded on the cheek, just below the eye."

Gemm was looking on wide eyed, he seemed full of questions, but Galen continued his telling. "The ruling council, having passed sentence were forced by tradition to see it carried out. Before they left though, the blacksmith shouted out that if he were fulfilling the contract then the other man must now be free. What could the ruling council do but concede" Two men could not serve the same sentence for the same crime. At there acknowledgement, he announced that he would accept their ruling, but he looked to the former slave; this is what he said <as I serve your sentence, so to will you serve mine. My family must be supported, my business must not fail. Succeed and you will live, go now report to my forge; tell them there what has passed. They dragged him away before he could say more. They say though that the brand was a badge of honor to the slaves who looked upon it." Galen sighed; he opened his water skin, and took a drink to relieve his parched throat.

Gemm sat slowly. "What happened after Galen?"

Corwin rolled his eyes in disbelief. "You actually are buying this crap?"

Galen's gaze took in both men. "For two years I served at the forge of a man who bought my freedom by giving up his own. Whatever needed doing for his business or his family I did without complaint, until the day Kruger came home. You two say he is too old for this, and that may be. I say judge not what he will endure to succeed. I guarantee that after he learns the new rules in this place, folks will be hard pressed to stop one blacksmith." Galen stopped as a shadow fell over him. He looked up into the gaze of Kruger. "I never got to say thank you for my freedom." The man nodded once then walked on without a word.

Galen looked back to Gemm, ignoring Corwin. I know where my money is being bet though."

Shana Protansen received the day's new signs, usually a quick read, and then a filing. One name stuck out amongst the others. She recognized the scrawled signature even after several years. Aristotle Kruger Allen, "The Blacksmith", what the hell was the man thinking" Why had he returned after everything it had taken to get him away the last time" If it was money, surely he knew he had but to ask her sister Anya.

She owed him everything, yet he never claimed the smallest favor from her. The one thing Anya had tried to give him he gave back with interest. He was always more stubborn than smart though.

She shook her head and berated herself, not true Shana girl, we've made that mistake before, and you're the dense one if you believe he has no reason to be here. Shana had missed his battle songs, usually funny bawdy jigs; he kept the beat with his strokes, and danced in and out of his opponents" defenses. This stratagem worked quite often, many which faced him, had trouble dealing with laughing singing spectators. When his mood became dark though, crowds would begin to huddle in their seats. It was not fear that caused this, but intense anticipation.

Once, a voice she almost recognized said, "Sometimes examples have to be made". Kruger was not the only one to use this forum for his end games. However ten thousand silent spectators listening to the cruelest of lyrics coming from a man who offered no mercy to his opponent was an eerie experience. Even those nights didn't hold a candle to the night of the dirge.

She had been summoned to the coliseum. The summons did not give the details of the severity of the injuries. The sound reached her ears as she neared the place. It grew the further she got into it. She had heard songs here often, but never the very personification of death. She could almost feel it watching everything that happened.

Shana made her way out onto the field, the center held three of the four leaders of the gladiator guild. The coliseum held four gates, behind each stood the chambers the gladiators lived in while the Rhy"Din tournaments commenced. As she approached the three turned to her, they were pale looking sweat dampened them and she could barely discern that it was not exercise or heat that had brought the droplets out. The seats were empty, these three were the only visible forms, yet the walls vibrated with the sound of a song so disheartening and mournful she had to fight not to cry herself. It seemed all the slaves were singing the same tune, but from the northern gate came the sound of whiplashes, and screams of agony and defiance.

"Fenris is an animal", Anya said to her in a haunted voice. "You must go, do what you can for K".him." Her tremulous voice told of her worry.

The two men to Anaya's left and right nodded their agreement, but said nothing. Perhaps they had heard Anya, and no longer trusted their own voices not to betray them. Shana moved with a swaying grace toward the northern gate, the other three following in her wake. Shana knocked on the door as the first unanswered crack was heard. The beating was completed by the time the door was answered. As the door slowly opened inward the voices came to a last crescendo and silence enveloped the open forum. Shana could almost feel death?s breath on a spaghetti strapped shoulder. She shuddered as a chill ran the points of her spine.

