10 January 1930 hours
Grand Marshall's office
The Beacon

The quiet firm knock interrupted the pale elf's concentration on his
writing. General Keirin Moonwalker had heard that particular knock before.

In fact, this evening he had rather anticipated it. Without looking up:
"Enter."

The heavy oaken door opened and closed. "M'Lord, I would speak with you." The voice was soft and modulated and carried steel.

Keirin glanced up to see what he already knew he would. The youngish half-elf before him was clad in a simple green tunic, unadorned except for a gold fox's head on a white starburst on his left breast, almost hidden by the teal cloak. Around the dark trousers - cut in a strange but to Keirin all-too-familiar fashion, with pockets bulging with unknown arcane devices - was slung a wide belt with pouches, no doubt filled with more of the incomprehensible things that bulged the trouser pockets. The cloak gave no hint of the energy pistol - a beautiful and clean-lined and deadly weapon, thought the General - which Keirin knew was holstered on the right hip. All in all, his young subordinate was a very welcome sight.

"Of course, Alex. Please come in." The General closed the thickly-embossed leather covers of the journal in which he'd been writing.

His own thoughts could wait. The presence of his unorthodox-but-highly-regarded War Chief - especially this soon after the services for Lord Montoya - did not likely mean a social call. And, in fact, the social proprieties were far from the General's own mind at the moment.

The blue-green eyes regarded Keirin steadily. There was a tension in
Alex's body, an almost palpable aura around the slim form that spoke
volumes. "General, I wanted to express my sincere sorrow at the loss of our friend."

Keirin nodded, apparently without much visible emotion. "Thank you,
Alex." The elf's ageless face was a mask, but not to the young Colonel who had worked with him so long. Alex Jones saw sorrow in his friend's one normal eye. And a great deal else. "He will be greatly missed."

"Yes, sir, he will. General...do you know anything about the details
behind this?"

"No, I don't. I have a report from some who were there, but I haven't had the time to read over it."

"Sir, the Lady Aerisa has promised me that whatever she discovers in her investigation will be reported to you - and me - personally, and on the Q.T."

Another nod. "Thank you, Alex. I want to get to the bottom of this, and see that justice is done." A very humorless look, straight into the
Colonel's eyes. "Whether the officials of RhyDin see it as justice or not."

The humorless look was returned with an equally grim smile, a trifle
disconcerting on those youthful-looking features. "Yessir, I figure that
too." The the smile vanished, all business-like. "I would respectfully
suggest that the Elite Forces will be fully prepared to implement any... just ...responses to whatever - or whomever - might be responsible for
this."

"Thank you, Alex. I would expect no less."

A tight nod. "Your servant, sir. I will initiate a few...ah...training exercises for the troopers...just in case.

"Excellent." The older officer's voice carried more than a little
purpose. "Do not spare them, Alex. Whatever happened, we need them ready for the worst. Whatever caused Dex's death could not be anything ordinary."

"Yes, sir, I gathered that. The men will be ready, and so will I. And,
uh, sir..."

"Yes?"

"As always, we'd prefer to keep all the official communications channels out of this...need-to-know, freedom of action, and the like."

"Of course."

"Thank you, sir."

"Oh, and Alex?" The tone was all-too-casual. "If we should find this
individual - and we can - I would like him alive. I want to...question
him." This time the smile was terrible indeed, freezing the room with the
icy fire of the anticipated satisfaction expected in the Lower Planes.

The responding smile was not as horrific, but no less predatory. "I'd
like that myself...sir."

"Good. Then we understand each other."

10 January 2200 hours
Grand Marshall's office
the Beacon

The room was quiet. Starlight washed a bright ghostly silver over the table and floor by the high narrow window, a watercolor brushstroke laid through the heavy ancient stone of the walls. On the massive desk - carved from one block of a singularly dark wood - the bronze radiance of the lamp picked out its own golden inlays and illuminated the papers on the desk before the pale elf lord. General Keirin Moonwalker wished the wan glow could illuminate his thoughts half as well.

For the fourth time he scanned the missive from his Grand Commander in the almost-certainly vain hope of sifting something more - anything - useful. Like minnows, the words hovered, schooled, then burst into ripples darting hither and yon. Almost everything was either speculation or negative information. "Can only speculate...maybe...anyone's guess...cannot be certain...makes me suspect...may also be wrong...cannot yet rule out."

He reached for the large mug of Islyn Borkoth tea and sipped. The wrenchingly bitter taste - in times of stress he preferred no moderating sweeteners - did a little to ease his headache, but the stimulation made nothing any clearer. Well - right, then. See what you do}have, old boy...

Keirin scanned the document once more, this time for positive contexts. Hmmm..."Nothing would be further from my mind than to tie your hands...would appreciate answers...make use of all the resources we have."

By the Gates of Avernus, this was carte blanche. Use of all the resources...well, resources he did have, and in plenty. Raising his voice slightly, he summoned his aide.

Ten minutes later, he felt better. A quick check with Guards Headquarters confirmed that all security measures were as tight as reasonably possible, and a special detail was already an unobtrusive element in the Montoya residence. Six hand-picked Guardsmen, commanded by Lieutenant Beauregard herself; and nobody was as discrete - or as diplomatic - as Dixie. The Guards were operating with their usual first-class professionalism. The General permitted himself a thin smile, knowing who'd organized and trained them.

And on the morrow he would meet with several individuals to learn more of the circumstances of Lord Montoya's demise. This would require much more thought and planning...and guesswork. Security was easy. Intelligence was something else again. But that could wait until the morning.

Rising from his desk, he walked slowly to the window. Above, the brilliance of the stars shone coldly in the heavens. Heaven, he thought abstractedly, is probably not going to be very interested in what I am about to do. Or at least not very pleased. He regarded the dark unfathomable depths of the night, in which the Lanterns of the Universe flickered, But the Darkness...the Darkness will understand. A shudder ran through his powerful frame, and his one good eye flashed a deep dark blood-red, spinning with crystal fires. The gods help me...it is there I must seek. He wondered, briefly, what it would cost him this time.

10 January 1153 hours
Grand Marshall's office
the Beacon

Keirin read the report once more. Nothing. No further information concerning Dex's death. All those people in the basement, and not one of them could even give a good description of the assassin.

Keirin was certain that Aerisa had done an excellent job with the investigation. She always did. But he couldn't help feeling helpless from the lack of information.

With a sigh, he rose from his chair and walked to the cabinet at the rear of his office. He pressed his clenched fist against the door of the cabinet, to a spot in the door shaped to match his clenched fist. As he pressed his fist to the door, he allowed a flow of his magic to activate the shield, and the door swung open. He reached in and removed a scroll tube from a section of the cabinet reserved for correspondence with the Command Council.

He closed the door and placed the tube on his desk.

He turned to look through the door to where the patrols were beginning to light the torches on the paths to the Beacon. Knowing that the scroll wouldn't send itself, he turned and walked the few feet to his desk.

With practiced hands, Keirin rolled the reports up and tucked them into the scroll tube. He held the tube between his palms, one end on each palm. With a flow of his magic, he sealed the tube and keyed the shield to Topaz's ring. He took an extra precaution, keying it further to her heartbeat.

Once the tube was sealed, he walked out of his office. With a sigh, he left his door open because he knew he would be back. This night's work had only just begun. It would be a late night for him once more. He walked down the hall to Topaz's office and, with a touch of his hand, opened the door. He laid the tube in the tray reserved for him, then turned and walked back to his office.

He paused as he walked through the main hall. Not so very long ago, this had been a place of peace, of friendship. Now it rang with the sounds of battle. He could almost hear the clash of swords coming from the training rooms. Turning, he walked the rest of the way to his office.

"Go home, Roan," he said to his assistant. "I just have a few reports to read, and a few other things to see to. I'll see you tomorrow."
"If ya say so, sir," the halfling said. "The missus was wantin' me to get home early tonight. I'll be here bright an' early in the mornin', sir. Good night to you." The halfling grabbed his cloak and rushed out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Keirin walked back to his private office and opened the heavy, leatherbound tome he had been reading all day.

Dark Angel - 1. Pieces and Pawns - part 3


11 January 0921 hours
Guards Headquarters
the Beacon

"I still don't like it." The major's voice was calm and analytical but
obviously worried.

"I don't either, Julian. If you've got a better angle, I'd like to hear
it."

Major Julian derKorst took a hard look at his commanding officer. Colonel Jones had many faults, but one of them was not an inability to listen. Well, this was something he needed to listen to.

"The problem is that we have no intel. None. Right?"

Alex grimaced. "All too true, I'm afraid." But the head officer of Special Ops knew that he knew that. "So..."

"So...we need better intel. I can't take them into an unlimited situation without more information. I will not sacrifice assets like these to no purpose, Colonel." DerKorst's dark eyes were iron. Alex raised an eyebrow.

"You have a suggestion, Major?"

Put that way, Julian knew, it was an order. All right, then... "We need someone on the ground, Colonel." It took only a second for all the implications to sink in. Then Colonel Jones' eyes became very focused indeed.

The half-elf's voice was very controlled, even detached. "And how do you propose to effect this, Major?"

Julian looked Alex straight in the eyes. "Insertion."

"I see." Alex had already considered this, but the risks seemed far too great. "How many?"

"One, sir." Julian took a deep breath. "Alex, any more and the operation is blown. 'Discovery of concealed operations is directly related to the square of the number of people involved.' First Law of Special Ops," he added unnecessarily.

The cold brilliance of a winter morning lit the air of the small room. Alex had insisted that the Elite Forces' office be an upper-story location with several windows, including a decent view of the fortress wall below and the panorama of the mountains to the east. A man could breathe here, thought Julian, although the heavy stone walls of the lower levels were decidedly more defensible. On the fields stretching through the bright sunlight out to the foothills lay a heavy dusting of snow. He glanced back at his friend.

"Alex..."

"I understand, Julian. You're right, of course." The liquid blue-green eyes had been regarding something far away, but then snapped back to hard crystal. DerKorst felt he was being X-rayed. Inwardly he smiled. The boy had learned quite a lot in a short time. The internal smile vanished a second later. "You realize, of course, that you have virtually no chance of survival."

Hmmm...the boy was smart. But there were a few things he hadn't thought about. "Not necessarily, Colonel. What if..." The explanantion took only a minute.

"It just might..." The voice was scarcely more than a whisper. Then it changed tone. "Julian, you know I can't order you to do this."

On Vanar, in his old kingdom, Julian derKorst would have forced to have been offended. Now, the exiled prince merely laughed. "And who else of these clowns would you trust with this?"

There was a long pause. One more quick dose of X-rays, then a grin. "No one, none at all - as well you know, Your Bloody Highness."

"Mmmm...does this mean you'll have a bottle of Irish Mist waiting?"

"You pull this off, my friend, and it'll be a whole case." Julian grinned back. "Now, then, what about..." Alex described just what - and whom - he had in mind. After two minutes, derKorst could only shake his head in amazement.

"Just how long have you had this planned?"

The grin was perky. Gods, that's a scary thing to see on your commander. "This time I got lucky." A curt knock sounded on the door. "In fact, that should be him now. Enter," announced the Colonel.

Julian looked up to see a very tall man, well over six feet, in dark-blue sweater and trousers, stride easily into the room, closing the door behind him in a fluid catlike motion rather incongruous for someone of his size. A very large and deadly cat, sized up the Swordmaster, as the soldier - for that was quite obvious by his bearing - flickered his green eyes quickly around the room, as if noting and evaluating every posible threat and tactic. The eyes came to rest on Alex, and a warm smile lit up the tanned face. "Colonel...?"

Alex gestured towards Julian. "Master Chief Jackson, this is Major derKorst."

The panther look shifted; then Jackson stepped briskly to attention two paces in front of derKorst and snapped a very military salute. "Master Chief Petty Officer Jackson reporting for duty, sir!"

Well, thought the Major, either he's bloody good at first impressions, or he's been briefed by the Colonel. Probably both, he decided as he stood up and returned the salute. "Have a seat, Master Chief," the aristocrat offered in what was a calculatedly gracious tone. He had his own evaluations to make.

Jackson eased himself into a chair, his attention still focused on derKorst, who parked himself on the edge of Alex's desk. "Colonel Jones tells me you have a long and distinguished combat record, Master Chief."

"The Colonel is correct, sir. Mostly back on Old Earth."

"I see. Tell me about it."

The big man shrugged lightly. "Not that much to tell, Major. You know anything about Old Earth history?"

"Enough."

"Well, then...pirates in the Malay States, Moros in the Philippines...scouted the Pacific islands for the Navy in the 30s...went back there with the Marines in the next war..." A grim look composed of memories crossed his face. "Did Indochina and Algeria with the Legion...then joined the SEALs in time for Vietnam."

"Seals...?"

The Master Chief held up his forearm. Tattooed on it was a grinning red seal. "Sea-Air-Land, sir. Special Ops. They don't get much better." The Major nodded. "Anyway, sir, I sort of bounced in and out of those kinds of things for quite a while."

"Off-planet experience?"

"Yessir, I served with Force Recon under Marshal Belarion on Thorgoth."

DerKorst's eyebrows went up a few millimeters. "The griffin scouts?" A nod. "Were you at Halaxi?"

"Second Recon, sir. The week before."

Julian took a hard look at Alex. Damn the boy, that innocent expression came all too easily to him. He'd known this, hadn't he? Major derKorst stood up.

"Master Chief, I was in command of the First Strike Company at Narva Gate. If it hadn't been for the griffin scouts...well..." Julian did something Alex had almost never seen him do. He stuck out his hand. "Thank you, Master Chief."

Jackson stood up too, and accepted the handshake. "You're welcome, Major."

A rare smile crossed the dark aristocratic features. "Julian."

The smile was returned. "J.L."

Both men sat back down. "You mind if I ask what that stands for?"

"James Longstreet." An almost-apologetic shrug. "Dad served with Longstreet in the American Civil War."

"So you're a - what do you call it - a Confederate?"

"Well, not me, sir - uh, Julian. Dad was. Mom was...well, let's just say elves are everywhere. Me, I'm just from L.A." Julian looked confused.

"You know...Lower Alabama?" Julian looked even more confused.

Alex was obviously in on the joke. "Don't worry about it, Julian. I'll explain later. Can I take it we can use him?"

Major Julian derKorst never accepted anything at face value. "Well, Colonel, we'll see. Master Chief - you think you're up to a little duelling this morning?"

"If the Major feels he's up to some target practice." Delivered with a straight face, no less.

"Then, Colonel - with your permission...?"

The Colonel waved his hand. "Go on, the both of you. Have your fun. I have work to do."

11 January 1637 hours
CanMaria Stables
Majestic Flight Racecourse

Sidestepping various creatures, Zachary and his draconic companion slipped quickly into the barn. And I thought our people were strange. He grinned to himself, nodded "Hi, Chuckie!" to the two-foot-high figure who mostly resembled a doll with some serious issues, and ducked under the neck of a black pegasus. In a few steps, he was in the Jockeys' Lounge.

He knew most of the assorted characters in the room; but one he had known longer than the rest. The dark figure in the solid-black riding gear, sitting alone at a table near the carven red-marble fireplace...the young shapeshifter slid around some new jockeys he hadn't met yet, murmuring apologies, and came to a halt before his target.

The man before him was - perhaps - middle-aged, although any reasonable guess would have almost certainly been wildly wrong. He looked about the same age as Zachary's father...although perhaps a trifle older around the dark deep fathomless eyes. But the smile was still there, the smile that the boy remembered from his earliest years. It was warm, and it was genuine, and it was reserved for very few. And right now it was turned on Zachary.

"Well, young wolf. You rode well today."

"Not as good as I might have, sir."

A look of dismay crossed the dark face. "What's with this 'sir'? You've been hanging out far too much with your father's soldiers. I do have a name, Zachary."

Memories flooded the boy's mind and heart as he jumped forward to embrace his foster-father. "Maelin..." It was easy to pretend he was still six; not so easy to climb into the lap of someone who was now not much bigger than himself, but still the friend he always was. Zachary's eyes were rather moist, but he hid that as he hugged his uncle. On his shoulder, the fairy dragon darted his slender neck around the man's neck and ear.

Maelin returned the embrace with easy laughter. "Whoa, wolf-boy - you're too big for my shoulders these days. And a sweet eveing to you, Violet, my beautiful one." The wings folded and vibrated as the long fingers delicately stroked the purple ridge-crest. A gentle kiss on Zachary's forehead brought the boy's face back up to his. "So - what's the problem?"

Instantly the young rider's countenance hardened. "Father says - he needs you, sir." This time the honorific was understood, and not rebuked.

"It's business."

The dark rider considered all of the implications of those statements. Then he nodded. "All right. Tell him...tell him I'll meet him in the - no, he's good, but not that good - tell him I'll meet him behind the nearer moon tomorrow night. Got that, young wolf?"

Zachary's look was professional. The dark one was impressed. His friend had really trained his son well. Then again...considering his heritage...

"Behind the near moon. Tomorow night. I got it." The grin belied the seriousness of the eyes.

"Then tell that to Alex. Oh, and by the way..." There was that twinkle again. "Joshua and I are trying out the new bobsled run on Mount Tharkis on Friday...maybe you'd like to come along." The sudden widening of the big blue eyes was all the answer he needed. "Fine, then. Tell Alex that, too."

"I'll do that." A quick hug, and FoxStar's second-best rider disengaged fairy dragon and boy from the table where the dark man sat long with his memories, and his thoughts.

12 January 1520 hours
Courtyard outside Guards Headquarters
The Beacon

The skies had been leaden all day, occasionally flinging snowflakes along the icy winds that flayed the streets and those unlucky enough to be on them. All those with any sense, reflected Alex Jones, were safely inside, sheltered from the punishments that the weather visited upon the foolhardy. Which left little doubt as to which category he himself belonged.

He pulled the hood of his parka back slightly. The wind stung his face, but he now had a better view of the Helix5M cradled in Sergeant Urgor Bloodfang's arms. The five 1.7cm barrels gave the heavy weapon a decidedly vicious look. "How does it handle, Sarge?"

A wicked grin showed large yellow fangs somewhat more intimidating, if possible, than the multi-barrel laser in the hobgoblin's hands. "She's a beaut, Colonel. She ain't much on range - only effective out to, oh, say 300 meters - but inside that she's pure hell. Cyclic rate's three rounds a second, and the power cell's good for about two thousand shots." Bloodfang looked at the Helix with positive affection. It was unnerving. "I would not like to be on the downrange end of this, sir."

Alex nodded appreciatively. "Care to show me, Sarge?"

"It'll be my pleasure." The short-clawed bluish-green fingers - he wasn't even gloved in this weather - made a quick adjustment on the power setting. "Don't want to blow down the wall," the sergeant remarked apologetically, as he raised the weapon's stock to his shoulder. Despite its size, it was surpisingly light. He sighted and squeezed the trigger.

In the firing chamber of the Helix a relay closed, delivering a massive charge of energy to the boost stage of one of the laser barrels. Nine milliseconds later the laser had charged to thirty percent of full operational power, which was more than enough. The firing circuits opened.

A bolt of blue-white light shot from the topmost barrel, followed in the blink of an eye by two more as the barrels rotated counterclockwise, firing in sequence. The furious energies of the lasers exploded aginst the stones of the high wall across the courtyard, slicing off chunks of feldspar like so much sushi. Even in the bitter cold the air shimmered briefly with heat waves. When they died, Colonel Jones could see three dinner-plate-sized gouges in the stone wall, in a tight group slanting diagonally up and right and almost overlapping.

"She wants to pull a little, sir. It's the barrel rotation. I deliberately didn't hold her steady, so's you can see."

"God's Balls, Urgor, what did you have that on?"

"Thirty, Colonel." The hobgoblin was smiling.

Alex digested that. "I do believe we'll accept this one, Sergeant. Get me a Maintenance-and-Repair report as soon as you can."

