?You have been absent of late,? suggested Javan. To his right, his wife, Lledrith, lean and pale, refilled her goblet from a steaming pitcher and leaned toward one of the fat beeswax candles dripping on the council table. In distracted fascination, her fingertips passed close to the flame. Javan frowned, gently pulled the vampire-mage away from the morbid temptation of fire.

?I have.? Alysia flippantly agreed. ?What of it??

?As your Master of Assassins, I endeavor to be tactful.? Javan sighed. ?You?ve been completely incommunicado in Rhy?Din, for nearly a month, and not even Alaric- ?

?Not completely incommunicado,? interrupted Alysia. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, nodding to her right, indicating Aeris, an ebon-maned priestess of Syladesh. ?My guard had leave to report to you. My endeavors have left me little time to direct Aeris? activities.?

A pair of pristine, white leather boots were swung up onto the table, and Emma smiled frostily at the others gathered. ?What Alys neglects to explain is that Aeris has been kept quite busy keeping the Empress of Rhilshen not merely safe but alive in these ?endeavors?.? Her next words were directed to Alysia. ?I may be privy to your design and understand your reticence, but your family deserves some explanation.?

Seated next to the white-garbed Baroness of Mynw was an elven child, gray-eyed and black-haired, slender as a willow sapling. The child looked around at the gathered council with a grave stare. He leaned closer to Emma, a pinkish nimbus flaring about his head as he communicated silently with his teacher.

?One has no secrets from a psion.? Alysia growled, adjusting the crimsor bracers she wore. ?Very well. I have been seeking power to destroy those who would oppose my will. Let it rest at that. I will brook no questions of my actions.? With that flat, remorseless statement, she looked at the elven child, na-Baron of Shayltan and changed the topic. ?I see you?ve brought young Inestial. Where are the others??

Javan explained, ?Your son-in-law is in K?Thayne, accompanied by the Bloodsingers and pretending to be an Ambassador suing for some kind of peace on your behalf. Tacrya the Fat has bought into his ploy so far and is treating him most cordially. That, or the fact that he?s a demon-mage scares the hell out of her.?

?Or she?s hoping to drag him into her bed,? Lledrith interjected, guffawing, ?or her dungeon. Or both. You?d not believe the- ?

?Yeah.? Javan interrupted and rolled his eyes at his wife?s random comment, adding, ? Evara?s scouting nearby, to pull him out if he gets in over his head. Warryk is actually in Mynw right now, meeting with the Dril to rework port security before you move against K?Thayne. Ah. . . General Serik is in Destil, overseeing the arming of your Bloodguard and the Imperial Legion. Lord Ayreg is. . . he is . . .?

Down in the dungeon beneath Rhilshen Fortress, there was a room. Partitioned off away from the rest of the cells and devices of.. questioning.. and sealed behind no more than three locked doors and two guard rooms, there stood the shadow portal connecting Rhilshen with Rhy'Din. Iron bars served as walls-within-walls, and the portal room itself held three Legionnaires sitting around a table and playing at cards.

The silver archway that made up the shadow portal began to fluctuate. It crackled with energy, and the inky, velvety blackness within began to take form. Someone... no. Not someone. Too small. Something was coming through.

The Legionnaires stood up abruptly from their game of cards, and hands went to the hilts of broadswords sheathed at their waist. Metal scraped against leather as they were drawn and readied, and one of the men stepped to the door to close and lock it.

An extension of the shadow portal bolted out, and then melted back in, depositing the object that came through as if giving it one final, black, slithering caress.

And then it dropped to the floor. The closest guardsmen blinked and lowered his sword, even as the dull chthunk resounded around the small room in echos.

"Get the captain," the Legionnaire said, half-turning to glance over his shoulder.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


"...on fighting upon the field. You long for killing and death, this I know."

"We all do. And this is a Twilight War, is it not? The High Priestess of the Guardian has a duty to do battle with the Dark Ancient - and you may be assured that the Dark Ancient will be summoned to the field."