"No one called for you healer" a voice attached to a shadowed figure said, Shana knew it was Fenris himself.

"Let her in ye monster", said one of the men behind her.

"Aye, we all heard what?s been going on in this place", said the other.

Shana waved a hand to silence them. It wouldn't do to anger him before the victim had been treated. Fenris wasn't above letting a slave die just to prove he was in charge in his own house. "I'll need to determine his fitness for battle, Fenris. I'm afraid it is house rules." Shana did her best to sound clinical, and unbiased. No one begrudges you the right to discipline as you see fit.

Fenris nodded his approval. "Just you though healer, I don't have to let in the competition."

There was an intake of breath from Anya. "Of course, none would ask it of you." Shana said to forestall her sister. Harlace came forward at a wave from Fenris.

"Take the healer to the slave quarters; let her see to its injuries." Fenris said coldly. That "it' sounded ominous, Shana wondered what other monstrous deeds were afoot this night in his slave pens.

Harlace and another guard led her through the pens; they reeked of sweat and of unwashed bodies. Fenris treated his slave like animals. Depriving them of what they needed in order to make them more vicious when they were on the fighting fields. He gave them all pretty sounding names too, as though the slaves in his pens were trophies he had hunted and mounted on his wall.

They halted before a cell occupied by two slaves. Neither seemed willing or able to move. Shana could tell the woman was a vampire; Fenris had obviously deprived her of nourishment for some time. Her dark hair was dank and greasy, the skin of her cheeks, and around her eye sockets were sunken, and hollow. Her deep blue eyes were wide with a tormented look and locked on the prostrate form before her. She rocked back and forth as a mother would to lull her infant to sleep. More concerning to Shana though was the man lying on the floor. She had to force herself not to react as she recognized him.

"When was the last time this poor creature was fed?" She asked with shock and disdain, to cover her reaction. His answer brought instant ire to her, before she fully understood that her hand was moving it had crossed the man's face. The smacking echo that followed brought her deep satisfaction. Why had she reacted so' She had heard similar things from other men like Harlace, so what was it about this man that made her resort to violence"

Of course the pig refused to carry him for her; she was mildly shocked when the girl in the cage offered to take him for her. She nodded her approval before Harlace had a chance to say no.

The infirmary was dark and antiquated. She was certain there would be few supplies in this place. Fenris cared little for the health of those he housed. The girl laid him on his belly with the gentlest of care. Shana could not understand why the creature didn't go after all of them the moment her cell door opened, let alone have enough control to give so much care to what she ought to consider her next meal.

A cursory inspection of the man's jugular told Shana that he hadn't been touched. She was mildly shocked to discover no one had stolen the pendant he wore. Closer inspection revealed that it was a magic inhibitor. Perhaps it was meant to sabotage any healing attempts.

Shana pumped some water into a bucket, and placed the bucket on a cart next to the table. "His back needs to be cleaned so I can get a better idea of what he needs." She instructed Harlace in an icy tone.

Harlace gave a curl of a thickly mustached lip. "Giovanni, ye heard the lady. Clean the meat sacks back." Shan stifled the urge to strike him again; twice in one night cannot be a coincidence. Kruger's plight was affecting her somehow. The guard Giovanni picked the bucket up and laughingly threw the contents across Kruger's back. Everything seemed to happen at once; Kruger convulsed his eyes shot open though he seemed to see nothing. Shana watched his neck cord as he gritted teeth against pain she could only imagine. His hand shot out with a quickness to give a mantis pause, there was a cracking sound as fingers closed over the bucket wielder's forearm.

Now it was Giovanni's turn to cry out in pain. Harlace reacted at in a flash; he pulled his belt knife and made to cut Kruger's fingers from his hand in order to secure Giovanni's release. A soft humming made caught the attention of everyone. The little vampire had moved to Kruger's head and knelt so that their eyes were on a level. Kruger began to relax, his hand loosened and Giovanni whipped his arm from Kruger's grasp. Kruger only had eyes for the vamp.

Shana recognized the tune of the dirge from earlier in the evening, but the vampire had changed it, sped up the rhythm, and raised the key. Her tune seemed to be an answer to the one that echoed through had echoed through the walls.