"Be on your desk in the morning, Colonel." Larger flakes were starting to drift down, and both sergeant and colonel headed into the relative shelter of the stone arch at the doorway. The massive wooden door opened as they reached it.

The figure in the fur-lined red cloak regarded the pair as if they were refugees from a mental institution. "Alex, you're an idiot. And Bloodfang, I thought you had more sense than to let your colonel indulge himself in self-destructive pastimes. Nice toy, by the way," commented the elf, as he stood aside to let the pair into the warmth of the building.

Urgor's smile was as disconcerting as ever. "Don't worry, Arthona - I wouldn't let him freeze. He just wanted to check out our new pretty." The possessive way the hobgoblin stroked the Helix was disturbing, thought Arth.

Alex ignored the by-play and strode over to the Duty Officer's desk. "Anything interesting, Goldie?"

"Not really, sir." Lieutenant Golderan was a stunningly beautiful High Elf who was one of almost every male Guardsman's top three choices for whom to be stranded with on a desert island. Her exceptional appearance was exceeded only by her expertise in unarmed combat. It was, as had often been remarked, a case of complementary talents. "Just a visitor."

"Who - oh." Alex ruefully regarded his friend. "Sorry, Arth. I'm a little distracted today."

"And how is today different from any other?"

"Take that attitude and see if I'll be sharing my Irish Mist with you, then." The smile was infectious and genuine. There were few people, even in the Guardians, that Alex welcomed and trusted like Arthona Stoneheart. "Sergeant, get me that M-R report. And thanks for the demonstration. Lieutenant..."

"...You'll be in your office. Got it, Colonel." Goldie's smile would have melted granite in an ice plant. Alex bowed to the inevitable and headed for the back stairs, with Arthona in tow.

The waning sun shed little light through the tall windows. High on the snowfields of the eastern mountains there was pink, and purple shading into darkness on the lower reaches. In the fireplace at the long end of the room large yellow flames licked upwards at the blue stones and shed a bright flickering light throughout the room. The warmth of the air belied the frost spackling the crystal windows in intricate patterns clawing their way across the high panes.

Shedding his parka, the half-elf reached into a cabinet and withdrew a teardrop-shaped bottle and two glasses. He poured each half full and handed one to Arthona. "Here - a little Keltic antifreeze?"

"I thought you'd never ask." The elf sipped appreciatively. "So why am I here drinking your whiskey today?"

Alex leaned easily against the edge of the desk. "Arth, I'm putting together a strike team. We need a combat magician. I want you on it. Interested?"

A feral smile lit the elf's features. "The ones who..." Colonel Jones nodded. "I'd take it as a privilege."

"Thought you'd say that. Now, here's what we've got..." For two minutes Alex described the other team members.

Arthona nodded. "I like. Good outfit. But have they ever worked together?"

"Some of them, yes. But you're right, we have to get everyone used to each other as a team. For that we need training. Want to help?"

"How many hotfoots can I give them?" This time the smile was positively malicious.

"That's up to our expert." Alex leaned over to press a button on the comm box on his desk. "Duty Officer? Would you ask - "

"He's on his way, Colonel." About that time a familiar knock sounded at the door. Alex looked mildly nonplussed.

"Thanks, Goldie." He switched off the comm link. "Come on in, Master Chief."

Jackson slid into the office and paused in front of the pair. "Do I need to salute this one, Colonel?"

Alex grinned. "No, J.L., this one doesn't worry about that stuff. Arthona, this is Master Chief J.L. Jackson." The two shook hands. "He'll be our XO for the team, and in charge of tactical training. J.L., Arth here is going to be your combat mage." The brows over the green eyes raised slightly.

"Pardon my asking, Arthona - but how combat-ready are you?"

Arth grinned. "Honest question, honest answer. If I'm not up to your standards, I soon will be."

The tall half-elf grinned back. I like that. How's your magic?"

"What would you like?"

Jackson considered that for a moment. "Okay, indulge me here." The elf nodded. "Can you get me a box?"

A foot-square metal box appeared with a slight poof}on the chair infront of the three. "With a lock?" The padlock which suddenly manifested on the box's clasp would have given nightmares to Houdini. "Colonel...?"

Alex leaned over and tugged on the padlock. "Nice and tight, J.L."

"Okay, Arthona. I want you to walk over to the other side of the room...and break the lock. Just the lock."

"I'll do you one better." The mage stepped out the door into the hallway. Alex could see a swirl of the red cloak through the doorway as Arthona almost negligently waved his arm. In the chair the huge padlock suddenly heaved for a second, then shattered soundlessly into flying dust.

The elf stuck his head back into the room? "Acceptable?"

"Indeed." Despite himself, Jackson was impressed.

Alex fetched another glass for the Master Chief. "Show-off," he muttered at Arthona, who almost managed to achieve a look of injured innocence. The three sat down. "All right, here's the situation. We don't have a damned thing to go on - no clear idea of the threat. So we're going to assume it could be anything."

J.L. shared a look with Arthona. "Then what's the plan, Colonel?"

"We assemble a team that's capable of dealing with any threat. All combat specialists, multiple and complimentary skills. And we go ahead with mission training. Whoever's behind Dex's death, we can be pretty sure we're not going to catch them strolling through the meadows. So we assume a fortified objective and train for that."

Jackson nodded. "Makes sense. Eight-man team?"

"That's what I figured."

"Who do you have in mind?" J.L. sipped a little Irish Mist and listened carefully.

"Well, we need a variety of combat skills..." Alex went on to delineate who he'd considered.

The Master Chief's brow furrowed. "We need a techie." Arthona looked puzzled. "Technical expert. Someone who can operate all the toys."

"That's being attended to. For now, J.L., does this look workable?"

Over a century of high-intensity combat operations had left Jackson with no illusions. "'No plan survives contact with the enemy', Alex." He grinned confidently. "But yes, I'd say this group will work."

"Good. Then I'll issue the proper orders, and you're in charge of training. Arth, I want you to assist J.L. with that and get them ready for anything. Make the training tougher than real life." That raised some eyebrows. Alex's face was unusually hard. "I mean it. Keirin's orders...and mine."

"What about Julian?"

"We have a separate mission in mind for him. He'll help with the training - for now."

"Then who'll be the team leader?"

"That would be me."

12 January 2118 hours
Bridge
Starship Starfox

Space was darkness filled with glory. RhyDin's sun was near the Dragonhead Nebula, whose violet-and-crimson gas sheets splashed brilliant a quadrant of the viewports, lit by the fires of the nebula's blue-white stars. In the starboardmost port the young man in the pilot's seat could see the sunlit limb of the planet receding behind the ship, a white-and-blue crescent embracing the shadowy night-side.

Ahead hung a different world. The nearer moon would have been a bright hurtling speck on the western horizon back in Atebla, if the sky had not been covered by clouds. Here, two hundred thousand kilometers from the planet, the satellite showed over half its shimmering disc, blindingly white as the sun bounced reflections off the ice crystals on its surface. Zachary adjusted the viewport polarization and began to carefully match the ship's orbit to that of the moon, coming up behind it on the sunless side. The jewels of the stars wheeled through the viewports as Starfox delicately altered its course.

"We're in insertion orbit, sir."

"Very well. And good work," added the ship's captain, who gently squeezed the pilot's shoulder and glanced towards the rear of the bridge.

On the elevated deck behind them the red-haired woman was intent on her instruments. She flickered her fingers across the sensor panel, increasing the focus of the three-dimensional navigational display that glowed like a transparent jewel-box before her. In a darkened half-sphere within the display a faint image pulsed, then glowed. "I think I've got him."

Alex stepped back to the nav station and watched as Kase localized, then expanded, the image. The soft green symbol swelled to become larger and more distinct, shifting to bright blue as the configuration of the target was analyzed and displayed. The heavy manta-ray shape of Destiny was unmistakeable.

"That's our friend." He raised his head. "Zachary, lock onto that ship and bring us to fifty kilometers, matching orbit."

"Fifty kilometers, aye, sir." Starfox danced slightly again. Alex straightened and looked over at Kase. "Think I'll go on down to the wardroom."

"I think you may as well." Her voice lowered slightly. "He's doing really well, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is." The look they shared was full of understanding. "Mind he doesn't pile us into the moon." Grinning, Alex headed aft.

The fox-and-star symbol on the carpet had seen many arrivals and many departures. This would be one more. Alex Jones collected his energies and waited for the call from the bridge.

January 14, 10:30 AM
Keirin's Office
The Beacon

The Captain saluted Keirin with a hand to his heart, then turned and walked out of the office, with a scowl on his face. He stepped to the side to avoid Topaz who rushed by him with a quick hello, he saluted and nodded to her before he moved off down the hall to carry out his orders. Topaz waited for the door to close then carefully spread papers on Keirin's desk.

"Sorry, I'm late. Here are the drawings of the tracks you needed."

Keirin studied the tracks carefully, taking in each line and mark with a creased brow. His commander shook her head slowly, picking up one, then another of the sketches.

"Not much to see that would be of any help, is there?" He glanced at all of the drawings then nodded. "On the contrary, Topaz. It clearly shows that the carriage I found is not the same one."

"Trust me Aerisa this is important, I need you to be there." Phantom headed towards the office, his quick strides nearly forcing the woman behind him to run to keep up. He paused at the door taking a deep breath then knocked.

"Well, you knew that already, didn't you?" Topaz made this more a statement than a question.

Keirin nodded to her. "Aye, there was no ... residual trace of Dex on the carriage I found, which there should have been."

Topaz made a face at the mental image that comment inspired but she quickly composed her features at the knock on the door.

Without looking up from the pictures Keirin responded "Come in, Phantom."

The door swung open and Phantom motioned Aerisa inside, closing the door behind him. He smiled to Topaz who nodded a greeting to them both as they entered. Keirin looked up at them. "This is twice in one day in my office for you two. I fear it cannot be good news, aye?"

Aerisa stood off to the side as the mage moved to speak with Keirin. "Ummmm sir, Can you show me a small map of the Beacon, possibly of the wing with the Library?" Keirin nodded and walked to a bookcase filled with map tubes resting in individual cubbyholes. His hand moved unerringly to select one. Once found he spread the map over his already cluttered desk.

Aerisa's attention wandered slightly to the map, still not knowing why she was even there.

Topaz thought for a moment and added "If the body's been moved, there ought to be something traceable." Keirin agreed silently, thinking to have a look for himself.

"Sir" Phantom started slowly, "I know I am new here, but I recommend a personal guard for....Aerisa. I believe she has met our intruder in person."

Aerisa whirled to face him hearing this and Topaz looked at her "Have you?"

Before she could say anything, Phantom continued "She had an incident a week or so ago..."

Aerisa cut him short. "PHANTOM!"

Her eyes widened in disbelief as Topaz and Keirin began the questions.

"Incident?"

"Why was there no report?"

"What happened?"

"When?"

"Where?"

"Who?"

Her jaw clenched as she quickly regained control of her temper, she began slowly, "It happened only once, more than two weeks ago in town, and I've not been bothered since." She glanced at Phantom again and continued rather stiffly. "I was not harmed and the reason I did not report this is because if we reported every time someone said Boo or looked at us crosswise, we would never get anything done!" She lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. "You promised!"

As he listened to the others, a thought struck Phantom. "Is there anyway we can compare the cuts on Dex's clothing and the guards clothing?"

Unsure, Keirin glanced at Topaz who sighed and said. "l'm afraid l could not bring myself to do away with any of Dex's things yet. We still have the clothes he wore that night." She nodded to Phantom and continued, "l see your point. We'll have Alex compare them, he's far enough away from things to do so objectively. We won't even tell him who's clothes they are." Topaz looked to Keirin for his approval on the proposed orders to Alex. Keirin obligingly nodded his assent.

Knowing procedures needed to be set, Keirin began with Phantom and Aerisa. "As of this moment, neither of you are to travel away from the Beacon without an escort."

Aerisa remained silent knowing when not to argue.

Phantom, however, did not. "I have an escort already." He grinned at Keirin. "Don't waste a guard on me please."

Topaz immediately responded " Your wife and child do not count as escort Phantom. If a guard makes you stay alive, he's not wasted!"

She turned to Aerisa. "Your hubby, however, does count."

Aerisa smirked, Topaz winked, and Keirin -his authority coming to the fore- quirked his brow at Phantom, "Are you trying to give me orders?"

Aerisa looked at Phantom "Do not argue with the wee faerie!"

Keirin chuckled and added "Or the large elf, for that matter!" He winked at Aerisa.

Not taking the hint, Phantom shook his head. "I don't like people following me."

Keirin countered, "Neither do I, but the wee faerie ordered me to have a guard."

With a perfectly straight face and a voice not to be ignored, Topaz put further arguments to an end. "Make him walk arm in arm with you, if you prefer." She gave him a look to convey that this was not open to discussion and made a mental note to talk with him under four eyes later.

Keirin leaned over "Aerisa I will assign one of the Elite Shadows to you for whenever Black is unavailable."

She gave him a half smile. "I am afraid that when Black hears about this, he will become my Elite shadow."

Keirin nodded "Aye, it does, but all of this is mere speculation. I will, of course, check the carriage for any residual effects from a time-shift. I will let you all know what I find."

Another question from Topaz shifted the discussion to the investigation of Dex's death. "Do we at least know a name or alias to the knife wielder yet?"

Keirin shook his head and looked to Aerisa to answer.

She sighed, feeling like she was letting everyone down. "No one that I have been able to speak with knew or heard a name from him. And I doubt that he will show up at our door and say 'Here I am' now that he has what he wanted. But he said 'We' so he is not working alone."

Phantom reminded them "But the note said 'I am watching'. Maybe it was a group that killed Dex, but this is just personal with one man for some reason?"

Aerisa looked at all of the papers and said quietly. "There are too many ifs and maybes."

Keirin agreed "Let us deal with the facts, then we can go from there."

Topaz nodded "You are quite right. Lets wait with more speculations until we have a few more results to go on." She looked at the other three and saw agreement.

Keirin went over the tasks to be done. "I will see to the search, then check the clothing and the carriage. After that, I will see that Alex receives the clothing. Phantom, I would like you to assist with the search of the Beacon. Aerisa, please continue speaking with any witnesses you can find. Report anything new that you find, no matter how small it may seem."

Aerisa nodded and moved to the door.

Phantom took a step behind her and was halted by Topaz. "Phantom, once the search is done, l need a word with you. Say l'll meet you for lunch in my office in an hour?"

His thoughts already on the search he did not really hear, he looked up at her. "ohhhhh ummm sure." Looking at the mounds of paper on Keirin's desk he added "Um have fun Keirin."

As he stepped to the window in his spacious office, his thoughts turned to other matters. Maeve had been expecting him to help her with her search for the cave from her memory. He knew that she would understand that he had been busy with the problems of late. But he couldn't help feel that he was neglecting her. He feared she would tire of waiting for him and go off on her own. He couldn't bear to think of her being hurt again, but worse was the thought that she would find a clue to her past which showed she had no future with him. He decided that he would send Sigma to guard her, and help her with what she was going to do. Though he wanted to go to her, he couldn't. Not now. Perhaps once he had done what had to be done, he would.

His thoughts traveled among the Guardians, reminding him of what each of them had done for him, and meant to him. Khrys had helped when Jon was injured, and then again when Kyle was found after his fight with Dyvim Tyr. She had been an advisor, friend and confidante to his best friend. Though he was not as close to her as to others, he knew her heart and that she held to heart the best that the Guardians stood for. Which was why he could not lay this burden on her.

His thoughts moved on. Sher. She had helped him when he had tried to save Topaz. That had cost him more than any of the others could know. A part of his soul had been lost in the fight with the Beast. But Sher had done what she could to help him return from that hurt.

His thoughts moved on. Topaz had shown him kindness and friendship when he had needed it. She had seen beyond his injuries to see the man under the scars. She had offered him a position with the Guardians and, eventually, had promoted him quickly to Grand Marshall, second only to her. She had proven to be a true friend in more ways than one, but surely she would not understand why he had to do what he planned.

His thoughts moved on. Aerisa Ven'tore had become a close friend. One he could trust with the most difficult assignment and know it would be carried out. She was like a granddaughter to him. He would do anything to save her the pain she suffered, but knew that he couldn't.

His thoughts moved on. Devarrah. His true granddaughter he did not know he had. The joy she had brought to his life was beyond measure. To know that a part of himself lived in another was beyond his dreams. He was happy that she had found a man she could love. But at the same time, he knew that he had caused her untold agony and grief. For no better reason than to draw out a villain. Who was the true villain, now?

His thoughts moved on. Blackdog Ven'tore. He knew little of Black, but instinctively trusted the man with his life. He had stood beside him against his brother, and had been instrumental in protecting Topaz. But he could not, no matter how he wished, trust the man with this. It was something he knew he would have to do himself.

His thoughts moved on. Condextint Montoya. The man who had been more of a father to him that Ba'annar could ever hope to be. Dex had helped him to straighten his priorities, and see that he was more than his heritage bespoke. Dex was the one to whom, if only in thought, he had confided. He had spoken to Dex many times in his mind, knowing the man well enough to anticipate his response without having to speak his mind. Dex had taught him as much about life as he had about the art of Swords. But Dex was gone. Cut down in the prime of his life. The assassin would be found, he was sure. But there was nothing that even Keirin could do to the man to make up for the loss of his friend.

His thoughts moved on. Alkiela McCallaugh. He had known Alkiela since shortly after he first entered the Arena. And, though he knew very little about her, he had trusted her with the two things that meant more to him than his life. He would soon have to take those back, which he was sure would not be easy for her and Brian to give up once more. He trusted Alkiela with his great-grandchildren, but he could not trust her with this. This he would have to bear alone.

His thoughts moved on. Jonalyn Starfare. Though she was not a Guardian, he trusted her with many things he trusted no other with. She had become an advisor to him in his journey through life. She often had words to share with him that no other would think to share. More often than not, she helped him without ever realizing what she had done. But in this, she could be no help. He did not wish to burden her, or any other, with the knowledge of what he would soon be doing.

January 14, 21:30 hours
Grand Commander?s Office
The Beacon

Topaz looked at the scroll case with a puzzled frown. Why would Keirin put a lock on it she did not have the key for? Nothing could be that secret. Just to make sure it wasn't some temporary stupidity of hers which kept her from the obviously important message inside the scroll, Topaz tried again all the various keys Keirin and her had agreed on using on sensitive missives. Her efforts were not met with success. The scroll even began to emanate a purplish glow as Topaz tried some of the more direct methods. A low, warning hum sounding from the tube, as though to warn against forcing it open. There was nothing else to do with it but to find Keirin, even if he would laugh at this wonderful trick he got to play on her and tease her over it to no end. It would be just like Keirin to do something along those lines to fight the stress factor of the last
couple of weeks.

Topaz tucked the scroll into her skirt pocket and left her office. Keirin's office proved empty. The halfling guard, Roan, was helpful enough to inform the fairy the Grand Marshall was seen retireing to his rooms a scant half hour before. Certainly not long enough to already be asleep, or so Topaz decided and directed her path towards Keirin's suite. She had to knock a fourth time to get any sort of reply from within.

CHAPTER 2: WHITE OPENS

Never share a foxhole with anyone braver than you.
- Murphy's 26th Law of Combat Operations


14 January 1842 hours
Guards Headquarters
The Beacon

Across the galaxies and over the years, many conceptions have developed regarding eternal punishment for those individuals who have ben evil or misguided enough to persist in wrongdoing. The variations have included eternal ice, eternal fire, perpetual reparation to the victims or the gods, and the repeated maceration of the livers or other interesting bodily parts of the condemned. One particularly imaginative sect - on a world which shall remain nameless - espoused an endless and endlessly-banal cocktail party, which suggestion has been understandably rejected by other belief systems as a torture horrifying even to the adherents of such imaginative devourers as Cthulu. At least with him you were eaten quickly.