Light reflected off the mithril girdle worn over the polished-steel breastplate as a Captain of the Legion marched stiffly into the open council chambers. Dark chain linked between the plates of the man's armor, and the momentum of his stride caused his gold-trimmed black cloak to billow in his wake. Heavy boots echoed off the chamber walls as he marched to the table, around which sat these movers and shakers of Rhilshen.

And cradled in his arm like a royal scepter was... a thing. It was long; perhaps nearly four feet in total length, but wrapped in a smooth gray cloth.

"Forgive the intrusion, Emperess, but I felt it necessary to bring this to your attention immediately."

And with that, the Captain stood at attention, back straight, chin high, and awaited the order to continue, or to be dismissed.

"Explain."

The Captain of the Legion cleared his throat, and glanced down at the burden in his arms, then he looked back to her. His arm shifted, a barely noticable thing, as if reaching toward the table. "If the Emperess will permit me...?"

At an impatient nod from Alysia, the Captain strode forward to the edge of the great table, and extended his arms to lay whatever it was in his arms down onto the table in front of her. It struck the table with the sound of... well. It was the sound that a heavy glass bottle might have made if it were dropped to the floor, but did not shatter.

His hands moved mechanically, nearly as rigidly as he walked. Military discipline was something instilled in the Legion from the training they received both from Lord Ayreg, as well as General Serik. His motions were mechanical, but not robotic -- they were simply deliberate, and exact, and wasting no energy or effort in his task. When he was finished, he took a step back and resumed his position of attention, with his hands at his side, and his chin up.

When he was finished, laid out on the smooth gray cloth on the table before Alysia, was a sword. The blade was straight and double-edged, the long, two-handed hilt black and wrapped with the vaguely-pinkish tone of leather that one could probably identify as Flaydskin. The blade itself, however, was somewhere between blue and clear, with striations running through it of a lighter white. It very nearly resembled ice, and the appearance of ice was further demonstrated by the fine tendrils of mist that rose up from the length of the blade as it touched the considerably warmer air in the room.

Wrapped around the hilt near the cross-guard was a bit of parchment, held in place by a thin strip of leather. Once torn away from the sword and unrolled, it's message was written in a decidedly feminine, flowing script, and beneath it, near the corner of the parchment, was a black icon of swirls and jagged edges, with a black eye in the center of it.

Be warned, the harvest continues. Will you be next? ?A.D

The meeting had concluded with a litany of terse instructions relayed by the High Priestess of Rhilshen, and the members of Skye family had soberly dispersed to oversee final martial preparations.

Alysia, however, lingered, staring at Frost Brand. Brooding. Observing this, Emma bent to murmur something to Inestiel, and the young elf scampered off, leaving the two women alone in the council chamber. Alysia seem to come back to herself, shook her head once, and stook, making for the doors.

?Alys. Don?t rush off just yet.?

Alysia turned around, surprised. ?There are things I need to-?

?Just wait a moment,? said Emma, irritably. Emma reached over, touching the center of the Priestess? forehead. As she did so, an image came into Alysia?s mind.

A sallow, death-pale woman with lustrous, deep ebon hair. The faintest tracery of veins suffused her face, and her eyes showed no white, only inky black. A cloak was thrown back over the woman?s left shoulder, showing a spiked steel pauldron, enameled black, engraved with an open hand, an open eye gazing out from the palm.

As Emma set aside the cryptic note that had accompanied the blade, the psionic impression faded.

?That?s the. . . ,? stammered Alysia, ?that was the woman who made a gift of his eye. She had his cloak, too.?

?You recognize her, then.?

The Priestess nodded mutely, frowning, small hands curling into fists. Silence weighed heavy upon the room, and Emma bore this patiently. She observed the churning of Alysia?s thoughts and chose not to interfere.

?I tried to find him before, you know,? Alysia finally said. ?Using his eye. Scrying, with bloodspice. Too much bloodspice, probably. Jodiah was alive then, but I was blocked, somehow. . . by something foul. Something stronger than I was.? It galled her to admit the last, to put her weakness into spoken words.