Kruger brought his hand forward; with fingertips he caressed the singer's cheek. He whispered to her, "Beautiful, you should be at home, there you will be serene, and precious." Shana wondered if she had heard him wrong. What he said made no sense to her.

The singer faltered a single beat with a ragged gasp. A single bloody tear striped the singer's sunken cheek. She closed her eyes as though listening to words only she could hear. When her eyes opened the humming transformed into words that came from a mouth whose corner was stained with that bloody tear.

Anything that you may ask, The lord of death will surely give. A gift for each that you must save, Finish you just one more task, Ere another day you live.

Shana saw Kruger's head lie down had he been healthy she would have thought he acquiesced to the demands of the song. She was so wrapped up in puzzling it out that she failed to notice the songs end.

"Mistress he is fading." The singer's simple statement brought her out of her reverie.

Shana like so many others in Rhy"Din had the ability to heal without the need of needles and thread, herbs and remedies. She was not as astute as many; there were some who could achieve what she could with just the merest thought. However, they were not the healer the coliseum employed. Much as she would have like to pass this business on to them, it was her responsibility.

The vampire set to cleaning Kruger's back. Had Shana the time she would have wondered at the irony, but the other was right time was critical. She began her delving; she nearly lost him twice in her efforts. The act of reminding flesh what it was like to be whole, then to convince it to be whole once more. Let alone having to re-grow entire pieces of muscle and tissue that were no longer there. Shana had seen them still attached to the barbs in the whip Harlace had used. Strength left her as she worked. When she had finished she willed herself to walk the few paces to the only stool in the room and collapse onto it. She was asleep almost instantly.

Shana opened her eyes to scene from the back alleys of the docks district. Harlace lay on the floor his throat ripped out, his neck looked to have been completely severed afterwards. Shana wondered who had saved him from an undead existence. Kruger lay on the table, she inspected her work. There would be minimal scarring, but the lines of the whip were still traced across his back by fresh pink skin. Shana couldn't teach new skin to tan itself. It would take the man time to get his back all the same color once more.

Since Shana's patient was secure, and there was nothing more to be done about Harlace. She looked for Giovanni, but couldn't find him anywhere. She was suddenly sick to her stomach as she found the arm that Kruger had broken. It was pulled from the body forcibly. The little vampire was missing as well. Further examination of the room revealed the bars of the one window that faced the streets were mangled. Shana had no doubt the vampire was loose, but she had fed, once at least, and probably twice, so there was no immediate danger here.

"I never asked her name." Shana said, her brows furrowing at what she considered bad manners. She was surprised the blood sucker hadn't taken her too.

"Serena, her name was Serena Precious." Kruger began to rise from the table.

"She told you?" Shana asked curiously.

Kruger shook his head, "She didn't have to tell me, I already knew."

"I don't understand." She said perplexedly. Then she showed him the bars. "Looks like she broke the bars?"

"I did that. Her control failed her; she took the two guards in a blink." He looked unsympathetically at Harlace. "I bent the bars while she fed, when she finished I set her free. Then I set him free, I don't believe I would want that walking around with a thirst for blood. He was already sadistic." Kruger sneered at the body.

Shana looked from Kruger to the decapitated body. "I'm surprised she left me alone." She resisted the urge to check her own neck.

"Don't be, she took what she needed, and then took what she wanted. Part of me hopes she found Fenris out alone. You'd better get out of here, when this is discovered there will be many questions." Kruger started for the door.

"What about you? Aren't you going to escape as well?" she asked.

Kruger stopped and looked over his shoulder at her; his eyes were iron and carbon. "I'm not done here yet. Tell your sister that the coin has only two sides left to fall." Kruger proceeded through the door and down the hall away from her.

She watched him as he disappeared, would an axe handle reach from shoulder to shoulder" She gave herself a shake, easy girl this isn't the time or the place for fantasies. She left the carnage behind, her course steering her to the spot on which her sister stood.

"What happened" How is he" Did he say anything?" Anya sounded frightened. At some point the others had left. Shana had at least gotten a few hours rest, Anya looked bone weary.