Regardless, however, of the particulars of the belief system or the peculiars of the race involved, all such images of hell always involve distinctly and definably detestable activities, repeated and inescapable. It has always been the inescapable part which has added the hellish dimension, often (in the case of the more creative cosmologies) made even more perverted by the sheer necessity of the efforts required. For Alex Jones, sitting at his desk and staring at the distinct difference between his IN tray and his OUT tray, hell was paperwork.

He regarded the requisition form in his left hand with the same affection he would have given a slith viper and forced himself to actually read the carefully-blocked and wholly-official paragraphs. "Parka, fur, camouflage, winter," he read - "...18." Buliasa. Why was this on his desk? Oh...

Sometimes the urge to accomplish the mission obscures the objective realities of the situation. Was that h'Ranngskt? Or Tuckachevskiy?, he wondered briefly. Well, the one advantage of higher rank was the assistance of experts. Alex triggered the desk comm box.

"Yuan Shang? I can't claim credit for her. That's a J.L. product."
"That's positively brilliant, Master Chief." The big man smiled graciously. It looked dangerously like a tiger's grin of satisfaction.

"Only makes sense. If you want good communications - use a telepath." He replaced the poker in its cast-iron rack and settled into a chair. "Ran across her in Tibet. Little valley up in the Himalayas no one goes much."

Maelin regarded J.L. curiously. "Wouldn't be named Shangri-La, would it?"

The tiger-eyes flickered once. "It's been called many names." Maelin nodded. "She and I studied for a while together."

"Hmm." That last remark carried its own implications. "Telepathy can be jammed."

"So can anything else." Alex had that patented I've-got-a-secret grin that his friend had seen too many times before. "If you know it's being used." Jackson was grinning rather broadly too. Okay, they had an idea. Maybe even a hole card. Maelin raised his hands and settled back with his wineglass.

"All right, all right. Tell me about it."

"It's all a matter of timing..."

"Doctor, I believe we've got a problem with the patient in Psych Two-Fourteen. Head One has been adamant in her fantasy that she's being shamefully ignored and sidelined, while Head Two is - " The large liquid brown eyes swiveled to note the visitors in the room. "Oh." Behind the spectacles, the eyes blinked. "I didn't know you had company." The tweed jacket twitched slightly as the pooka clutched the clipboard in its hands.

Le contemplated the distant possibility that all this was a bad dream visited upon her for reasons known only to the gods. Too easy, she decided. Well, medical matters first. "Doctor Brown, I don't think you've met Colonel Jones and Major derKorst."
The big eyes blinked rapidly. "Oh. A pleasure, gentlemen. And - "

"And now, Doctor, Two-Fourteen's situation will have to remain in abeyance for a short while. I assume there's no immediate danger to the patient?"

"Uh...why, no, Doctor Amon, there's nothing immediate, really, there's not." The center's chief psychologist could on occasion be a trifle slow on the uptake, but hitting him in the head with a two-by-four wasn't necessary for understanding. Usually, anyway. "I believe I'll consult with you about this after lunch - if that's convenient?"

"Certainly. Say...two o'clock?"

"Certainly." The long ears quivered briefly as Dr. Brown nodded to Julian and Alex. Then the tweed jacket and the clipboard were out the door. The two men exchanged looks.

"Well. I suppose this is not a social call. The silver eyes were in their best professional - and wary - mode.

"No, my Lady." Alex was never this formal. Uh-oh. "We have a request for you."

"I don't think I'm going to like this."

"Probably not. I don't." The look on the young half-elf's face was disarmingly calm. Alex was at his most dangerous when calm, remembered Le. A glance at his Special Ops commander showed an almost equally-impassive face, lit only by the fires inside the dark viper eyes. It hit her: this must be really serious.

The winged elf's tone was all business. "So what can I do?"

"You deal with life and life-forms at the molecular level - right?" A nod. "Which means you can alter composition and appearance...?"

"I don't like where this is going...but the answer to your question is yes."

"Le." Alex Jones had stood. The blue-green of his eyes was ice. "We need - I need - for you to transform a person, to disguise them. It doesn't have to be permanent, or even long-term. But it has to be effective. It has to work." The intensity of the colonel's gaze was unsettling. "Can you do it?"

Le Amon had not been born the night before, nor was this her first rodeo. She shot a hard look at Julian derKorst, late Crown Prince of Aaldoorn and now Swordmaster to the Atrebla Guards. The viper look was directed at something beyond her. But the gaze was totally controlled. Now that, noted the founder and director of the medical center, is one incredibly dangerous man. She looked at the major when she spoke.

"You're aware that this is not an impenetrable disguise."

15 January 1923 hours
command communications network
Guardians of Truth Elite Forces

SECURITY CLEARANCE THREE-ALPHA
EYES ONLY

BEGIN TRANSCRIPT

A: Good eve, General.
K: Good eve, .
A: You received my earlier message?
K: Aye, I did. Forwarded it to .
A: Thanks, sir. I assume you approve of the measures taken so far?
K: That I do. I have also instructed to continue her investigation.
A: That's good, sir.
A: Sir...is the team acceptable?
K: I believe your choices are wise. I especially think having help is wise, as this is bound to involve magic.
A: Yes sir...and he has been particularly keen to assist with the training...I recall he asked how many hotfoots he could give the men.
K: Tell him he has my permission to give as many as it takes.
A: I'll leave all that to and , sir.
A: I do like their team spirit, General.
K: Where did they ever come up with that name?
A: 's idea, sir. Something from an Old Earth philosopher. Kind of fits, though.
K: Dark Angels. I like it.
A: You ought to see the shoulder patch.
K: They've designed a shoulder patch? Oh, they ARE serious.
A: Black winged figure holding a silver sword.
K: I believe I like that too.
A: General, you will note that I did not list a team member in the usual place of .
K: Yes, and I assume you had your reasons. What are they?
A: We need someone on the inside, sir.
K: Go on.
A: Which means whoever goes in will have very little chance...so naturally we want to use our best person.
K: How will - I assume you mean -
A: Yes, sir.
K: How will he avoid detection?
A: assures us that she can change the physical features of anyone we choose...but it will probably only give us twenty-four to forty-eight hours.
K: You've talked to about this?
A: He insisted, sir. Laughed at me, even.
K: Very well. Then here are your orders: I want the team ready before he is inserted, and the operation must be put in motion within twenty-four hours of insertion. Understood?
A: Yessir!
K: I don't want to lose if we can help it, and damn it, we are going to do everything in our power to do just that.
A: Yes, sir. We just need a target.
K: We'll get your Dark Angels a target. And soon. That I promise.
A: Thank you, sir.

END TRANSCRIPT

15 January..late evening
Arena, Rhydin

The arena was still busy that evening, but as far as Aerisa was concerned it was missing one important thing: Black. Her eyes kept roaming up to the door while her fingers clenched and unclenched in agitation. Tyr had gone, and Black took his leave for a short time, promising not to chase after him. So much for a pleasant evening out with her husband. Her dark gaze wandered over the faces of the patrons, some familiar, some not known to her. As she turned to watch the door again, a silent figure moved through the shadows, his own eyes moving over the crowd as if searching for someone.

"Sheep..all an easy kill." He whispered in a soft voice. He remained in the shadows and continued to scan those about him, searching patiently.

The normal requests and calls for duels commenced, and Aerisa grew more restless as the time passed and Black did not return. She knew that they would have to get back to the Beacon and give a report, but she could not seem to concentrate. The buzz of the crowd and her concern for her husband would not allow it. She raked nervous fingers through her hair. After what seemed hours, the door opened and Black moved down the stairs, finding his wife where he left her.

"Love," he folded her cold hands in his, sitting close to her, "love, you need to calm yourself or you will become sick."

"I know, I know," she agreed in a soft whisper, "it is just that bag." She paused and looked at him, her eyes flashed as she raised her voice slightly, "and you could have been killed!"

The man from Krondor, the one known as Yogel moved further through the shadows, the trace he had been following was growing stronger, drawing him closer to his objective with each step. An evil grin creased the face he kept masked in darkness. He closed his eyes, focusing on the mind of one and reached out, "Aerisa"

The sharp clash of swords sounded from one of the rings.

"I am not going anywhere," Black continued trying soothe his wife's fears, "if I thought he would actually try to kill me, I would not have challenged him."

Only half hearing what he said she shook her head quickly, blinking in confusion. Black caught her movement.

"What is it Love?"

She glanced about uneasily.

Keeping himself to the shadows Yogel searched for other Guardians, then sent another more insistent whisper directly into her mind. "Aerisa"

"Love?"
She closed her eyes concentrating, trying to block out the intrusive voice.

Moving closer to his target, Yogel held the contact. His thoughts whispered to her, "Show no worry you will be spared."

"Aerisa?" Black tried to get her attention "What is it? What is wrong?"

"Black I am not sure." Her voice was a soft whisper.

The stranger detached himself from the shadows, moving, unnoticed, towards her through the crowd. "I won't do to you as I did Dex."

Her eyes flew wide at the mention of Dex, and she jumped at the hand that fastened onto her shoulder.

"Ahhh, here you are." This time his voice was not in her mind. Black rose from his seat, releasing Aeirsa's hands. He fixed the stranger with a cold glance.

"Take your hand off of her!"

Yogel returned his gaze, appraising the young man who stood before him, and quickly dismissed him.
"You pose no threat" His fingers tightened on Aerisa's shoulder. "Come with me."

She rose, pulling away from him. Black took the moment of distraction and snatching up an empty bottle, he swung it towards the man's head. Yogel, sensed the attack and reached out seizing the bottle before it struck. A surge of energy passed along the bottle into Black's hand, bringing a shock of pain with it. The bottle vanished with a spark. An evil grin of satisfaction was the only thing visible on the man's face.

The altercation was barely noticed by the patrons of the arena. Fights here were commonplace, both in and out of the rings. The noise of conversation and applause, the officials shouts rising above the clang of steel on steel masked the quiet threats made to the couple.

15 January..late evening
road to the Beacon

A shadowy figure stepped onto the road to the Beacon, seemingly out of nowhere and in something of a hurry. As it moved closer to the bend before the gates the figure slowly melted into the form of a tall man carrying a burden, a woman. Yogel stopped before coming into sight of the men who patrolled the home of the Guardians. He reached into the mind of the unconscious woman, taking a firm hold and whispered "Aerisa, open your eyes."

Slowly, her eyes opened devoid of any awareness. He set her on her feet, holding her arm as if in escort, to maintain his control over her. He spoke to the half elf even though she did not hear, guiding her towards the Beacon.

"I am going to get inside, and you will be my way in." He chuckled to himself "I've a message to deliver."

15 January..late evening
at the Beacon

The guards stood at attention by the doors to the Beacon as the two figures walked easily up the stairs. The man's face was hidden, but the guards recognized the Major.

"This man is with me," she said "he has a message for the Commander." Her voice was low and even, without any hesitation or trace of emotion to alert the guards. They nodded and moved aside to let the two pass.

He was in. Seeing the hallway empty he smiled, pleased with himself. "Very good" He withdrew from her mind, leaving only a tendril of his awareness in her, and Aerisa immediately crumpled. Catching her before she could fall, he carried her over to the same spot in the lobby where Dex's body had laid in state, laying her out in the same manner. He worked quickly, knowing that someone could come at any time and see him, or her troublesome husband could arrive sooner than expected to raise the alarm. Reaching into his cloak he removed a cloth covered object and unwrapped it revealing an unmarked dagger. He took her hand in his and closed her lax fingers over the hilt, then pulled out an envelope and carefully shook out the letter inside. A feral smile crossed his lips as he moved her hand to jab the dagger through the letter next to her .

"Just so they know.I coulda killed you."

As her fingers slid down the hilt of the dagger to lay on the note, he rose. Glancing about to be certain he had not been discovered, he made his way back to the entrance and gave the guards a jaunty salute as he passed them outside. Once outside the gates, he slipped into the shadows, waiting to send his final message.

The Shadows watched as the man laid Aerisa down. They nearly attacked as the Assassin removed the dagger from his cloak, but relaxed as they noted that he merely placed it in her hand. They watched, impassively, as he placed the letter then left. They called to their brothers and surrounded the area as the man left the Beacon, unmolested. Shortly, they felt a familiar presence approaching. After waiting long enough to verify his identity, the Shadows withdrew from the room, allowing the light to return. Unconcerned with tracking the man who had invaded the Beacon, they returned to their duties of patrolling the grounds.

Yogel felt the Guardian return to consciousness and using his last hold on her, he sent a final message to invade her mind.

"Never forget never" The voice whispered softly, menacingly in her thoughts before it faded away.

She tried to focus her eyes, to speak to Black, but the echo in her head caused her to freeze in his arms. She squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered.

"No, go away."

"Love, are ye ok?" Black held her closely, seeing she was close to breaking he took on a commanding tone to snap her out of it."Aerisa, Talk to me!"

Once again, he got the desired effect. Her arms moved to hold on to him and she met his eyes as she whispered.

"It was him Black it was him."

"Who love?"

"The man responsible for what happened to Dex!" She raised shaking fingers to his cheek to wipe the trace of tears away, then moved along his bruising jaw. "What happened?"

Black's eyes grew cold, but he shook off the anger and spoke to her quietly. "He threw me to the ground and knocked you out." His jaw clenched. "He took off with you and you wound up here." He looked at the dagger again. "By the time I found you he was gone."
"Are you alright love?"

He nodded, "Aye, I am. Tis you I am worried about."

Her gaze strayed to the knife and she shuddered, then she took in where they were.

"We are in the Beacon?"

He nodded running his fingers through her hair and hummed softly to her trying to keep her calm and relaxed.

"You should probably sleep for a while love."

She nodded. "Tired." Her eyes closed for a moment, then snapped open.

"Tyr? The bag?"

"Calm yourself love. The bag is gone. It is alright"

For the first time, she seemed to realize exactly where she was, the spot she was laying on and her voice took on a fearful edge.

"Oh Black...take me out of here!"

Black stood, still cradling Aerisa in his arms, and turned to Captain Drushak. "Bring the dagger and note, but be careful, do not touch them with your bare hands." He turned carrying her to their quarters.

The guards followed and placed themselves outside the couple?s door, not knowing that five of the Shadow creatures also took the duties of watching over these two Guardians, knowing their master would be displeased if anything should happen to them.


The letter read: "Sheep, you will all meet death in time."

Dark Angel - 2. White Opens - part 2

18 January 0815 hours
a valley west of the Iron Mountains

The big man leaned out the open hatch of the lower-bay airlock and inspected the rocky terrain below. Satisfied, he glanced at his commander and nodded. Alex nodded back. Jackson turned to the first trooper in the line to his left and clapped him once on the shoulder. "Go, Julian."
Without hesitation derKorst - clad like the rest in a hunter-green survival suit, and carrying his sword strapped to the back of his pack - stepped out of Starfox into the morning sky.

Behind him Peter Penkovskiy saw the Swordmaster's boots sparkle slightly as they fell through the faint shimmer of the featherfall field, and then Julian had slid out of sight and Jackson's hand had clapped Peter's shoulder, and the young lieutenant was stepping forward into nothingness himself. He felt a momentary lurch in his stomach as his senses registered the fact that he was falling, replaced a second later by a not-unpleasant tingle that ran quickly up through his body as he began to drop. Keeping his feet together and his body straight, just as instructed, Lieutenant Penkovskiy plunged smoothly through the magical field and felt a slight downward pull as some of his weight returned. This wasn't too bad. He realized his eyes were shut and decided he'd better open them.

A second later he wasn't so sure that had been a good idea. The high rugged mountains to the east - not so very far to the east, he realized as he noticed the sheer cliffs less than two hundred meters away - blocked Starfox from visual or any other observation from the Atrebla Valley, as well as from the vicious early-morning mountain winds; but it didn't block the capricious breezes shifting along this high valley's steep irregular walls, one of which was gently turning his body as he floated downward to the chosen landing zone. He realized he was looking south, the dark flanks of the iron Mountains forming a huge shadowed barrier to his left that seemed to eat up half the sky. Away on his right, and increasingly visible as he rotated slowly around towards the west, stretched a lesser range of peaks that would have been quite impressive if they had not had to stand comparison with their more awesome neighbors to the east. Their facing slopes were fully illuminated by the morning sunlight which had managed to break over the crests of the eastern range, the brilliance of the reflections off their snowfields dazzling Peter's eyes. He glanced away towards the south and saw the light beginning to wash the long narrow valley in more gentle tones, the tops of the scrub pines emerging from shadows as the sun climbed. He changed his mind again. The view was dizzying but tremendous. Pines - uh, what was he dropping into? Quickly he looked
down.

Just in time, too, he realized as he saw the flat rock shelf of the LZ rushing up at him. He bent his knees to flex with the impact and was surprised to discover he hadn't been falling as fast as it looked. Landing was soft and easy, and as his full weight returned Julian grabbed his arm to steady him. "All right, Lieutenant?"

Peter managed to grin. "Nice ride, sir." This occasioned a single raised eyebrow.

"Down that slope, about eighty meters." The major's head jerked slightly to indicate direction. "Flat place this side of the rocks. Clear and secure."

"Yes sir!" Peter was instantly on the move, quickly and carefully loping over the uneven ground, hearing his boots crunch lightly on the snow crystals dusting the rocks. A few seconds later he had reached the area derKorst had identified as "flat" and decided either his or Julian's command of the language was perhaps a trifle imperfect. It was somewhat more level than the surrounding terrain, however, and by the time the other team members began to arrive Lieutenant Penkovskiy's wolf-senses had determined the area to be secure. He was pleased to alert them to the fact by lounging casually against a large rock outcropping and doing his best to appear mightily bored.

The noon sun had warmed the mountain air somewhat by the time everyone had finished a badly-needed rest and an equally-needed high-energy lunch, courtesy of a few spells from Arthona Stoneheart, who with Urgor Bloodfang had tied for dead last up the stone staircase but who now appeared to be only a little the worse for wear. In fact, all of the nine persons present shared that appearance, with the exceptions of Maelin Matters, who had accelerated his body's recovery with a little judicious entropy-juggling and now looked fresh as a daisy, and J.L. Jackson, who to the unanimous envy and disgust of the other eight had never appeared to be worn down at all. The Master Chief belched appreciatively.

"Glad to see you haven't lost your appetite." Alex had spent much of the morning shifting back and forth along the line to check on the runners. It was his responsibility as commander, but he hadn't been sure his legs would carry him up those last few stairs.

"Beats the bejeezus out of MREs."

"Out of what?" There was nothing like a good meal to return a hobbit to good spirits, except maybe the pipe Rushy was now savoring.

"Army rations. Meal Ready to Eat. Three lies for the price of one," observed J.L. as he washed down the last of his ham and grits and redeye gravy with strong chickory coffee. "Arth, you'd have been the envy of every housewife in Sylacauga." The mage partially repressed a shudder.

"How you can eat that stuff is beyond me. It's nauseating enough just to create it."

"Oh, ye of little culinary appreciation." Jackson grinned as he got to his feet. "While y'all are finishing up, listen here." Eight pairs of eyes came to attention. "You all know you're good. Every one of you is smart, and capable, and deadly. One-on-one, I wouldn't put odds against a single one of you. And we're all going to get a chance, during the next few weeks, to refine our skills even more. But that's not why we're here." He stepped over into a center position where he could turn and fix his tiger gaze on each person in turn.

"We are here to become a team. To become a living, thinking, single organism that is greater and more deadly than the sum of its parts. To learn to know each other's moves and thoughts and instincts so well, we won't ever have to stop and wonder about it, even in totally unexpected situations. And most of all - " The tiger gaze was very intense now. "- to learn to trust each other."

Jackson walked across the chamber in the old ruins to another set of stairs and quickly mounted them to a balcony twenty feet above the floor. He moved out onto the stone balustrade and motioned the others into a cluster directly below him. Then the half-elf planted his feet on the edge of the stone, bootheels hanging off the outer rim as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest and facing away from the drop, the rest of the group completely out of his sight.