"Worry takes a lot out of you doesn't it sister." Was that sarcasm' "You knew it was him didn't you? I want to know what is going on Anya." Yes it was definitely sarcasm.

"He volunteered?" Anya began.

"No one volunteers for that kind of beating!" Shana shrieked into the night.

Anya's tone became dangerous. "Unless you want to be called back in there to try and save him again, you'd better be quiet. I'll tell you what I can." She began to walk toward the southern gateway. "Kruger came into my office; he seems to have discovered the tail I had attached to him."

Shana raised an accusing brow at her sister. "And?"

"He asked if I questioned his loyalty. I told him I did." Anya's voice seemed a child's at the admission.

"You didn't"!" Shana exclaimed in astonishment.

"Yes, though I do feel the guilt of my suspicions. He asked me how he could prove his loyalty. He asked what I wanted most in the world." Anya's voice was nearly a whisper now.

Shana grabbed her shoulders and turned her until the two faced each other. "What did you do Anya?"

"I told him what I most desired. I want father's killer dead." The last word was a squeak.

"How could you do that' Surely you told him he had no chance?" Shana asked her fingers digging into the older woman's shoulders.

"I told him who, and that he couldn't possibly win such a battle. He said, "Know your enemy and know yourself, and in a hundred battles you will be victorious". Then he told me something about coins having three sides, and songs of great power. It was all very confusing."

"What do we do about him now" Our freelancer now fights for Fenris." Shana could not hide her disappointment.

"I don't get the feeling he intended to be there long Shana. Now tell me what happened."

Shana relayed the details; she spared her sister nothing, and took great satisfaction to see the pain her words inflicted. She then told her of the escape, and that Kruger when given the opportunity refused it. Finally she told her of his words to her, and the strange song Serena had sung to him.

"What do you think it means Anya?" Shana asked. "I'm too exhausted for puzzles."

"I don't know yet Shana, but we need to find out how to get him out of there, I think.? That was the last that Anya said Shana couldn't find the energy to question any more.

Uriel watched Metatron through the doorway to his office. The scribe angel had his head down focused on the pages before him. The scritch of a quill sounded from time to time as the scribe made notes in the margins. He had come at Metatron's summons, the other didn't exactly outrank him, but few refused when he called them. Metatron commanded no one, he had no subordinates. Yet all would come when he needed them, for Metatron heard the word more often than any other of their kind. He listened, and wrote the word's commands; a job that had been rumored to belong to another once.

That Metatron relished this communion was obvious, the word pride sprung to Uriel's mind as he looked on. Then again perhaps jealousy could be said of Uriel, who had been given the keys to the gates of hell and the lands of the dead, yet still had fewer communions with the word than he desired. Others did what they could to attract the attention of the word; Gabriel seemed to be insane with it. If he weren't more careful he may meet up with the angel of Persia much sooner than the word's plan. Michael kept preaching caution, but Gabe insistently forged ahead. No one had seen Raphael in some time; he seemed stuck somewhere between Gabe, and Michael. Raph never seemed able to side with anyone for long.

Metatron's head came up, and eyes that were all pupil felt like they looked through Uriel. "Ah, Uriel so glad you could find the time to attend me. The word is most impressed with your work lately."

Uriel grunted and entered the room. "The word speaks to me as well Metatron." He snapped at Metatron. "It tells me of its pleasure; I don't need you to intercede for me."

"Of course not, I was merely congratulating you." Metatron's tone was a very good impression of innocence. "Please have a seat, this may take some time."

Uriel knew this was a dig at his position, Metatron the scribe of the word was the only angel aloud to sit in its presence. The others knew it was due to the difficulty of writing while standing, but Metatron used it often as a cudgel to his brothers.

Metatron opened a desk drawer and pulled a file out. The file was reasonably thick, as though compiled over several months. He opened the file and took from it a stack of parchment. Then he sorted through as though looking for a specific page. When he found it he held it out to Uriel.

"Do you recognize this report?" It was written by you was it not?" Metatron asked. Uriel took the report and read through it.

He did recognize this report as one he wrote. "These events happened years ago, why am I being called to account for it now" Surely the word would have gotten back to me sooner had I behaved improperly." Uriel feigned anger to cover his dismay; he threw the report onto the desk in disgust.