"This is Lesson One. Catch me." And leaning backwards into space over their heads, he fell.

Le Amon believed in many things. One of them was not coincidence. Not like this. Despite the perpetual spring, a chill went through her. So whatever remains - however unlikely - must be the truth. This had to be reported. But how? And to whom? If her suspicions were correct, and it seemed entirely likely that they were, then there might be other altered subjects out there. And these would hardly be as complacent or cooperative as the one down in Pathology. No calls, then. And no personal visits - too easy to attract the wrong kind of attention. Swiftly and deliberately Le extracted a single sheet of notepaper from a container in the desk's upper left drawer and began writing. When she was done, she rolled the note and opened a different drawer, selecting one of the small metal-and-ivory cylinders there and inserting the paper into it. In a few seconds the cylinder was sealed and bio-keyed so that only one certain individual could open it. Satisfied, Le picked up the case folder and slid it into her personally-keyed secure files, then walked into the outer office.

Her secretary - the center didn't bother with such obfuscatory nomenclature as "administrative assistant" - looked up from the computer console built into his desk and grinned. "What's up, doc?" Le groaned inwardly and wished Perri had never discovered Warner Brothers cartoons. She indicated the cylinder in her left hand.

"Transmatter stuff." The transmatter cabinet was behind a pair of white pine doors set into one wall of the office. Perri rose and stepped quickly over to open them, revealing a large recess in the wall in which reposed a curiously-wrought rectangular box big enough to contain a fair-sized badger, assuming the badger had been sedated enough to cooperate. More often the box received racks of biological samples, or medical supplies, or - as in this case - simply written reports or messages.

The blonde young man opened a much-smaller container beside the transmatter box and selected one of four egg-sized cystals from its shining aurumvorax-fur liner, a material largely impervious to energy-field fluctuations due to the high amount of gold in the fibers. Withdrawing the cyrstal, which pulsed faintly with a soft blue inner radiance, he closed the container and inserted the crystal into a slot on one end of the large box. Within a few seconds the cystal bands enclosing the outer edges of the transmatter began to pulse also, in long smooth ripples that had a slightly disorienting effect upon the eye. "It's powered up, Doctor Amon." Perri glanced at the small sphere which perched on the top of the transmatter like a milky cystal dew-melon. "Want me to scan for you?"

"No, no need." The winged elf seemed a little distracted, as if her attentions were focused elsewhere. "Just get me the location stone."

"Uh...which one, Doctor?"

Le seemed to snap back a little out of her thoughts and into the office. "Oh, I'm sorry, Perri. I'm a little scattered this morning. Guess I need more coffee," she smiled ruefully. "Topaz's office, at The Beacon."

He'd let her know that, and also find a way to casually mention that his boss had just messaged her boss. It made him feel more a part of the team. And then he could meet Axra for that long lunch. Thoroughly pleased with himself, Perri strode out into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

In a completely separate dimension - that strange and indecipherable region known as null-space - reposed something which would have disturbed Perri's self-congratulatory mood had he known of it. The transmatter had been created for Le by a skilled magician who had been asked to provide a method of easily moving objects through the magical and dimensional barriers surrounding Hy-Breasil. The mage had, quite sensibly, linked a permanent and powerful teleport spell with a targeting system that utilized both a high-level crystal ball and pre-set destinations derived from coded crystal shards. Items placed in the transmatter were thus teleported through null-space virtually without error to whatever destination had been fixed and set.

The key word here, however, was "virtually". The transported matter had to re-enter real space, where various circumstances could affect the result.

Attempting to teleport into solid objects, for instance, would cause the items to be destroyed. Various magical wards could achieve the same effect of they were powerful enough. In such instances, the trasmatter's magic was programmed to hold objects in null-space and make two more attempts at ten-second intervals, just in case a bird or cat or other solid was temporarily blocking the chosen spot. Failing that, the objects were brought back out of null-space to the transmatter.

The problem today was partly accidental and partly coincidental. A minor flaw in the crystal shard used, which would have been discovered during the transmatter's next scheduled maintenance check, resulted in a less-than-complete lock on the targeted location. This was complicated by the newly-emplaced wards shielding The Beacon - defenses unknown to either Perri or Le, who were imperfectly aware of events happening outside Hy-Breasil - which were designed to protect against incoming energy and matter, and which proved effective in doing just that, denying the weakened teleportation effective release from null-space.

Had Perri suspected the possibility of any problem, he would have waited a little longer before powering down the transmatter. But the locator stones were almost foolproof, and besides the destination was a space in a secure location that was always kept clear, just for such situations. As it was, the message cylinder was now trapped in null-space, rather than where both director and secretary thought it was: on the desk of Topaz, alerting the Guardians to a very serious potential threat. Perri whistled in blissful ignorance as he made his way down the carpeted hall.

29 January 0236 hours
Serengese highlands
Ilatha Island

The soft cries of the nightbirds were all around them. That was good. It meant they had moved so silently through the forest they hadn't even disturbed the local fauna. It also meant that whatever faint sounds they had to make - nothing can be completely silent when it moves, and besides, you have to breathe - would largely be masked by the background noise. Rillithane Rushy put her boot down gently, and feeling no sticks underneath that could snap took another careful step.

Since the summer sun had finally set, less than seven hours ago, the Dark Angels had covered a little over five miles of mostly-forested high ground. The slow pace was mandated not by darkness - even without infravision, most humanoid eyes function perfectly well in starlight, which the brilliant constellations of the southern hemisphere sky provided in abundance - but by the need for stealth. The two platoons of their fellow Guardsmen who constituted the OpFor, the Opposing Force, knew their watchfulness was being tested and would be on the alert. Rushy permitted herself a smile. The OpFor troopers did not know when that test was coming. It had been carefully and indirectly suggested to them that the penetration would be attempted tomorrow night. Well, whoever said war was fair?

She felt a slight vibration, then another, next to her carotid artery on her throat, where the small stelcom transceiver was strapped snugly to her neck. The all-clear signal. That meant that Peter and Maelin had successfully reconned the inner perimeter of the target and were in place, with no sign of detection by the OpFor. Three more answering buzzes came, these from Chief Jackson, who was in tactical command of the approach: move in as planned. Ten meters ahead of her she saw Jackson give a hand signal in the faint starlight under the trees. As she began angling to the right, toward her objective, he vanished silently into the darkness.

Three hundred meters to the east Arthona Stoneheart held his breath and gently shifted his powderblade knife in his hand as he crouched behind a low screen of brush. The dim light of a shielded glowglobe barely illuminated the small collection of low tents that marked the base camp of the OpFor platoons, less than a hundred meters away. A handful of sentries slowly and carefully patrolled the perimeter, facing outward. He and Bloodfang were inside them, to their backs. Arth remained very still as one of the sentries stepped quietly to within a few feet of his position and paused to scan the trees before continuing on his rounds. Not yet. Wait for the signal.

The signal, when it came a few minutes and a lifetime of heartbeats later, was four short buzzes on his stelcom, followed by four more. That meant Jackson and Rushy were in position. Time, then. He slid ghostlike in deliberate irregular movements through thirty meters of intervening second-growth saplings, coming up behind the sentry. Choosing his moment carefully, he reached out from under a low branch and grabbed the trooper's forehead with his left hand, pulling the head back and quickly plunging the powderblade into the side of the neck.

Ghorann glanced at her chronometer. Almost 0300. The slight swarthy figure beside her noted her look. "You don't think they're coming tonight." It was a statement, not a question.

"I think if they are, it'll be closer to dawn." A lifetime of intimacy with combat - beginning with surviving childhood in the casual ruthlessness of the High Horn - had led the captain to trust her instincts.

"You don't." That wasn't a question, either.

Lieutenant Hassan al-Omani studied the darkness before him. "I think that's when Alex prefers to attack."

"So?"

"So that's when he won't."

The former barbarian cheiftan shook her head at the Guards' Intelligence Officer. "Hassan, sometimes your logic escapes me."

The dark face chuckled. "You just don't have the right kind of nasty suspicious mind."

"Hmph." The captain grinned back. "So who do you like at the track next week?" Hassan's fondness for the betting windows was matched, if not exceeded, by his ability to pick winners. The lieutenant appeared to ponder the question deeply. Ghorann suspected he was calculating just how much to reveal and how it might affect the odds.

"Crimson King seems rather favorably matched."

"Against that competition?"

"One could do worse." For another half-hour the two debated the possiblitites and potentials of various pegasi in low tones, keeping an eye on the dim unchanging vista below. Finally the captain checked her chronometer one last time. "I do believe a smoke wouldn't hurt." She reached into a pocket and withdrew a battered but sturdy Meerschaum.

"Here, let me light that for you, Captain." The unexpected voice from the shadows behind them made captain and lieutenant jump nearly out of their skins. There was a soft click, and a small flame shone brightly in Jackson's outstretched hand. The Meerschaum nearly dropped.

"Merciful gods, J.L., don't ever - " It wasn't often that Ghorann was this shaken. "How long have you been standing there?"

The Master Chief took one pace forward out from the edge of the ruined stone wall in the rear and glanced cautioningly at the intelligence chief. "You want to lose good silver on Crimson King, you go right ahead. I hear he's got a strained wing tendon." The perceptible widening of Lieutenant al-Omani's eyes was only partly due to the revelation of the pegasus' condition.

The captain was trying to regain her composure. As yet she was only partly successful. "all right, Chief, you got here, and you got us. But if one of us had turned and fired...?"

An hour and a half later, the camp had disappeared, and both groups were piling into a heavy meal in the main bay of Starfox. The starship was on autopilot, cruising at a leisurely four hundred knots on a northeasterly heading. Zachary Rose Faelan, who had the conn, found he had nothing more critical to do than lounge at one of the secondary stations on the bridge and watch the rakish fishing craft of the Windward Perralens filling their sails with the morning winds as they sliced through the bright waters of the Southern Ocean. He shiftd angle and magnification on the high-power optics and caught a glimpse of a rocky islet far out from the main islands, terraced stone sides overgrown with centuries of lush growth. Interested, he activated record on the video log and started to increase zoom, when the soft chime of the communications system announced an incoming message.

"Starfox."

"Atrebla." The voice was Julian derKorst, who was in command of the Guards while Alex was away for the FTX. "Zachary, where's Alex?"

"He's eating breakfast, sir." Julian's calculated scowl had never much fooled Zachary. This time it wasn't there. Uh-oh.

"Get him to the bridge, will you? We have a situation here."

That was odd. The big blue-gray arrowhead that was Starfox was at the edge of the meadow, not in its accustomed spot near the center. Her Pegasus flared and settled onto the winter grass near the indentation left by one of the ship?s four landing-skids. She slid out of the saddle and, leaving the black mare to water and graze, strode over toward the meadow?s verge.

The starship hung suspended less than ten meters in the air, its massive hundred-and-fifty-meter bulk unaffected by the midday breezes. The shadow of the hull lay softly across the gentle slop beneath, and across the five figures huddled on the ground there. Their collective interest seemed to be focused on a rather ordinary-sized hole. Kase approached cautiously. ?And what is ? ?

?Sssshhh!? The admonishing hiss came from not only Zachary but his father and uncle as well. Thoroughly mystified, she dropped to the ground herself ? hands and knees appeared to be required for this ritual ? and crept quietly over to Zachary. The brown head didn?t turn, eyes still fixed on the hole. In a whisper: ?Josh is trying to coax him out.? And indeed, the younger boy with the blonde hair was kneeling several feet in front of his brother, waving a stick close to the ground before him. On the end of the stick was a large wad of some unidentified leafy material.

She glanced around at Alex and Maelin and saw the same intent stare in their eyes, coupled with a slightly vacuous grin on their faces. Kase recognized the ten-year-old-look-od-innocent-wonder peculiar to males (of all ages) and realized she would get more sense out of Zachary, who was at least fifteen. She kept to the obligatory conspirational whisper. ?Coax who??

?The burromur, of course.? As if there could possibly be any other explanation.

?Oh, Of course.? She tried to sound knowledgeable, but something in her voice must have reminded the lad that he was speaking to someone who was going to have to have the obvious explained. In other words, an adult.

?We have to get him to come out while the ship?s there.? Zachary glanced around and saw Kase?s continued confusion. He leaned over and confided, ?J.L. says if he doesn?t see his shadow today, we?ll have six weeks less winter.? The alleged adult in question was squatting on his haunches several yards away, trying to maintain a solemn expression of wisdom. ?Hsst!?

She shifted her eyes just in time to spy a small bewhiskered muzzle poke tentatively into sight at the mouth of the hole. The muzzle was followed by a furry head, dark eyes squinting back and forth from the meal-on-a-stick before him to the earnest thirteen-year-old who was proffering it. ?C?mon boy,? Joshua urged softly. The burromur, sex undetermined, apparently decided after some hesitation that the offering was sincere and waddled gracelessly forward into the open toward Josh, to the quietly exuberant acclaim of all the others present. Kase turned to Maelin, who had the same look of idiotic satisfaction as the rest.

?And what would Tirith think of all this??

He grinned and glanced briefly upward. ?She?s driving.?

?By the Holy Wells, I?m surrounded by lunatics.? The small half-elf laughed as she rolled her bright blue eyes. She blew Maelin a kiss and walked over to Alex, whose expression was as fatuous as his friend?s. Good. He needs to loosen up. They all do. Behind her, J.L. was explaining something to the boys.

?It?s easy. You take a light, and you shine it in the snipe?s eyes??

8 February 0127 hours
a forest east of The Beacon

?So much for your damned burromur?s shadow.? Alex had just shaken the snow off his parka and was rubbing his hands together in a dertermined attempt to restore circulation. At least here in the trees there was no appreciable wind.

?It worked in Alabama. Besides, you?re supposed to use a groundhog.? J.L. scanned the darkness and grunted as Maelin stepped around a pine tree whose branches bowed white-ladden. The chronomancer unslung his pack and began pulling out a survival suit. ?Perimeter clear, then?? The other nodded. ?Right. Arth, warm ?er up.? A quick pass of the mage?s hand and the temperature in the little shaltered hollow began to rise, to the obvious satisfaction of all seven gathered there. A few moments later a pale gray blur topped the rocks on the hollow?s north end and shot ghostly through the still air to land at Maelin?s side. The big wolf straightened and began to blur again, shifting form to become a recognizable and very bare Peter Penkovsky. His partner quickly passed him the survival suit.

?Tvoyu mat?, it?s cold without the fur!? The green eyes gleemed bright in the dim light of the glow-globe, and the canines were still slightly bared.

?Peremiter clear, Chief. Nothing and nobody. Spacibo,? he added to Maelin, who had just thrown the lieutenant?s parka around his shoulders and handed him a small silver flask, from which Peter drank quickly. Yuan Shang opened her dark almond eyes.

?No sign of sentients in the area, J.L.? Jackson?s head nodded a short, correct bow and turned toward Arthona, who gave a wry look.

?Magic clear. Only spells out here tonight are mine.? J.L. nodded acknowledgement and turned to Alex.

?Area is secure, Colonel.?

?Very well, Master Chief.? The team commander ? gods, except for Peter I?m the youngest one here ? looked around and was immensly pleased with what he saw. The members of his team ? and they really were a team now, he knew ? were neither unsure nor cocky, just casually alert and ready for tonight?s exercise. This one would be fairly simple.Well, for everyone except Maelin and Arth. And me Alex supressed a grin. But I?ll be a little surprised if they all don?t get a little cocky after tonight. ?How?s our timing, Maelin??

The slim figure consulted his wrist chronometer. ?Almost perfect. Stand by a moment?? Maelin peered intently at the device. ?Ah? four, three, two, one ? now.? The chronometer read 01:30. He looked at Alex and grinned. ?All set.? Colonel Jones grinned back.

?All right. Let?s start the music, shall we??

The Dark Angels shifted positions so that their commander had a clear area in front of him. Arthona and Maelin joined Alex, their partners flanking them on the sides. Yuan Shang stood just behind the colonel, and Rushy and Jackson watched the party?s rear. Alex concentrated and began to reach out with his Romany abilities to grasp the threads of space-time.

Air frozen crystal-bright in the cold began to shimmer and dance before them like heat waves. From the dimness a weave of threads coalesced to sparkle silver-gold in mid-air, hanging glittering as if woven from starlight. The half-elf slid his consciousness between the threads, carefully unravelling warp from weft, pulling them away and aside, and as he did so revealing a room beyond them, a place quiet and still, with a dark massive desk and bronze-hued lamplight. The gap in the bright pattern was only head wide. Alex?s voice was a low whisper. ?Arth ? go.?

Several minutes later the team members were relaxing in the room on the other side of the gate, which had long since been closed. J.L. had finished examining the scene outside the window, including the guards posted below, who hadn?t moved, and the scattered clouds against the stars, none of which had moved either. Alex saw him look over at Bloodfang, who was crouched near the bookshelves, totally fascinated by the Still Life With Mouse and occasionally shaking his head and grinning as he bent to examine the tableau from a different perspective. Jackson eased over to the desk, where Alex was carefully removing a rather dark and very magical-looking stone from the polished onyx box which had held it, and listening to Maelin making explanations to an attentive Rillithane Rushy and Peter Penkovsky.

?It?s really very simple. Nothing is instantaneous ? it takes a small but discrete amount of time for anything to happen. As if there were a tiny crack between any one moment and the next. You can slip into these cracks ? and that?s what we?ve just done. Even the wards and guard spells set here take a split-second to operate, and we?ve denied them that split-second.?

?And you did all that from out there in the forest??

The chronomancer grinned as he fiddled with a small box-like object in his hands. ?No, Rushy, I kind of changed the rules a little.? The hobbit looked confused. ?I slipped back ? well, sideways, but whatever ? through time, and I put a delayed timestop spell on an object. One I knew Keirin would keep here in his office.? A theatrical expression came over him. ?Who would suspect that an innocent-looking golden feather ? ?

?We?re ready here, if you?ve finished being the center of attention.? Alex had stuffed the black stone box into a large belt-pouch and placed its contents on top of some paperwork left on the desk. Arthona had finally succeeded in distracting his partner from the unknown rodent, and the company began to gather around the back and sides of the big desk.

Maelin positioned a chair halfway across the room and, after some calculations, placed his box on top of the chair?s back and joined his comrades at the desk. ?Wait a moment.? The chronomancer reached into a pocket and pulled out a gold pocket watch on a chain, with hands shaped like tiny feathers. He placed it on the papers next to the stone and looked at Arth. ?You going to be able to blow it up??

The mage grinned. ?Not a problem. Colors and all.?

?Good. You can hit the trigger from here??

?Oh, please. In my sleep.?

?Then I guess we?re all ready.? He glanced at Alex.

?Let?s do it.? All of the Dark Angels looked toward the chair and smiled. There was a sudden flash of light.

3. Positions and Strategies ? part 2

11 February 1650 hours
a forest outside Krondor

Rain had been threatening all day as they rode north, gray clouds scudding slantwise and heavy across the breaks in the trees. The blustery air was already cold, though not cold enough to expect snow, which might have been an improvement. In the fading light the horses picked their uncertain way over the broken ground between the trees, stumbling only occasionally but plainly unenthusiastic about the lack of a trail. A stray branch now and then brushed a shoulder of the point rider and whipped backwards at the man on the middle horse. Usually it missed.

?You?re aiming better now.? A certain amount of pique edged the tones.

?You?re dodging worse.? The voice, though husky, betrayed what the falling daylight and the thick cloak did not, that the rider was a woman. She did not turn around.

Her companion considered for a moment. He was wrapped likewise against the weather, brown cloak shapeless and travel-stained, and gave off no particular air of either style or wealth, all things considered a most practicable attire. A leather scabbard slung on his saddle next to the trail-rope to the packhorse showed the hilt of some short blade, but there was no particular air of menace about him either. In fact, he looked very much the weary traveler, forging his way cross-country in search of profits, with only a few trade goods atop his rearmost animal and his lone bodyguard ? the prominent longsword and recurved bow identified her ? to the fore. ?I don?t suppose you have any idea where we are??

?The woods. Somewhere.? Her voice carried a total lack of either more specific knowledge or concern. She brought her horse?s head around and directed its steps down a half-hidden bank, then through a stand of young pines whose branches parted briefly and grudgingly as she rode through them. Dodging didn?t seem to help here. They emerged by the banks of a little stream which as far as they could tell appeared to flow north. The woman halted her mount and looked around while the man caught up.

?Looks like a creek.? He said finally. She nodded, eyes scanning the edges of the trees. He waited for a comment and didn?t get one. ?Wonder where it goes.?

?Probably goes somewhere.?

?I love it when you?re specific.?

?I love it when I?m warm and dry.? She chucked her horse gently forward, following the thin clear waters downstream.

?You did intend for us to reach shelter tonight, I take it.? Packhorse in tow the man rode close behind.
?That was indeed the general idea. Of course, that was predicated upon your ability to locate that patrol. Since you?re lost?? He shrugged expressively. The gesture was totally wasted on the woman, who was watching ahead of them. He tried another tack. ?You could have stayed in the Valley.?

This earned him a sharp quick glance. ?You could have ended up wolf-meat.? Scattered raindrops were beginning to spatter the forest, and the travelers. ?And I will be double-damned if I?ll let you foul this one up by your inflated sense of your own abilities.? This seemed to be, as far as the woman was concerned, the final word in the matter.

?I am wounded to the quick. Inflated, is it? Me, who pulled you out of that mess in Scornhyle? Me, who found us that boat when the floods came? Me, who ??

?You. Now shut up.? A quick snap this time. His eyebrow went up slightly, but he lowered his voice.

?Can?t stand the truth, can you??

?Idiot.? Her voice was a low hiss. ?That?s a campfire up there, or I?m a goblin.?

17 February 1643 hours
Esarkal House
Nazburg

Snow had fallen earlier in the day, a heavy and wet blanket that had already turned to slush along the city?s streets and was a sure indicator of changeable weather. Had the temperature been more normal, the snowfall would have been more crystalline and a great deal less messy. As it was, the sorkh-sellers had given up trying to circulate the streets with their pushcarts and were now perfectly content to lair in sheltered courtyards and alcoves, and the pedestrians who found street travel necessary were alert and wary against the wagon wheels? spray, and everyone was generally agreed that it had better be a warm and early spring.

At least it was warm in the room in which Aron Vessalian sat. Thick Ghashti rugs positively radiated heat from their warm colors and glowed in the light of the well-banked fire. No doubt the former inhabitants had tended more toward traditional Radurian simplicity in the furnishings, probably elegant but functional woodwork and glass. The Empire had superimposed Kazur preferences upon the rooms of Esarkal House, although the exterior remained clean-lined and stately. It was a metaphor, observed Vesallian, for The Empire itself: use the local structures, but for your own ends.

Not that such an approach was artificial. Indeed, scholars of government would have granted kudos to the Kazur gift for preserving each area?s institutions and individuality while giving coherence to the functioning of the Empire as a whole. Take himself: Aron Vessalian, a Carythian from a relatively insignificant family, trained and educated in many disciplines because the Empire had need of people who could think, placed into the intelligence service and given a position of high trust in charge of First Section?s operations in the Western lands, and treated as a full equal by the individual Kazurs with whom he worked.

Of course, there was the little matter of the Kazur legions who enforced the Empire?s will, when necessary, with a steel fist. But the fist protected an amalgam of nations, connected by trade and tolerance and peace, and the occasional use of the fist just might be an equitable price to pay for what was gotten out of the bargain.

So Vessalian tried to relax, and marshaled his thoughts as he gazed toward the eminently undistinguishable middle-aged figure on the far side of the ebony-wood desk, and was careful to couch his report in not only objective but carefully-worded terms. What he had to say was probably not going to be comfortable for the chief of the Shemya Khut.

?So, Aron ? in your opinion, what is the situation in Krondor? The voice was calm and modulated, even friendly. If there was one talent Oriman Baklevin had ? other than being disturbingly perceptive - it was making his subordinates feel at ease. Baklevin was an unexceptional-looking Kazur with a highly-exceptional mind, and had long ago discovered the optimum ways in which to elicit desired information. Which was why Jengtal, Khut of the West, currently employed Baklevin as his chief of intelligence. Vessalian shifted somewhat in his cushioned seat.

?There are no indications of insurgency, sabtay. The High Slopes still contain fierce and willing warriors ? ? He allowed himself a slight smile. ? ? but nothing to trouble the Empire. And if there?s something stirring in Krondor itself, I?ve yet to find a trace of it.? The Carthian?s look went serious.?Sabtay[/i[, the captain in charge of the recon patrol is no one?s fool. I know the man. If he says there?s no sign of trouble, I belief him.?

?Hmmm.? Baklevin?s face was impassively neutral. ?And what of these reports from Atrebla??

?That?s the worrisome part, sabtay. Someone?s been stirring up a hornet?s nest there.? Versallian allowed real worry to show. ?The assassination has been over and done with, and things should have died down ? but apparently someone?s continuing to take out the occasional soldier, just enough to keep everyone on edge. Indications are it?s the assassin.? He faced his chief. ?Sir? that is not a desirable situation.?

The Kazur folded his hands and regarded his subordinate closely. ?Explain.? Vessalian took a deep breath.

22 February 1425 hours
Reception Chamber
Starship Destiny

The starship pilot sat uncomfortably on the soft couch, toying with her coffee and wondering why things didn?t feel right. It was good coffee, the seating was luxurious, the air felt and tasted fine. Probably it was the walls. On Tyranny?s Favor she was used to the hard flickers of panel lights and the businesslike bulkheads and hatchways of a ship whose routine voyages might not stand close scrutiny by any regulatory customs agencies. Here the damned walls seemed alive, barely covering the functions of an organism. Disturbing, it was, not like the good cold clean mechanical sentience of her own vessel. Brigid Atreides almost reflexively glanced into her coffee cup and, satisfied it wasn?t going to try to engage her in conversation, took another sip.

She glanced around the big oval room ? difficult to tell how big, really, which was also disturbing ? at the others gathered here. Most of them she knew by sight, if not well. Maelin she had seen at CanMaria Stables, of course ? quiet and dark-haired, with a rare smile. Arthona had actually shared the occasional drink with her after a race, his blustery manner and acerbic wit a colorful contrast to his genuine friendliness, The teenager with the long brown hair and the smiling blue eyes was also known to her from the racecourse, although she hadn?t quite figured out why Alex?s son Zachary was present here today. Nor his stepmother Kase Winthor, who was at present engaged in small talk with another small slim female, auburn-haired and green-eyed. That would be Tirith. No mistaking the delicate features she had passed on to her sons Zachary and Joshua. And no question why Joshua was here: Destiny was there home. The dark-haired smuggler looked over at who had called their meeting.

Alex Jones was sitting in a chair. It didn?t look very comfortable, and neither did he. The pilot of Starfox was explaining the current situation to the two mages present.

?No, we have squat.? The frustration in his voice was apparent. ?Dex?s clothes show nothing we can use, Le tells me, and the carriage wood is olivian pine ? not common, I admit, but grows in the uplands all over the lands to the east. And still no idea of how the portal is being used. Somehow our friend ? or friends, we really don?t know ? is coming and going through time too. I know ? ? He fielded his friend?s questioning look. ? ? you could possibly handle that part. But there?s a magic field in operation that basically brain swipes you. And Topaz doesn?t think the risk the risk of losing someone else is worth it.? He grunted. ?Can?t say I agree. Nevertheless, I can?t spare either of you.?

?So what, by all the Hells, is Keirin doing about it? Surely he ? ?Arth stopped, nonplussed, when he saw the look in Alex?s eyes.

?General Moonwalker is not available to us at present.? The tone brooked absolutely no argument. Arthona and Maelin glanced at each other. ?It?s down to us, gentlemen. And the rest of the Guardians. Their job is to find us our target. Our job ? ?The smile was excessively Cymri and all the more terrible for its anticipation. ? ? is to execute the operation.?

?All right.? The smuggler figured a hard-and-fast approach was perhaps a little overdue. She adjusted a long black coat that probably was no longer dignified enough to be called leather and looked at the Guardian?s War Chief. ?Just what are your plans? And how does my ship and my crew figure into it??

Alex?s smile lost its predatory viciousness and became merely engaging. ?Two ways, Brigid. First, we?re going to need to give all our pilots ? ?He nodded at Kase and Zachary. ? ? advanced ground-attack training.? Above ice-blue eyes, dark eyebrows raised.

?Ground-attack??

?Indeed.? The pilot of Tyranny?s Favor considered this for a long moment.

?Right. What kind of position??

?Don?t know.? Her startled objections were stilled by a quick wave of the half-elf's hand. ?What we do know is that the opposition will be powerful and almost certainly supported by magic.?

Well, now, that eliminated certain possibilities. Almost all of them, as a matter of fact. ?You?re talking the Empire, aren?t you??

?Don?t know that either. But it?s starting to look more and more like a good wager.?

Something about that didn?t click, but Captain Brigid Atreides was used to concentrating on vectors and field strengths, not petty planetary politics. And profit. Hmm ? maybe that?s what doesn?t smell right? Her train of thought was interrupted.

?We have our last FTX coming up in a few days. I?ll be working with the Angels on that. What I?d like from you is to supervise low-level training for Kase and Zach.? This got Brigid?s full attention.

?You?re ? ? One look at the red-haired half-elf and at the brown-haired changeling confirmed their willingness, if not, she thought, their sanity. Or Alex?s. She shook her head. ?All right, then. You said two ways. What are the mission parameters??

?Distraction, basically. Get in, raise hell, get everyone?s attention? and get out.?

?Has to be believable? gotcha. What about the other ships??

?Tyranny?s favor will have to stay around Hy-Braesil, to cover that ? and Atrebla. Destiny will be base-ship, hanging in synchronous orbit over the ops point. ShadowDeath ? ? A nod to Arthona. ? ? will stay out of range as cover and back up, on call.?

?Hmm. Look, hotshot, you?ve only got one atmosphere-capable ship, and it?s the diversion. What happens if you need something on the ground in a hurry?

?Not to worry.? The voice was modulated and calm and pervasive, and Brigid realized with a mild shock that none of the people present had spoken. It seemed to be coming from the ship itself. Tirith was grinning. ? A special craft has been grown for the mission. You will find it completely adequate for any atmospheric operations.?

?If you would, please, ladies and gentlemen??? The Sidhe was standing now and gesturing to a doorway that Brigid would have sworn wasn?t there before. Most everyone else was getting to their feet, the boys looking very smug amid the general mild confusion. She put down her coffee cup, which immediately vanished. Disturbing again. The company filed out of the chamber into a long dimly-lit corridor. Within a minute, they had reached a rather large portal, which opened with a wave of Tirith?s hand.

Before them was a large room lit by the same flickering blue and purple and green lights as the rest of the ship. Here, however, there was an undertone of red and tan, the colors of live. Outlined in the luminescence was a dark shape with stubby wings and a tail. It was only her imagination, thought Captain Atreides, that made the tail twitch.

?Behold,? said the starship?s voice. ?Destiny?s Child.?

1 March 2135 hours
a back alley
Rhydin

Black had thought to fight off the beginnings of a headache with a breath of fresh air before rejoining Aerisa in the arena. By chance, or perhaps it was due to his heightened senses from having been on edge ever since the threat to Kyle's and Dev's twins, he noted someone crouching in the shadows. His interest once engaged had his eyes follow the form. And it did not take long for him to be sure that form belonged to Granym Tyr. "Who is Granym following tonight?", he thought and without conciously making up his mind to do so he followed Granym. The same bustle that concealed Granym from his object of attention also served to hide Black from Granym's notice; that and Black's not inconsiderable training as scout. Once they left the crowded streets Black was shocked to see just who Granym was stalking.

He had concealed himself in the shadows waiting to see who was to be his next object of his vengeance. Granym could hardly believe his luck as he saw she was to be the first of the Guardians to leave the duels this night.

This part of town was busy this time of eve and Granym had no trouble hiding between the patrons of the Inn, the Outback, and the Arena as he made to follow her. It helped that the lady was in no hurry to get wherever she was going.

Topaz would have loved to enjoy a couple duels, but this eve she had other plans. After a short visit with her friends at the arena she left to act upon those plans. The weather was the kind she liked best; mild in temperature, mostly clear skies, and only the slightest hint of a breeze. Not one of the people coming and going stopped her for chit chat, which was just fine with her. None the less she left the busier streets and two right turns took her to one of the less busy streets.

Staying unnoticed became more of a challenge to Black here, and he had to keep further back than he was comfortable with. Granym took no such precautions. Rather, he quickened his pace, walking up behind Topaz. The fairy did not appear to notice his footfalls. Giving his voice a soft and friendly quality he spoke from no more than three feet behing the lady.

"Truly you are a brave person, m'Lady ... or foolish", his left hand rested on the dagger at his hip, that dagger which so recently had tasted Guardian blood.

The sound of the words as well as the words themselves had Topaz whirl around to face the speaker. As she did so her right hand, concealed by her body from the view of Granym, undid the safety clasp of her sheathed rapier. The courteous smile on her lips as she came to face Granym gave nothing away of her precautious action. "Good even, m'lord", she replied, matching his tone. The flicker of recognition in her eyes was subdued almost before it was born.

"And to you, m'lady", Granym said with what he hoped to be a deceptively disamring smile. "Forgive my forwardness, but ... Which is it? Brave or foolish?"

Black called upon his magic to conceal himself in darkness, melting in with the shadows. Carefull not to give himself away he stole closer. Yet, he could still not make out their words. He dared not to attempt to make his presence known to Topaz lest Granym notice him, too.

Topaz's smile never slipped, "Perhaps a little more of the latter. Are ye offering yer protection?"

"Do you wish it, m'lady?" Granym's smile dripped charm like honey from an upended cone. Almost too much so, though he was well practiced at this art of flattery.

Black readied a dagger to hurl at Granym, but he was positioned at the wrong angle to hope to hurl it at Granym with any success.

"One can never have too much of that, no? But, " Topaz's left hand swept through the air indicating their surrounding, "not much in way of accosting drunks or other riff raff just yet." The commander's ring on her left shone deep blue instead of it's customary jade coloring. A warning she did not ignore.

Granym chuckled, the sound that came from his chest was surprisingly soft. "Ahh.. your wit rivals your beauty, m'Lady. But it is not drunkards or dullards whom you need concern yourself with." With those last words his friendly mask slipped, his charm evaporated, and his voice took on a threatening quality, dripping with hate and malevolence. His previously concealed maces suddenly were in his hands, swinging to strike.

The pain in Topaz's shoulder brought to mind how deadly even a second's lapse could be and therefor, rather than weakening her concentration, re-inforeced it. Lightening quick, before Granym could pull the mace back and swing it again, Topaz stepped forward with her blade aimed at his arm. Her strike hit, and though it cut deeply into his forearm and brought forth a cry of pain and rage from him, it was not enough to make him lose hold of the lethal mace.

As Granym tried to recover from her attack he snapped the mace around from the opposite side. Aimed at her shoulder the mace disturbs nothing but the air as Topaz already retreated out of range. Granym growled yet another curse at the fairy dust costing him the satisfaction of striking blood.

His eyes aglow with insane hatred finally clear enough of the dust that he could see Granym sneered and swung the mace at Topaz yet again, his right foot stepped next to his fallen mace.. Rather than parrying this blow off as Granym had counted on she would, the fairy dodged the swing and came up behind him. But that lunge did not keep Granym from retrieving his second mace with an expert kick that flipped the weapon into his right hand even as he spun around to face Topaz again. But Granym's blood soaked right hand's grip upon the handle was uncertain. So much so that he quickly decided on another course of action to regain his advantage and returned that mace to its harness before he circled around to where his dagger was stuck in the wall. His left arm moved quickly to alternatly foil the fairy's attacks and with offensive swings.

Both were breathing heavily by now with the exertion of their battle and beads of sweat added to their various pains. Though neither of the combatants let themselves be slowed by such.

Granym was so absorbed by his directing the battle to where he could reach the dagger, he fell for Topaz's feint at his leading leg. The moment he comitted low, the rapier swung up in it's approach and cut through his tunic and the skin beneath. Topaz was even more suspicous of his intentions now. Without even a moments hesitation, Granym spun around, his mace rose and came around towards Topaz's head. The only warning the lady had was the rush of air. It having been too late for retreat as well as a skilled block, Topaz rushed forward and twisted her body sideways, brushing against Granym as she sped by. Rather than attempting to profit from Topaz's risky maneuver, Granym stepped away from her towards his dagger lodged in the wall.

By now Topaz knew his intend. "Oh no, you don't." The flow of time appeared to slow to a drip. Topaz watched his hand move up towards the dagger, racing the words of a displacement spell against the speed of his muscles. His fingers started to curl around the hilt before the last sylable of the spell was formed.

The dagger disappeared from Granym's hand as he grabbed it. "What?!" His eyes narrowed as he looked at her with utter contempt. "What did you do with my dagger, witch?" His words coincided with the answering clatter of steel hitting and bouncing twice on the cobblestones from somewhere behind Topaz.

"Just evening the odds, m'lord." Topaz's blade came up to strike, aimed at his thigh as she spoke. Granym's mace snapped down, the swing more powerful than any he had made as yet. His face twisted in rage as he glared at her. The ring of steel was deafening as mace and rapier met. The jolt rattled both their teeth. For a moment Topaz feared her hand would be ripped from her arm together with her blade. Her eyes dropped to where the weapons met just in time to see a foot and a half of steel, that was up to then part of her rapier, hit the ground.

CHAPTER 4: KNAVES AND QUEENS

The enemy attacks on only two occasions:
When you are ready, and when you aren?t.
- Murphy?s 12th Law of Combat Operations

2 March 1704 hours
Starship Destiny
Jules Verne Crater, Luna

The first thing he noticed was that he was thirsty. The second was that he was still alive. Or at least he seemed to be. Dark, though? oh, right. Alex opened his eyes.

Someone was bending over him. In the dim light of the compartment her eyes glowed faintly ? and familiarly ? red. With a start Alex thought he?d somehow slipped backwards across the years to that inn in Vagras, where ? he blinked twice and then, remembering, smiled. ?Hello annwylyd.?

?Hello yourself, trafferth.? Alex winced briefly. It had been long indeed since Tirith had called him ?Trouble?. Nice to see that smile again, though. He took a deep breath and tried experimentally flexing a few muscles.

?Oh, they all work. I had to promise Kase. Although ? ? The Sidhe?s smile was perhaps a trifle wicked. ? ? we did consider removing your self-destruct organ.?

?Do I want to know??

?That would be your brain, apparently.? The exasperation in Kase?s voice couldn?t quite outmatch the deep fear that still lingered, even after having been reassured that the lifesaver implants had worked perfectly, sending Alex and Peter into instant stasis and teleporting them to the bioregenerators on Destiny. Tirith had monitored the process, but really the ship had handled everything expertly, and the Sidhe?s empath links had merely served to ease the two back to a more comfortable consciousness. And to keep everyone?s emotional state at a tolerable level, for which Kase was profoundly grateful. She leaned over the captain of Starfox and stared intently into his eyes.

?Don?t you ever frighten us like that again.? The tone of reproach was somewhat softened by the light stroke of her fingers down Alex?s cheek. He mentally reminded himself ? again ? how lucky he was.

?Not intentionally, cariad. Won?t happen again.? A very sincere smile, which Kase believed about as much as that the planetoid they were resting on was made of green cheese. Alex began to collect his thoughts. ?Peter?? Tirith nodded. ?Maelin???

?Fine. Keeps insisting you didn?t give him time to handle things.? Alex managed to sputter.