"Of course not Uriel," was Metatron's chuckling reply as he picked up the report. "Events in this time are being scrutinized to see what if anything they had to do with the event we all felt. The word wants a verbal interview of this report," Metatron shook the pages as he spoke; Uriel didn't miss the ire that had crept into his innocent tone.

"Surely Azrael could enlighten you better" My part in this is small." Uriel replied hoping that he would be spared the inquisition.

Metatron rose to his feet, he grasped the sides of his desk and leaned over it. His face was a grimace of pain. "Your report and Azrael's do not match Uriel. You will submit to this!"

Uriel dropped to his knees, the body was Metatron, but the voice was clearly that of the word. Metatron sat once more, his expression that of a lost child. He picked up a quill and began to write. As the ink hit the paper the memories began to play in Uriel's head. There would be no omissions from this report. Had Azrael already undergone this, or should Uriel warn him.

"He stood at the center of the arena, around him stood four others. No one would ever expect to see the five of them together. Sure Azrael and Uriel travelled in the same circles, but Charon had gone another direction all together. Even this would be more normal than to see either angel in the presence of Lilith, and Samael. Two demons, two angels, and the ferryman of souls; Uriel had never heard of a less appropriate gathering. He hoped the word was not looking in on him.

Charon broke the silence first. "I see the old ways still hold all of us. Hello brothers." He bowed first to Samael, then to Azrael. Charon was the oldest of them, then Samael before his fall, and Azrael was the youngest. Azrael had felt the shame of Samael's fall so much that he had taken up his older brother's post as Angel of Death. Samael hadn't exactly given up this post, more like he had made a lateral move. He was performing the function for another location as it were.

Charon had been ferrying the souls of the dead long before either Sam, or Azrael had been created. His visage changed as Uriel looked at him. He seemed to flicker back and forth between Charon, and Urshanabi. Where Charon was skeletal, Urshanabi was flesh. He had been beautiful once, before the damn meads had gotten to him. Strangely Charon seemed to prefer the skeletal version.

Uriel thought that of the five present, four of them made sense in the aspect of their macabre services. Lilith was the wild card. Uriel couldn't figure why the succubus and queen of the vampire kind would be present.

"Were we all summoned here by the old ways?" Uriel asked then gave a pointed look to Lilith.

Her exotic olive skinned face regarded him with an expression that hinted at promises. Pleasure and pain could be granted with the gentlest her touches. "Flesh and blood spilled across an altar of pain" The voices of light and dark were raised as one in affirmation of the summons. In one night there was healing granted, companionship offered. Communion was extended and freedoms were granted. Lives were sacrificed and punishment for crimes uncommitted given. I was summoned by the old ways as you were Uriel, and I assure you I like it as little as you." Her rosebud lips said, occasionally revealing the predatory fangs she bore.

"But who would call us, then not be here to meet us?" Samael drew a look of derision from Azrael at the question. Uriel thought the angel must have been wondering much the same thing. The two of them were so similar it would be easy to mistake them for one another. They were nearly the same height, with sandy blonde locks that fell to the shoulder. Their piercing blue eyes would melt hearts if their gazes weren't harder than stone.

"How would they know the proper means to bring all of us?" This time it was Samael who glared at Azrael. A voice from the darkness forestalled any incident between the two.

"The answer to the first question could be answered by following the south road out of Rhy"Din. The answer to the second can be answered by looking towards me." A shadowy figure bent and shuffling made its way across the yard. At first Uriel didn't recognize the old man, but as he drew closer, his features became more distinct.

"Utnapishtim is that you?" Roughly translated his name meant Mr. Know-it-all.

"Yes Uriel, it is I, and it was I." The voice was cracked with age.

"You still speak in riddles old one." Lilith said with a vampiric smile.

"It is no riddle, queen of desire"I am here, and it was I who gave Kruger the information of how to summon you. I admit that I had little idea that he would call the five of you, but knowing what he is after, I should have guessed who would be here." The old man had come into the light now; his skin had more wrinkles than the oldest tree bark. He was bent over a cane that seemed to support more of his weight than even his legs. He hobbled forward and stood before Uriel.