?Time? Time? Why, of all the - ? A short fit of coughing brought him up short. Kase and Tirith exchanged a look. Idiots. Alex caught that and knew better than to argue. ?All right. Everyone else??

?Mission accomplished.? The quiet Alabama drawl was rather subdued. A door closed noiselessly behind Jackson, who went first to the auburn-haired Sidhe. ?Lady Tirith, is he well enough for a report?? The return look was quite old-fashioned.

?Physically or mentally??

?I suppose we?ll have to settle for the former.?

?Let him talk. He may actually say something intelligent.? They didn?t even grin, noted Alex. Tirith touched Kase lightly on the arm. ?I?m going to go check on the boys.?

?I?ll come with you. Bloody boring it?ll be here, listening to tales about snipe hunting.? The little half-elf kissed her mate quickly and turned to follow her friend out of the room, hoping Alex wouldn?t see the moisture in her eyes. She looked back as she reached the compartment door. ?Oh, and deer? your jumpsuit?s in the locker over there. Why don?t you put some clothes on? I?m sure J.L.?s not interested.? She blew Alex a kiss and gave the Master Chief an evil wink and stepped out the door. The tall soldier glanced at the closed door for a second and then grinned at his commander.

?How do you know I?m not, Colonel??

?Oh, shut up and hand me my clothes.?

J.L.?s desperate maneuvers had succeeded in destroying two simulated attackers and crippling a third ? at the cost of another turret and forty percent engine power lost ? when an amber light began blinking on Kase?s control panel. Quickly she opened an internal comm channel and told Starfox: ?Activate.? Speakers concealed in the secondary panels began to emit a faint hiss. Kase shrugged slightly and commented, ?Can?t get rid of the hydrogen noise.? Alex leaned forward and, touching a pad on the panel before him, spoke.

?Starfox.?

?Topaz here.? The sylvan fairy?s voice was always melodic, but lately it carried a bit of an edge from stress. ?Alex??

?Here, Commander.?

?Hello there. Good to hear your voice. How?d the exercise go??

?It?s over, and we?re all still here. Back in about three days. How went the council meeting??

?Well enough. I can give you the full details if you?ve the stomach for ?em.?

?Thank you, Commander, I think I?ll pass. Did Aerisa??

?Yes, she did.? The tone was disapproving but not unfriendly. ?You two came up with a bold plan, using a Guardian as bait ? but we decided against it.? Alex glanced over at Kase, whose expression was guardedly neutral.

?May I ask why??

?You may. We?ve lost one guardian already.? A pause. ?Of course you may try to convince me otherwise.? A frown crossed the Colonel?s brow. He and Aerisa had already thought this out, and they both had concluded it would work.

?We won?t lose anyone, Commander. We don?t have to let the assassin near the target ? just close enough to let Yuan Shang get a telepathic fix on him. Then we move the target. After that, we can attack him at a time and place of our choosing.?

?And if he senses you? He is a telepath, too, we know that.?

Alex?s frown deepened. ?No risk, no gain.? Why wouldn?t she see that? ?You want volunteers??

?No.? The stress in the Head Commander?s voice was audible. ?I am not giving orders for any of our Guardians to die. Whether they volunteer or not makes no difference.?

?All right.? This wasn?t going anywhere. ?Anyone come up with a better idea, then??

?Not yet. We don?t have enough information to make plans.?

Impatience overrode discretion: ?And just how many more attacks and deaths must we suffer before we do have enough information??

?Hopefully none.?

?Hope is good. I like initiative better.? Irony was replaced by earnestness. ?Look, Commander, all we are doing is reacting to him. He gets to choose when and where he crosses our path. We need to change the rules. We need to have him reacting to us for a change.?

?In general I agree. But initiatives cannot be allowed to cost us more than reactions.? The fairy?s voice sounded somewhat conciliatory. ?Alex, if you can give me positive proof that won?t happen, you?re much more likely to get initiatives approved. Your plan has too many uncertainties.?

A look of utter disbelief crossed the War Chief?s features. When, by Murphy and all the other gods of Chaos, will they ever learn? He got control of himself and took a deep breath.

?Commander, in conflict there are no certainties. You have to include chance in your calculations.?

Firmly came the reply: ?Chance is one thing. Doom is another.?

The captain of Starfox felt his temper getting the better of him, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Some things had to be said. ?You want to know what ?doom? is, Commander? It?s sitting on your butt waiting for the axe to fall.?

On the bridge of the starship the silence was ionized and palpable. Well, Alex, old boy, he thought, you?ve gone and done it now. In as even a tone as he could manage, he added, ?Mind you, I mean no disrespect, of course.? The panel speakers came to life.

?That will be quite enough, Colonel.? The High Commander?s voice was exceedingly calm, and if not for the excellent environmental systems in the starship it would have frozen every exposed surface in the compartment.

?That is not what we are doing. And you know it.?

There are two schools of thought on that, noted Alex: mine, and everybody else?s. Well, most everybody. He shook his head, mostly at his own inability to control that Romany temper. Gramma would have sent me to the tent without supper. The thought made him smile. Besides, he had definitely been out of line.

Dark Angel 4: Knaves and Queens ? part 2

4 March 0947 hours
Metris Rock

It was raining again, a cold miserable rain that slapped sharply against the shutters guarding the portals of the little eight-sided tower room. At this altitude, reflected Kelamir, there probably wasn?t a damned thing between the tower at the top of this pox-ridden rock and the Great Northern Rim where the storm that was lashing them had been spawned. Just like a witch, he reflected, to insist on working in some hopelessly dramatic surroundings when there are warmer, better-shielded rooms below. But it was her rock, and her resources, even if it was largely his plan. She had her uses, and therefore must be carefully encouraged. And she had her powers, and therefore must be respected. For now. The magician ignored the cold with the casual aplomb of the mountain-born and watched the dark-haired figure leaning over the small pedestal in the center of the room.

An?Miron?s features were softly illuminated by the glow from the top of the pedestal. A not-unattractive woman, at least to the eye, she appeared somewhere between twenty and thirty. He wondered how old she really was, and how much of that comeliness was witch-work. Not that he cared. There was only one purpose in his life, and it did not include the distractions of the flesh. He noted her eyebrows rise as the rounded stone atop the pedestal flickered into the shifting patterns of a visual image. She had found them, then. He waited for her to speak.

?There.? The musical voice might have been genuine, or not. Whatever, its owner was not entirely happy. ?They have reached Lorreno. And the river is in flood. Fools! Now they will be delayed.?

?Neither they, nor we, control the weather, Sister. Anyway, it does not matter ? the temple in Sithra is not going anywhere.?

An almost-venomous glance changed swiftly to a calculating gaze. ?True, true, good Kelamir.? A self-deprecating smile that was all the more disturbing for its apparent genuiness. ?I am prone to impatience these days. You must forgive me.?

When she talked like that, the Dutharian reminded himself, she was at her most dangerous. Control in an adversary is the ability most to be feared. His ice-blue eyes gave no hint of his inner feelings, for except for his one obsession he had none. They had been stripped away in the Hamdas mountains a lifetime ago. He smiled and knew that his smile appeared as genuine as hers.

?None necessary, Sister. I am as anxious as you.?

?You show it less, then. You show very little of anything, Kelamir.?

A brief nod. ?My Imperial training, no doubt.?

?No doubt.? She regarded her confederate for a long moment. ?Are you certain those pretty toys will function as we wish them to??

?Precisely as we wish them to.? They both smiled at that, smiles that would have done credit to a pair of wolves who had successfully trapped a fat bushbuck. The witch, returned to a good humor, glanced down at the half-meter hemisphere before her and waved her hand. Immediately the images vanished, to be replaced with a dull reddish glow.

?We will bide, then, good mage. Tell me, how long, do you think??

?Depends on the weather? but two, maybe three days.?

?That is acceptable.? An?Miron swept imperiously over to the narrow stone staircase and began to descend. After a moment Kelamir followed.

7 March 0734 hours
medical center grounds
Hy- Breasil

As always, the air was fresh and the sunshine warming. An early-morning dip in the surrounding lake, a light breakfast in her cabin ? with real coffee, not that cafeteria cleaning fluid ? and the short walk from the staff residential area through the eucalyptus and mimosa had put spring in Trisha?s steps. She had been working long and exhausting hours lately, what with the new strain of Cathax-D virus that was causing so much havoc in Wahren, and isolating that seriously weird organism in the marooned spacer from Gogolak?s planet, not to mention trying to analyze that pestiferous protein-eater they?d found which mutated backward in temporal shifts ? the hosts found themselves living further and further in the future, answering questions long before they were asked, which had landed two of them in Dr. Brown?s ward before it was realized that the condition was organic. And, of course, on top of all that, one of the other two senior scan techs had had to pick this week to get married. It was enough to drive you up the wall, with the firm intention of vaulting off the top head-first.

She rounded a big magnolia, huge white blossoms heavy with fragrance, and strode across the genetically-manicured lawn toward the main building. The grassy sward, swept in-between the two long wings, all soft tan around and under the rich redwood of the support beams and the gently-peaked roof, wide eaves with cantilevered overhangs shadowing the long windows. She had heard the style was called ?post-Californian?, but being architecturally challenged she merely appreciated how well the sprawling two-story building blended into its surroundings: the lush grass? the flowering trees? the spaceship parked on the side lawn?.

The Yanta blinked her inner nictitating membranes at the squat irregular saucer shape visible just past the North Wing and wondered what had brought Tyranny?s Favor from its accustomed landing pad by Le Amon?s residence. Occasionally Brigid Atreides, the starship?s pilot, parked directly at the medical center to deliver patients or cargo. Probably something to do with that spacer. I bet the patients in the Psych Ward are having a field day. Psych was on the upper level of the North Wing. Directly below was Pediatrics, where enterprising staff members had already opened the outside doors to let loose a gaggle of small humanoids, which were now romping and playing around the ship?s landing struts. Well, at least they were arguably at the moment the best-protected children on the planet. Tisha smiled at the mayhem as she crossed the grassy courtyard toward the building?s front door.

A security guard was lounging near the altar stage on the lawn south of the main entrance. An aged orc (which was of itself unusual), Lukuth had fought in the Paladin Wars on his home world for long, bloody uncounted years. Brought through the teleporting altar of one of the Lady?s temples, like almost all other emergency patients, he had been a security guard ever since his healing was completed nine standard years ago. Now his tough form had grown a little paunchy, and he had developed a fondness for Ertali chocolates, and his former comrades would no doubt have been shocked to see Lukuth dandling an elf-child on his scarred knees while telling highly-censored war stories to the rapt patients in Pediatrics. He waved at Tisha, who waved back as she mounted the low steps up to the big double glass doors of the entrance hall.

Actually, thought the scan tech, neither the security guards ? all of whom were former soldiers who had been healed here ? nor Brigid?s starship were really necessary at all. Le?s medical center treated anyone or anything, from any planet or any dimension, who mounted the altar in any of hundreds of temples of the Lady scattered across this and other worlds. And the only other means of ingress to the dimensional bubble that was Hy-Breasil were the flight portal, high overhead and only opened on request, and the causeway which opened on the east shore of Atrebla Lake near the Beacon and which always had a couple of security guards on duty. Admittedly they were usually enjoying coffee and doughnuts. But who would be stupid enough to attack the most rekown ? and nonpartisan ? healing center in the sector? Ah, well, better safe than sorry. Trisha strode down the South Wing?s already-busy corridor past Administration and the internal teleport lifts to Scan.

Shamus O?Flynn was there before her. The leprechaun was perched on a high stool by the electron microscope, staring into the eyepieces while he fiddled ever-so-precisely with the controls. Knowing better than to disturb his concentration ? Shamus was unexcelled at fine-tuning calibrations in phenomenally sensitive equipment ? Tisha eased over to the lab desk and began to examine the day?s work list. The third folder in the stack made her stop and look more closely.

Hmm. Analysis of the scan data from the wood sample Kase Winthor had delivered. Some unusual compounds and trace elements had turned up, concentrated in the know sections of the olivine pine. Could Scan get a detailed breakdown of the composition and proportions?

Tisha considered that for a moment. Scan could. But should she? The sample was unidentified, but there were few secrets in Hy-Breasil. The word was that it had come from the carriage that had run down Dex Montoya. Would the answers cause problems for her employers? There were professional considerations ? and loyalties ? to be weighed here.

?Hah!? O?Flynn straightened on his stool, blue eyes flashing under bushy red eyebrows. ?Sure, and more perfect it can?t be, lass.? He glanced over at Tisha with a totally self-assured smile. ?Whatever task they?ve set you, it?s gone and done. The truth is yours for the askin? ? th? electrons in this beautiful darlin? will suffer no lies.? He grinned smugly, obviously hugely pleased with himself.

Yours for the askin?, eh, Tisha of the Sept of the Eyes? Then the truth she would have. Time enough later to decide what to do with it. The senior scan technician walked over to the lab bench, holding the third folder.

?We?ll start with this one.?

Dark Angel 4: Knaves and Queens ? part 3

8 March 1043 hours
Atrebla Valley portal
Hy-Breasil

From the shore the portal looked like a sturdy and expansive dock, well-supported and reinforced and wide enough to drive two carriages abreast. It really resembled a bridge, except that it extended only about twenty meters into Atrebla Lake and then stopped. A bridge to nowhere. Or, in this case, a bridge to elsewhere. There was a slight breeze blowing along the shoreline, and the morning sky was brilliantly, painfully clear as only high-altitude winter skies can be. Julian derKorst hummed a campaign song he?d learned on Melaron whose lyrics were so bawdy they defied translation and walked out onto the causeway to Hy-Breasil.

The guardhouse at the end of the visible portion of the bridge looked snug and comfortable through the transparent window. One of the two security guards on duty there looked up from his hand of six-card torus and rose to his feet. He deactivated the window?s energy field and smiled at derKorst. ?Morning, Major. What brings you out here today??

Julian smiled back. ?I have an appointment with the Director. She?s going to tone down my handsome looks so the other Guardsmen will have a chance with the girls.? Laughing, the former Paladin, who had come through the Lady?s altar with Lukuth the orc, activated the entry portal.

At the end of the bridge, next to the guard station, a large section of the view of the mountain lake disappeared. In front of Julian the rest of the causeway now stretched across the water, but a water that danced and sparkled in a soft golden sunlight. There was the scent of spring flowers and many trees. Julian derKorst waved to the guards and stepped forward into Hy-Breasil?s eternal spring. Before him lay Le Amon?s island, fairly glowing green and vibrant fifty meters away across the bridge. It would be a pleasant walk, he thought, and timed just about right. He was due in the Director?s office at 1100.

8 March 1056 hours
outside Sithra town
northern Muir

With the passing of the rains the streams of the Kes Hills had finally spent their power. Downstream toward the sea would be a different tale; but here in the highlands near the Radurdan border the fords were fords again, and the twelve men dressed ill-fittingly in Muiran hill-garb made their way easily across the water-scoured stones and limped down the rock-girt path into the little town of Sithra.

Fairly nondescript as the hill-towns of the Kes went ? if nevertheless somewhat picturesque ? Sithra?s single noteworthy feature was a temple of the Lady, a small but pleasant affair perched on the rim of the shallow gorge of the stream tumbling noisily twenty meters below. Whitewashed stone and plaster was surmounted by a low dome topped by the order?s ankh-and-helix, visible from many of the sloping narrow paths that passed for streets. The stocky travelers hefted large bags that bulged curiously angular and trudged towards their goal. Goats and olive-skinned children alike scampered out of their way, the latter peering curiously at the stocky visitors whose pale skins and dark hair were partly obscured by bloody bandages.

The strangers passed a tiny courtyard filled with old men drinking tea at older tables and turned left toward the temple. The aged patrons noted the evidence of conflict, and the dichotomy of cloths and race, and remained quiet, wondering what new troubles were to be visited upon them by the rest of the world. A donkey brayed, and they returned to their morning tea.

8 March 1110 hours
Le Amon?s office, medical center
Hy-Breasil

The winged elf turned as she prepared to close the door. ?Oh, and Perri??

?No visitors.? The solemn look was mostly spoiled by the ever-present grin. Le grinned back.

?Right.? She waved the dark-haired man to a chair, stepped around the large white-and-black lump rumbling soft snores on its favorite piece of carpet, and headed directly for the coffee cabinet to perform her mid-morning worship. A minute later she was seated at her desk, savoring a choice blend with her caller.

?So, Julian, to what do I owe this honor??

The aristocrat acknowledged the courtesy with a slight nod. ?Doctor, we ?? She cut him off gracefully with a quick hand motion.

?Please, ?Le?.? She saw him respond with what looked like a genuine smile.I?ll bet he doesn?t show that very often.

?Certainly. Le, we want to begin preparations for the transformation procedure.?

The Director shook her head, hoping she?d never had to hear those words but knowing it would come to this. ?All right. What type have you selected??

?Kazur.? DerKorst noted that the choice didn?t seem to surprise the healer. Curious.

?Somehow I knew you were going to say that. Well, luckily that?s not going to take much effort: a few facial modifications, paler skin ? ? She broke off, puzzled by the intent stare she was getting from the major. ?What is it Julian??

The Swords Master picked his words carefully. ?May I ask just what led you to assume we would ask for Kazur??

Le shrugged. ?After that analysis I sent to Topaz, well? I?m just surprised it?s taken her so long to act on it.?

?What analysis??

8 March 1113 hours
Enigma Chamber
Metris Rock

?Now it begins.? The witch?s voice was husky with excitement, and Kelamir noticed her tongue run quickly and lightly over slightly-parted lips. The wizard decided that his voluntary divorce from earthly pleasures was in this instance probably a survival trait. He stared down into the top of the stone.

The images almost leaped out at him, much clearer than ordinary seeing-stones, as if he were really there. He could see easily the sun-striped entry to the temple, the thinly disguised Kazurs dragging and limping into the interior; he observed the solicitous attendants moving to help the newcomers, noted the Border Guards unobtrusively closing ranks around their bulging sacks, saw the sudden flash of steel and the bright blood and the shock on the dying faces. The Dutharian watched all this with a cold satisfied disaffection, ruthlessly suppressing the memories of Kazur steel among his people, the screams of the women and children, the hot coppery smell of the fresh blood. He kept watching as the invaders dispatched the temple attendants and hoped some would live ? not out of any particular pity, but so that some would be alive to tell the tale.

Across the pedestal An?Miron was concentrating, her brow furrowed, her eyes bright. That one enjoys killing for killing?s sake. It validates her power. Kelamir noted the undisguised smile as she thrust her imperatives through the focused lens of the stone, directing the bewitched soldiers into the inner chamber of the temple. It is a weakness, he thought. In the stone the images of the attackers blurred and disappeared as, in twos and threes, they stepped up onto the altar. An?Miron let out a long satisfied sigh. ?That part is done.?

?Will you not need to prod them further, to be certain they will carry out their task??

?I have completely subverted their will, my good Kelamir.? The voice was smug. ?They are small minds, with no way to resist my enchantments. Anyway, even the stone cannot follow them were they have gone. There are limits.? The dark-haired woman raised her hand and the scene before them cleared, to be replaced by a man moving through a different town, one with larger stone-and-timber buildings and cobblestones on some of the streets. Kelamir could not see the man?s face, but he recognized the figure immediately.

?And this one? Can you subvert his will, Sister??

?I do not have to.? Very matter-of-factly. ?His will and mine are already similar. I merely have to whet his desire? and, when the time is right, remove certain inhibitions.?

?Such as??

?Such as ? survival. Really, Kelamir, it is a simple task.?

Dark Angel 4: Knaves and Queens ? Part 4

8 March 1117 hours
front lawn, medical center
Hy Breasil

Lukuth was trying to decide what he would have for lunch when the first thp of displaced air came. He looked quickly up at the altar stage to see a bandaged, bloody figure partially supported by another stumble off the stage and onto the grass. Without hesitation he ran the few paces from the edge of the front steps to the new arrivals, easing a thick arm around the one bent over and saying, ?Easy, boy, I?ve got you, you?re safe now.? The human groaned, and his fellow replied in some language Lukuth didn?t understand, and they tried to walk toward the main doors, but the orc began to gently steer them around toward the Emergency entrance in the South Wing across the lawn, and then there was another thp/i] from the stage.