"We need to stand in the old fashion Uriel, my place is the center because I have all the knowledge." It was a command, from a being that knew who he was and what he was. Uriel had no choice but to move to his place.

Under the direction of Utnapishtim, the other five formed the pentagram. The old man stood in the center of the star. Uriel realized this was right, at the center stood all the knowledge, from the extremities comes the questions.

"Kruger summoned each of us for a reason, three of us owe him something, and the rest owe him nothing. I have already agreed to do my part, though I am one of those who owe nothing." Utnapishtim turned counter clockwise as he spoke; stopping each time he faced one of the others. "The ritual continues because I continue it."

He turned to face Lilith, "from you my dear I don't know what he wants, he said only that yours would be the most difficult task, because you owe him the most. You will know when the time comes. Do you know what he has done for you?" Lilith nodded silently.

He turned then to Samael, "from you he needs a service that you are best suited for. Are you aware of what he has done for you?"

Samael Snorted, "What could a mere mortal offer me?"

Utnapishtim gave a toothless grin, "there was no offer he simply did, and your daughter walks free this night. He freed her from hunger and pain, He gave her companionship when she was alone, and he gave the ability to pity when sanity had nearly left her. His gifts and offerings brought her healing hope and freedom. He gave and you are in his debt, he has a price for you to pay now. The price is far less than all that he has done for yours and Lilith's daughter, or do you deny Serena?" That the old man accused was evident, but that he did it to a demon of Samael's caliber was impressive.

Utnapishtim turned then to Azrael, "your service is similar and equal to your brother's" Azrael hissed at the old man, but made no other moves. Uriel knew how he hated Samael. Azrael had been caught alone ranting over the shambles Samael had made of the family.

"I don't have to listen to this." Azrael made to move away, but seemed unable to move his feet. He beat his wings hard enough to fan Uriel some fifteen feet away, but never raised an inch from the ground.

"You who have taken up your brother's cast offs owe him as well. Are you aware of his gifts to you?" Azrael snarled at the old mans words. Uriel thought the angel's temper was very near its breaking point, but a quick testing of his own feet allowed him to understand they would go nowhere until all was finished.

"Let me help you understand. Kruger gave to your son, understanding and forgiveness. He gave him healing and solace. Most importantly he gave him communion, and freedom. For these things you, the father to Lilith's Oriphiel do Owe Kruger, and he has determined the price you will pay." The old man sighed deeply, whether he was tired or relieved Uriel could not tell, but Azrael had fallen to his backside, his head lay on his knees and he was sobbing.

Samael was eye Lilith with the loathing of a man who discovered his wife in bed with his brother. Lilith wore an amused expression; the pains of her lovers always gave her pleasure.

Utnapishtim moved on quickly, "the two of you are to go into the lands of death and retrieve the gifts of Ishtar. One to seek the drum, it shall be retrieved and delivered to Sylestria the high elf of the Great Cat mountain range. You are to give it with Kruger's compliments. The rest will be done by her. The other of you shall seek out the harp, this to be taken to the inland sea and presented to Bianca the Nyad queen. This also shall be given with Kruger's compliments."

To Charon he turned then, "You owe the man little, perhaps the rescue of niece and nephew put in some obligation, but since you know them not at all it is small obligation. Therefore the request for you is smaller, you he needs only to take the others to the land of the dead. Since you travel there all the time any way it should be of small consequence to you."

Charon smiled, if a skeleton could be said to smile. "For the pleasure of spending time with my two brothers I will do what is requested."

The old man turned then toward Uriel, "you owe the least next to me. Yours is the smallest task save my own. From you it is simply to unlock the gate and allow the others to cross."

Uriel thought about it a moment before realizing that by the old ways he had no choice. "By flesh, and blood and pain we were called, sacrifices were given, gifts offered and accepted. Knowledge has been shared, by the old ways it was called for, by the old ways it shall be done.?

The words once spoken freed him; the old ways compelled him to the gates of the lands of the dead. The three brothers were there with him as well, of Lilith there was no sign. Utnapishtim was gone as well, though he didn't have the luxury of travel by thought. The key went into the lock, and the three passed through the doorway. Uriel locked the door behind them. He was compelled to await their return...