The security guard saw three more bloodied figures, stocky and dark-haired like the first two, one carrying some large bulky sack, and he raised his own head and yelled, ?Incoming wounded!? in the direction of the ER, from where two emergency techs in their red coveralls were already running, carrying a float stretcher. He saw the casualties jump down from the stage, a little sprightly for injured men, but barely had time to wonder about that before the knife struck him in the chest.

The sharp pain was a surprise, as were the sudden movements of his two charges, one of whom had let go of the knife-wielder and had just caught a vicious-looking saber thrown to him by another ?casualty?. Instantly Lukuth realized the true nature of the newcomers, and while his conscious mind was still trying to grasp just why the island was being invaded his battle instincts reacted without any conscious thought at all.

Orcs are tougher than they look, and their looks are quite impressive. Lukuth ignored the pain in his chest and tightened his massive grip on the attacker he was holding, feeling ribs crack under his arm. The man shrieked, but only for a second, for Lukuth?s other hand shot swiftly up to his enemy?s head and twisted his neck sideways with a snap. Without pausing he flung the body at the dead man?s partner, knocking him off his feet. A second later Lukuth had ripped the saber from the man?s hand and sliced his throat to the neck bone, bright spurts of blood pumping onto the perfect grass.

Spinning sideways the orc saw many more intruders, swords and crossbows in hand, and two red-clothed figures down, toward the South Wing, the float stretcher spattered with their blood. A quick sharp thump in his arm told him he too had been hit by a crossbow bolt. No time for subtlety of maneuver. Dropping the unfamiliar blade, Lukuth charged directly into the center of the enemy.

He took the first one by surprise, bowling the target over and fastening his heavy fangs upon the throat, but even as he tore the flesh and arteries and windpipe the dying man?s short sword came up to slice open Lukuth?s belly, and then a spiked club slammed into the back of his skull. Lukuth jerked up and rolled to the side and tried to get to his feet, but there was a red haze over everything and his muscles didn?t seem to want to respond, and as he tried to reach for the blurred object which leaned over him an axe took him in the forehead and out of all combat forever.

Another red body lay on the ground now, and a fourth, dripping blood, had just made it to the safety of the ER and slammed the door. She was not pursued. Hurriedly the nine surviving attackers rushed up the front steps of the medical center and burst through the door.

8 March 119 hours
Le Amon?s office, medical center
Hy-Breasil

The dark eyes were very intense. ?This has to be gotten to Topaz and Alex. Immediately.?

?Transmatter, then. And as soon as we do??

?I?ll hand-deliver a copy. But first the transmatter.?

?Right.?Good to see someone who knows how to handle important matters.. The winged elf strode briefly to the far side of the room and yanked the door open, startling Perri out of the middle of his current adventure fiction. ?I need the crystal to Topaz?s office, Perri. Now.? She hurried over and opened the transmatter cabinet, followed closely by Julian. In a few seconds Perri was beside her, inserting the proper crystals and warming up the equipment. Le began to quickly select the most critical papers from the file folder.

8 March 1119 hours
ground floor, medical center
Hy-Breasil

Surprise was almost total. No one had ever anticipated an armed attack, and there were no procedures for such an event. The security guards present were oriented toward diverting patients or visitors away from the few restricted areas, or gently persuading the occasional Psych patient not to try to assist in surgery. Ch?mborl, on duty at the lift station in the South Wing, was cut down before the old Velatian could do much more than bark out a warning on her belt-comm. Blood was still seeping into her faded blue pelt as two Kazurs leaped onto a teleport pad and hit ?transmit?. Three more shoved their way around the corner and rushed down the hall, two wielding red-dripping blades and the third carrying a small curious looking metals sphere.

8 March 1121 hours
Enigma Chamber
Metris Rock


The chaos in the narrow lane was absolute. Through the lens he saw the flames billowing up from the two shops the assassin had fired, saw the Guards captain darting in and out of the smoke, sword in hand and murder in her eyes, saw the mage burned and bloody reach the relative safety of the street and collapse. Kelamir almost lost his bearings when the focus shifted, then saw their quarry blur form and become a frightened woman, who almost stumbled into a big half-elf ? rushing out a door into the alley behind the burning chandler?s shop ? and then ran in panic up the hill. The half-elf, weapon in hand, seemed to look around and swiftly gauge his options, then kicked in a door in a nearby building and vanished from sight. Instantly the woman ducked behind a shallow corner and suddenly seemed to fade from sight, becoming a shadow within a shadow.

?He?s gone invisible.?

?It does not matter. I have the lens locked on him. And now?? An?Miron almost salivated with anticipation as she narrowed her eyes and concentrated. ?Rage, rage,? she murmured. ?They hate you. They despise you. And yes, they fear you. Show them what fear really means, eh, my predator?? Hot waves of hate and anger seemed to wash through the air around them in a malignant vortex, funneling into and through the now-pulsing lens atop the pedestal. Suddenly the flow ceased, and the witch straightened, taking a calm deep breath.

?Now he is controlled only by his hatred. Pain and fear he will not feel. He retains all his skills and cunning,? she assured the wizard, ?but now the only thing that will stop him is death. And he may not notice that immediately.?

Kelamir nodded appreciatively as the lens?s focus began to shift up and out of the alley to Temple Way, where a half-loaded wagon suddenly acquired a nondescript driver and began to plod steadily up the hill. ?They think themselves secure. They forget that every defense is predicated upon the assumption that the attacker is concerned with his own survival.?

?Did you learn that also in the Empire?? The man shook his head, his face a mask.

?In Duthar.?

8 March 1121 hours
Le Amon?s office, medical center
Hy-Breasil

?There.? Le had finished selecting the relevant papers and started to place them in the cabinet?s interior when she realized she?d forgotten the message cylinder. ?Oh, damn. Hold on a moment, gentlemen. I?ll be right back.? She walked quickly into the inner office. Julian looked at Perri, who rolled his eyes and grinned. The Swordmaster grinned back and wondered what in all the hells was that racket in the corridor.

8 March 1123 hours
Temple Way
Beacon Town

Here where the road wound up the side of the hill there was shade, blue-green conifers crowding the gentle slopes. He glanced behind him and was gratified to see a grey branch among the green, a thickening sooty tendril rising from the flames in the town below, now out of sight around the road?s curve. A figure came into view as he watched, running hard uphill. Black-and-silver shoulder flashes gleamed briefly in the patchy sunlight, mark of a Guardsman, a messenger, no doubt. The wagon drove on steadily up the grade, not even slowing when the driver flicked charged fingers at the runner who had just overtaken him and drove him headlong into a tree trunk, smashing his skull. As the body dropped out of sight over the edge of a shallow ravine, the horses began to easy pull up the last curve. From here, the driver could just make out stonework above him through the trees.

8 March 1124 hours
main entrance
the Beacon

For two minutes the Guardsmen had been watching smoke rise from the town below. Some idiot had gotten careless with a lamp, no doubt. Whatever he?d managed to ignite seemed to be burning pretty well, to judge from the increasingly thick black clouds roiling the air. A squad of Guards had just left the compound gate and was trotting downhill into Temple Way, already past the wagon which had pulled up near the stone steps to let them pass. Guards and driver watched the spectacle with interest.

?What happed down there?? The driver ? one the Guardsman didn?t know, Though he recognized the wagon as one which regularly delivered supplies to the hilltop ? shrugged and shook his head.

?Don?t know. Must have been down in the middle of town ? it was quiet at the temples when I left.? He swung easily off the fare side of the wagon and began to check his load. ?Sure glad this wasn?t anywhere near it.? The guards up by the main door saw the casks of oil that made up a third of the wagon?s cargo and shared an appreciative look.

?Might make for a short delivery run, fellow.?

?Might at that,? the driver agreed amicably. He bent down to inspect the wagon springs. No one saw him flicker into invisibility and ease slowly away from the wagon, crossing to the other side of the front steps.

8 March 1124 hours
Le Amon?s office, medical center
Hy-Breasil

Le?s unexpected appearance in the outer office had momentarily distracted everyone, but the interruption of the melee did not last long. The crossbowman had already loaded and cocked his weapon, and swiftly brought it to his shoulder and aimed.

He was not quite swift enough. The sight of imminent danger to Le galvanized Perri into action, and without hesitation he launched himself at the archer, knocking him backward into the desk just as he fired his shot. The heavy quarrel thudded into the door frame a foot from Le?s head, and then everything began to happen very quickly.

The big man, seeing a target within reach, swung his axe around to his right. It sliced into the back of Perri?s skull and neck, severing both life and all motor controls instantly. As the young man went limp, the crossbowman shoved the nerveless body off him and tried to regain his footing. The Kazur nearest the door quickly pulled one hand off the metal ball he held and drew a bone-handled hunting knife from his belt.

In the middle of the room, the eyes of the Kazur swordsman flickered briefly to the tumult behind him. That was all the opening Julian needed. Stepping quickly one pace forward, he struck his opponent?s long blade out of the way and spun rapidly widdershins, the gladius whipping around and then up to strike just under the ribcage, lancing upwards into the Kazur?s heart. There was no time for the man to even cry out as the short blade was withdrawn and he began to topple to the floor. Julian pushed the falling body aside and sprang forward.

Before he could reach his target, there was a grunt from Le as seven hundred pounds of dedicated ferocity knocked her aside and leaped in a white-and-black blur across the room. The tiger landed on the crossbow-holder and ripped open his abdomen and his chest with six-inch claws even while he was being slammed to the floor. Fangs sank into the archer and with one savage wrench tore out the throat that had just begun to scream. The tiger lifted his bloody muzzle and fixed his yellow-green gaze on the man with the knife, who saw death coming and frantically began to back toward the outer door. It was a futile gesture Before he had taken his second step, a huge paw swung into the side of his head, collapsing his skull like an overripe melon. The metal ball fell from his lifeless hand and rolled onto the floor behind Perri?s desk.

8 March 1128 hours
upper floor hallway
the Beacon

There was only one barrier left now. Only a short way down the corridor stood two Guardsmen on full combat alert, swords at the ready. There would have been more, but the tumult of noise and smoke on the ground floor had attracted every guard who could be spared, and some who could not. Alarms continued to sound throughout the building. It all actually worked in his favor, as the response to an intruder became focused on where the intruder had been ninety seconds ago. He had maybe a minute, maybe less, and damned little magic left. He was starting to notice a certain unsteadiness in his movements too. Only a couple of cards left in his hand, indeed: but they were good ones. Time to play them. He marshaled his last magical energies, stepped out from the concealment of the stairwell, and cast.

Suddenly Hassan was staggering to his feet, dropping a dagger, sobbing. ?Don?t kill me, please, don?t hurt me!? His voice was whimpering, broken. ?I will help you, I will serve you ? ? He was still cringing but almost erect now, in line between the intruder and Alex, barely blocking their few of each other. ? ? I will kill her myself, and the other one too, just don?t ? ?

In disgust the intruder barked, ?Down, dog! You will die with ? ?

But on the word ?down? Hassan had dropped suddenly, and even as he fell Alex was rolling left, his pistol smoothly clearing the holster and rising, and there would only be time for the one shot, and it had to count. As the barrel came up Colonel Jones pulled the trigger.

A yellow bolt of light shot pencil-like across the room, past the fairy?s right ear, so close it singed her skin, and hit the man behind her one inch above the right eyebrow. His head ripped apart in a flash of yellow fire and grayish-red mist, and his captive felt hard junks of bone and soft warm goo splatter her hair and neck. The knife dropped from her throat and she felt the tight grip give, and then there was a thump as the body slipped to the floor.

Hassan reached her a half-second before Alex, but she waved off their offered hands. She touched her fingers gently to her neck and pulled them away, seeing the drops of her own blood smeared with ? well, that was better not examined too closely. Taking a deep breath, she said, ?Thank you. Both of you.?

?Your servant, madam.? The War Chief?s voice was a tight mix of relief and rage. ?Now ? Hassan, help the lady get cleaned up. I?ve got to check the building.? He stepped through the dust-filled air and over the debris on the floor to what was left of the door and stood for a moment looking down at the two broken bodies lying amid the rubble in the corridor. When he looked up his expression was very calm, and his eyes held someone?s death. Almost casually he glanced at the assassin?s body and said, ?Oh, and Lieutenant ? get that buliasa out of here.? Still holding his pistol, Alex Jones walked out of his commander?s office.

8 March 1135 hours
Road to the Beacon

Rounding the corner at the edge of Beacon Town, the patrol of guards from the Beacon nearly collided with a wagon making a hasty retreat. Lieutenant Lothlann and Major Ven?Tore were immediately recognized. Stopping any questions before they had a chance to ask, Fairy briefed them on what had happened placing them on full alert, while Aerisa remained silent. He declined the offer of an escort back to the Fortress; instead, he split the squad sending some off to help the town?s people and the others to search the town?s fringes for the fleeing assassin. The small wagon then started up the road at a rapid pace away from the fires and confusion of the town. The driver kept her eyes on the road, but her minds eye saw only two more faces to add to her list of those who had died because of her, with a possible third who lay unconscious, burned and bleeding in the bed of the cart. They stayed on the main road to the Beacon, cutting across the field would have been slightly faster but there were too many rough patches that would have jarred the injured mage in the back, aggravating her injuries further.

Aerisa kept wondering what had happened; why did this happen? Instead of treating her escort to the finest pastries in town, she had now paid to have their bodies kept safe, to be claimed later. She flicked the reigns angrily.

Fairy looked up from the woman he was monitoring to the Major and frowned. The only words she had spoken since they had dug Shirazal from the debris were to inquire how the mage was. Since then she had become somewhat withdrawn and taciturn. He had seen this before and knew that someone would have to speak with her soon to keep her from sinking further into herself. Neither of them saw the broken body of the messenger as they passed the ravine, following the same track taken by Yogel less than a quarter of an hour ago. The wagon rounded the hill giving the half-elf a view of the doors and front stairs of the Beacon; or rather, what used to be the entrance.
-
?Fairy??

The Lieutenant, still intent on the injured Shirazel and relieved to hear Aerisa speak again, answered the expected question without waiting.

?She should recover given the proper treatment.? She cut his response short.

?Fairy!? Aerisa?s voice snapped with an edge of disbelief mixed with shock causing Fairy to swing about to see what the trouble was. His eyes widened as their wagon neared the turnoff towards the Beacon?s entrance, his voice was barely above a whisper when he swore.

?Shades.?

Flames were consuming a wagon, and grim-faced Guardsmen were patrolling the grounds or tending to their wounded comrades as well as their dead. One of the patrolling guards lumbered towards the approaching wagon and Aerisa looked into the face of a large goblin-like female. Jirak ran beside the wagon keeping up easily, her gravelly voice held a tone of sadness in it.

?Four confirmed dead here, two from inside. Dunno who they are yet.? She added knowing the Major, ?an yer na goin in alone.? Aerisa only nodded.

?Fairy, find out where the wounded are going and see to Shirazel.? Dark eyes flashed with barely controlled rage as they fell upon the still form of the mage. ?Jirak and I are going to find out what we can.? The alarms were still sounding when the two entered the Fortress. Too slow; too slow, the half-elf yelled to herself as they headed toward the Commander?s office. She envied the big goblin her speed. They slid to a halt just as the blaring alarms ceased, but it was not the lack of sound that stopped them; it was sight of the broken doors to the office and the two shrouded forms. Aerisa braced herself and strode forward to identify the bodies. Jirak stepped into the open office looking for hidden danger, when she turned and saw the half-elf standing there gazing intently at the gore that had once been Yogel, her face a mask of horrible satisfaction.

A hand on her shoulder brought Aerisa back to herself. Topaz and a man she did not know stood in the doorway, their faces scratched and scraped. Raising gentle fingers to the bandage at the fairy?s throat, Aerisa asked fearfully. ?Where are Alex and the others??

9 March 0603 hours
Room 221, medical center
Hy-Breasil

Tisha opened her eyes. Dawn was washing like a soft tide across the trees and grass and into the broad windows of the quiet room. She blinked all her eyelids, and flexed her webbed fingers experimentally. Everything seemed functional. Right, then: legs, arms...she lay back, and rested, and thought.

She was alive, and all right, apart from a nagging headache. Glad to see I haven't lost it, she thought, deliberately repressing any calculations of luck. Some things are not worth close examination.

The medical center had been hit, and hard. Her contact doubtless knew this already. So much for raw data.

Where the medical center had been hit might not be common knowledge. Why the labs? Her evaluation would of course be colored by her own personal bias toward the priority of information, so one needed to ?

Wait a minute...the lab reports. Some of which concerned an investigation which seemed to implicate the Kazur Empire. She shook her head, wincing as pain shot through her battered skull. It seems rather obvious. But then how would anyone have known...

Well. She ordered her thoughts for a moment, then turned her gaze to the courtyard sward, still streaked with the evidence that someone, in fact, did know, and didn't want anyone else to. But of the crucial facts at her disposal, which were the ones that mattered? And to whom? The scan technician found that her headache was returning in force and decided that any logical or ethical decisions on her part would have to wait just a little while longer. Her head sank back on the pillow.

9 March 1431 hours
dining hall
Metris Rock

Kelamir the Dutharian had had a sister. For that matter, he had had two brothers, a mother and father, and assorted uncles, aunts, and cousins, all in the normal course of being alive. As far as he knew, one brother still lived, if one could call eternal blindness in a mountain hermit-cave living. The wizard could not, however, recall his brother's face - nor the faces of any of his family. All that had been locked away years ago in strongholds deep within his mind, where dust is not gathered nor thieves break in and steal, and where no remembrances of things loved and lost would distract him from his purpose. So he wondered why, here and now, after all these years, he had just thought of his sister.

He took another restrained bite of his keftiku, admiring how the cook had added just the right amount of synrhi to the fire-broiled goat. Dizmi used to laugh at the way he seasoned his meat, warning him he'd spout flame like a ghorna and set the dwelling on fire. Kelamir remembered he used to grin wickedly and add more synrhi juice, then pretend to spit flames at her while she shrieked in mock fear. He shook his head and suppressed his memories. The dead belong to the dead, they used to say in the mountains. The wizard glanced across the table at his dinner companion.

An'Miron had just polished off a half-rack of ribs from a succulent young sheep and was now engaged with one of the bones. With a deft motion she snapped clean an end and put the bone to her lips. Unhesitating her throat muscles drew out the marrow. Her slender form shuddered briefly, languoursly, with pleasure; then her eyes half-opened, and she regarded her confederate ambiguously through long lashes.

"What's the matter, dear Kelamir - do my table manners disturb your sensibilities?" She spoke around the bone.

"I have always been fascinated by the habits of predators." The witch slowly withdrew the bone from her mouth, licking the drained end briefly with a quick dart of the tip of her tongue, then smiled satiated at the wizard.

"Why, thank you, good sir. It is always well to know one's talents are appreciated." Kelamir nodded noncommital and unconsciously began to apply more synrhi sauce to his goat. The woman, seeing no further reaction was forthcoming, put away the remains of her kill and leaned back in her chair. Now she was all business. "So, then - you were going to tell me of your...theory?"

The Dutharian put down his own unfinished meal. "A theory, indeed, Sister - but it seems practical."

A nod. "You have always been adept at discerning practicalities. Say on."

9 March 1615 hours
Newly-renovated Grand Commander?s office
The Beacon

Dust swirled up into the powerful beam of the early spring sun not at all disturbed by the impatient sounding knock on the door. The door opened without the usual creak. No surprise, really. The door and the hinges were new. So was almost everything else in the commander's office except for the papers and folders that lay strewn about the floor.

?Hello, Topaz.? Aerisa walked in careful not to step on any of the partially charred papers. ?What is this you are doing and why in the Lady?s name would Alex send me three messages in the space of less than two minutes only for me to find out they are all the same??

Topaz lifted an ash-powdered face, ? Ah, good to see you, Aerisa. I can?t seem to find anything useful in this mess about the promotions. I can make out here and there and bits and pieces. Think you that will be enough to start your tenure as Lady of Arms? Damn Yogel to hell for leaving me such a smelly mess.? Before Aerisa could answer the fairy?s question, she added with a defeated sigh, ?Never mind, I know it?s not enough to go on. Now, what?s this about Alex losing his mind??

Aerisa did not even blink at Topaz?s flood of speech. ?He sent the same report three times. To everybody!?

?That sounds like some gremlin in the telepathy or whatever he calls his magic box. Now, what shall we do about getting this mess fixed up? Oh, by the way, we also appear to have the rosters.? Topaz re-immersed herself into the study of the mostly burned documents.

?How about a broom and an ash-bin and a bath?? With that helpful suggestion Aerisa ducked back out the office before Topaz had a chance to hurl any pointed barb in response.

10 March 1043 hours
the field beside The Beacon

Soundless the ship slid downwards, highly-tuned engines noiseless in the speckled morning sunlight. With a minimum of fuss Tyranny's Favor settled onto the earth, an almost-imperceptible whine quickly extinguished. Within seconds the boarding ramp lowered from under the saucer-shaped main hull. A bipedal figure strode purposefully down the ramp and across the winter grass onto Tower Road, the damp soil declining in self-interest to stick to the winged elf's boots.

She marched imperious up the stone steps, taking moments to cast instructions at the hapless Guards whose mission was to interdict intruders to the bastion of the Guardians of Truth. Their instructions didn't seem to anticipate this. "Stand up straight. Don't slough - it's bad for your back. You, there - clean up those nails. You're a Guard, not an undertaker. And you - " She fixed Mugrag Blooddrinker with a withering glare. " - when was the last time you cleaned your ear mites?" The Xthydian blinked his purple eyes in astonishment and quickly scrutinized his foot-long ears.

"Never mind." Doctor Le Amon, director of the Hy-Breasil medical center, smiled illuminatingly and swept unhindered through the heavy, oaken, and recently-repaired doors of The Beacon.

Up on the second floor, the Guardians' Head Commander was concentrating on a stack of wholly undesirable but apparently necessary paperwork when she heard a commotion at her office door. She had just enough time to look up, annoyed at the distraction, before the abused but uncomplaining portal parted in the face of superior determination, to the accompanyment of the futile protests of her standing guards. Their protests, Topaz noted briefly, were half-hearted at best. The cause of the uproar swept into the room with a flurry of golden wings.

With one almost-fluid motion the fairy jumped up and, knocking over the padded chair, rushed around the overloaded desk to fiercely embrace her old friend. "Le!" There was no hiding the emotion in her voice. "What a joy to see you!" Le returned the fairy's hug with equal fervor.

10 March 1054 hours
Esarkel House
Nazburg

Well. That had been a peculiarly uninformative report. But far from unproductive. Atrebla in some disorder, busyness and tempers and paranoia on the increase...very productive. Nervousness leads to impetuosity, and when one sees what one is supposed to see...well. His agent had been marginally surprised to find his normal contact out of the office, but he had relayed the report quickly and efficiently. Now that that was over and done with, there was this afternoon's briefing with Jengtal.

And the despised Haleth would be there too - despised, but not disrespected, nor discounted. The Ulbakh of the Western Empire was perceptive, but not overly so; loyal, but not terminally loyal. At the least, one did not consider terminating the existence, or the loyalty, of one of the direct representatives of the Khut Thar. The bastards were dedicated. Luckily, they were dedicated to the good of the whole Empire, not just a chief of the realm, even if Jengtal was the most highly-regarded individual in the lot. And because he had been so successful, his fall would not be taken adversely in many important quarters.

And the Ulbakh served the Empire - more specifically, the Khut Thar. Old Saris on the Black Throne, far away in Chandribor, cared little about the continuance of any of his princes' careers, and everything about the continuance of the dominance of the Empire. Should even Jengtal be involved in a useless, debilitating struggle - well, there were always safer men, reasoned men, who had tried to warn him and been overruled. Glory had its pitfalls. He wondered briefly if Vessalian would live long enough to appreciate the beauty and sublety of the plan. Probably not, he decided: Aron was too literal, too much the bulldog. He sighed at the imminent loss of his best section chief and began to review the half-lies he would confide to the Khut.

"This is an unexpected pleasure. And most welcome. Sit, Caelan, sit." She gestured to the nearest of the new couches, and the Guardians' former Commander Liason settled into the seat just vacated by the Lady of Hy-Breasil. He glanced around the room.

"Everything back in place?"

"Mostly. Except for a few rare and irreplaceable items." The fairy's voice showed annoyance.

"But the most irreplaceable item is - well, still with us. Which is why I'm here. How's your throat?" Almost unconsciously her neck tightened in remembering.

"Fine...now."

"Mmm." The graying eyes held a calculating look. "And how's your spirit?" She looked away.

"It's been better." Quickly, in a rush, without conscious decision: "Caelan, there are so many things to take care of, so many responsibilities, so - " She swung to face him again. "I do not have the - benefit of counsel - these days. Dex is gone..." Shadows crossed her face in defiance of the early spring sunlight. "Keirin is - well, unavailable. Sher has gone into retreat." She shook her head in frustration. "It's all on me, now." The elven reply was sympathetic.

"I know. Destiny keeps me well-informed."

That was unexpected. But it made sense. "You're on your son's ship, now?"

"For the moment." A smile, then seriousness. "So it's down to you here, is it? But you do have help."

"Well, yes, I do - but..."

"But...they're new, and they're not your trusted guides. Stop me when I'm wrong," Caelan added gently. He got a resigned nod in response. "You do have your new Commander Liason." The fairy brightened visibly.

"Oh, yes - Aerisa's - " A penetrating glance. "Why don't you tell me your opinion?"

"She's damned good. Head and heart. I'm quite impressed...but she's young, and - shall we say - you don't fully trust her judgement yet?"

"No, I - well, yes," the Head Commander was forced to admit. "She's wonderful...but she takes things very personally."

"Which you don't feel you're allowed to do." The barb was all the more pointed because it ws true. A dusky wingtip fluttered as the elf held up his hand. "No, don't justify - I happen to agree with you. And your ranking mage..."

"...is currently devoting his full attention to the strike team, yes."

"Not of the old guard, either - though I must say, I like Arthona's style." Devilment sparkled in the angelic features. "So who else do you have to depend on?"

"Alex." There was a whole conversation in the word.

"Ah, yes. Alex." A shared look. "Maelin's little friend. I've seen him handle things before, you know." A sideways glance, then a rather startling intensity from the deep eyes. "Alex is impetuous, headstrong, authoritarian, and touchy. He is also brave to a fault, and honorable. And most of the time - " A wry smile. " - not entirely lacking in intelligence."

"All true. But he doesn't have to live with the consequences."

"Oh, he has to live with the moment. He hates killing - you've noticed he doesn't duel?" Topaz considered that.

"I figured he thought he had better things to do with his time."

"He doesn't like to play at fighting. He's seen enough death to consider fighting a deplorable necessity, not a game." The Guardians' Head Commander considered that statement for a moment. "He's a good man in a storm - but he's very young."

"And where does that leave me?"

"Not entirely alone." There were implications here.

"You've resigned from the Guardians."

"Yes. That chapter's over." From the black rapier strapped to the elven hip came an almost-soundless flutter, as of ravens' wings. "But my oath to you still stands." Hands met of their own accord over the low table, still occupied by Le Amon's unfinished coffee.

"Thank you, my friend."

"You know how to find me." A hand reached smoothly within the wings' cloak and held up a golden feather. "Touch yours, and think of me, and I'll come running." The elf smiled at the reference to an old lay the fairy knew not, and lightly brushed his lips across her knuckles. Then he stepped into shadow and, with a parting wink, he was gone. It took a full minute for the Head Commander of the Guardians to sift her thoughts and return to her paperwork.

10 March 1609 hours
a bridge on the Cherch River
southwestern Radurdan

The afternoon light was still golden when the horses began to cross, their iron shoes raising a sedate clatter as the cavalry troop ambled onto the length of the wood-floored bridge. Captain Palchek noted the rushing green froth of the Cherch below, full of melt-off and early spring rains, and was glad to have the bridge, even if some of the timbers looked to need a little repair. He pulled away from the wood-and-stonepost rail and cantered around his patrol to catch up with the point.

At the far end of the hundred-meter-long structure reposed a small stone hut built into one of the bridge's anchor-columns. Officially it was a guard post. As a practical matter it sheltered whatever individuals were available to glance rather incuriously at the travelers making a dry crossing and - when it seemed appropriate - check their travel passes. More often the little room, and its licensed inhabitants, served as a provider of friendly conversation and local news, and the occasional samoy, the fiery liquid that was the traditional Kazur distillation. Wonderful medicine, thought Jherhan Palchek, but not necessary today. He glanced over his shoulder at the two-dozen-odd members of his patrol and grinned encouragingly. They still had to make Rhangri today. He pulled his bay around and made straight for the overweight character in what passed, here, for an Imperial uniform who was slouching with one arm on the nearest bridge-rail. A quick gesture with his left hand and the riders came to an uneven stop.

"Greetings." The captain's smile was not unfriendly, and was returned with an adequate caution. "We're on our way to the border, routine patrol - need our orders?"

"What would I do if you didn't have them - challenge you to single combat, one at a time?" The grin under the drooping mustache was genuine and realistic. "Headed for the frontier, are you? Welcome, then, and pass, Captain." A beefy arm waved vaguely down the road to the south. "Rhangri's only half a league." From atop his horse Palchek could see a building or two glimpsed piecemeal through the tops of the trees. "If I were you, I'd try Nerran's - food's decent enough, ale's real, and there's a pasture out back for the horses." A discrete cough. "Of course..." Palchek nodded amiable agreement.

"I'll be sure to say you sent us." Pale blue eyes flashed hard for a second, for effect. "Don't make me regret it, eh?" A smile took the sting out of the words, but the bridge-guard played along.

"Oh, not a chance, Captain - he's my brother-in-law, and if he shorts you I'll sic my sister on him." Palchek laughed. "And if he's good enough for the Shemya Khut, you won't find your greeting lacking." This brought the captain around, complete with raised eyebrow.

"What?" The guard was apologetic and confidential by measured degrees.

"Well, Captain...begging your pardon...I served with Tomur in Krondor in the old days - as a headquarters guard, no less - " The look was a trifle abashed, but no less direct. " - and I know those fellows when I see them...and anyway, I recognized this one." He stepped over close to Palchek's horse and lowered his voice. "Used to be one of the intelligence types on Tomur's headquarters staff."

"Tall and skinny Carythian? Smiles a lot, but doesn't laugh?" The bearded head bobbed in recognition.

"That's the one! You know him?"

"'Fraid so. Came through here, did he?" A nod.

"Just yesterday. Heading south, same as you...look, Captain, I don't meddle in Shemya matters. He just wanted to find a good inn nearby. I sent him to Nerran. Probably gone off now, to wherever. I don't want to know," the man added with emphasis. "I wouldn't steer him wrong, Captain - he was a good man when I knew him in Krondor."

"You did right. And thanks for the advice on the inn. Don't work too hard." Palchek flipped a quick salute and pulled the bay's head around, then had a second thought and stopped. "One thing, though - "

"...yessir?" Old habits were hard to break.

"Did our friend have...kind of a faraway look in his eyes? Like he was concentrating on something else?" The beard was poised and thoughtful before he spoke.

"Captain, you ever seen a panther on a stalk - how intense them green eyes are?" This got a curt nod. "Well, then..."

"Thanks, my friend. Keep this under four eyes, eh?" The captain was answered by a salute, returned smartly. The bay neighed as he pulled her up and around and waved his hand to start his troop on their way. Sergeant Elkhiz trotted up close.

"Nerran's, Captain?"

"Seems best. Tell 'em not to get too comfortable - we're off at dawn. Carry on, Sergeant."

"Yessir." Elkhiz didn't bother with saluting as he swung away to pull the troop into line. The bay settled into an easy pace down the tree-shrouded twilight, giving Captain Palchek a chance to collect his thoughts. On a scent, are you, Vessalian? And what kind of prey brings you out in the field - you, who are supposed to be sitting back in Nazburg collecting your information? Must be damned important, concluded the cavalry officer as the patrol sidled toward Rhangri and hospitality. Well - you were always a good sort, and an honest man. Maybe I can help. An evening breeze wafted the scent of supper down the wind, and at the end of the lane Palchek saw the lights of Nerran's inn.

11 March 0708 hours
Metris Rock

Sunrise had broken red the eastern clouds a short time ago. The night's rain had passed, leaving north's cold settled on the spattered flagstones in the narrow courtyard. Kelamir took a brief last look outwards. It was easy to imagine the tumbled peaks of the Hamdas in the speckled gray-and-onyx cloud-towers before him, instead of far beyond the world's rim. He turned and, throwing on a sheepskin vest against the morning's chill, stepped purposefully out the door to his rooms and across the courtyard toward the great hall at the far end. The Dutharian glanced briefly at the octagonal tower rising over the other structures just to the left of the hall. Breakfast first. Then the lens. He found his appetite whetted by anticipation and actually smiled at the surprised sentry who stood aside, holding the door, as the wizard strode into the warmth of the hall.

11 March 1052 hours
Beacon Hill

In more normal circumstances he would have merely opened a gate between his ship and the conference room. These were, however, not normal circumstances. The mud of early thaw grasped at his leather boots as the half-elf made his way across the hilltop. Around him the planet was beginning to stir with life, late winter grasses pushing impatient a threadbare green carpet from out of the ground. Over by the base of the stone wall a few flowers had made a brave appearance in yellow and white. The fresh earth on the new graves in the little cemetary, however, was still largely bare.

He stopped for a moment and regarded the dozen or so mounds. Some - a little older than the others - had already subsided into a barely-perceptible rising of the ground. Some were more stark. None had completed being absorbed into the earth, and time, and memory. With more than a little effort he could suppress the faces and the sounds of the voices, but for now he let the loss wash over him.

And what was it all for? He knew the answers to that one, but conscience demanded he review them anyway. The easy ones about trust and duty were acknowledged and past in the blink of an eye, leaving room for fuller, more practical considerations. He heard, as if from the field itself, the final answer: Because it's our job. The response was automatic.

Then what does that make me?

You're the one who has to make sure what happens is worth the price. He considered that for a moment.

But I didn't ask for this. Passing clouds silently cluttered the mountain sky with uncertain light, changing constantly the patterns of the shadows. Alex Jones turned and walked toward Beacon Tower, aware that every step trod upon new grasses. He greeted the sentries and explained: "Command conference."

11 March 1121 hours
Council Chamber, Vammala Palace
Nazburg

"So what are they going to do?" Baklevin spread his hands.

"My Lord, that's hard to say. Atrebla is not much of a principality, which limits their options somewhat." There was a snort of disbelief from across the table.

"You discount, then, the capabilities of their Guardians?"

The chief of Jengtal's intelligence service studied the speaker for a brief moment. Kulis Sordhaj was on the high side of fifty, but the old warrior could still intimidate anyone who wasn't aiming a Phorian disruptor at him. Not by size - a typical Kazur, he was stocky and a good bit less than two meters - but by that penetrating look and totally self-assured voice which had been known to completely unnerve even the occasional Klingon who happened to wander through the local spaceports. He had seen thirty-seven years' service to the Empire and had the scars to verify it, but more importantly he had learned quickly from each experience. Eleven campaigns, including both the pacification of Duthar and the assault on Ikaros - for which latter he had commanded the ground forces - had taught him more than most, and had raised him to command of all the military forces of the Western Empire. A soldier who thinks, noted Baklevin. And therefore dangerous. He phrased his reply most carefully.

"Not at all, Marshal. The Guardians are quite potent individuals, and unfettered by political responsibilities. Therein lies the problem." He allowed himself a worried look. "They have little to protect - except their pride - and no regular armed force to utilize. It's much like dealing with a martial-arts expert: if they react at all, it will be likely to be deadly and unpredictable."

"React? React to what?" The younger half-elf, for all his considerable diplomatic skills, never tried to conceal his exasperation with inexplicable behavior when in private council. "We have absolutely no designs upon Atrebla, or Hy-Breasil, nor do we have any involvement in these attacks. By the balls of the Khut Thar, why would we do such a thing?"

"The point is, Gazni, that it was done."

"The point is, my lord Khut, that the Guardians are not fools." Gazni Herilor was one of the few who felt absolutely no compunctions in arguing with Jengtal. A half-breed - and therefore never to hold formal power - brilliant, wholly practical, and totally loyal to Jengtal, Gazni had for five years been Ummanji, the chief political minister, to the Khut of the West. And the asset most valued, perhaps, by the man he served was his unhesitancy to speak his mind. He did so now. "Sabtay, we need to communicate with both the Guardians and Doctor Amon. We should let them know - in no uncertain terms - that the Empire is not involved in this affair, nor responsible for any part of it. We need not make reparations or apologies for things we have not done, but we need to immediately distance ourselves from these unfortunate incidents. We have enough problems to concern us without asking for more."

"Unfortunately, Ummanji, this is not strictly the case." Baklevin was almost apologetic. "As we here all know, the assassination of the Guardians' former leader, Dexter Montoya, was authorized by this very Council." He raised a hand to forestall a response. "I know, I know - we all were more than a little uncomfortable with the necessity for that particular operation. Frankly, looking at it now, I wish we had been able to find another way to deal with the underground in Krondor. But who could have foreseen how the rebels would have reacted?"

11 March 1144 hours
Head Commander's office
The Beacon

The discussion in the Guardians' headquarters had seemed to Alex Jones to largely consist of interminable and pointless wrangling over cause, effect, and responsibility. He was vastly relieved when his Head Commander finally forced the discussion into practical options. He was also impressed with her ability to achieve this with a glare, not to mention the iron-hard iciness of her voice. That last, at least, was something with which he had had personal experience. He was gratified that this time it was not directed at him.

"The attacks on Atrebla need to stop." The silence was palpable. Her gaze swung to the War Chief. "Alex, I assume you have a plan worked out?"

"We have several, Commander. We can use our ships to obliterate Nazburg, for one..." He glanced, somewhat relieved, at the shocked faces around the table. "...but I assume no one here wants that."

"We can't do that." Somehow he knew Aerisa would say that. "We can't obliterate them - but can we wound them?"

"Better yet, disable them." She nodded agreement with the mage. So did Topaz.

"Good - less than a war. But how to make it effective?"

"I don't suppose we can discover their next target and intercept them...?"

"Arthona, we need action rather than reaction now." She ventured Colonel Jones a brief conspiratorial grin.

"Well, actually...we can put someone into Nazburg..." That got him a few raised eyebrows.
"But not for long enough for that kind of operation. Topaz is right: we have to be the ones who strike now." He saw a thoughtful look on Aerisa's face. "My lady...?"

"What if we aimed, but did not stike as they have?"

The fairy's voice verged on the exasperated. "If we do not strike, what use is the aim?"

"I did not say 'not strike'...just strike in a different way." She noticed that got Alex's attention especially.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well..." She felt a trifle flustered. This was not, after all, her specialty...or was it? Thieves lived - or died - by carefully picking their targets. "We can't squash their armed forces. But they're not the problem, really. What if we went for their leaders?" The quick grim smile on the War Chief's face was a trifle unnerving, she thought.

11 March 1158 hours
Council Chamber, Vammala Palace
Nazburg

"That prince" had not attained his current position by being foolish. While the events of the last few days had been surprising and more than a little disagreeable, they posed no direct or immediate threat to the Enpire - if the Guardians' starships, and to a lesser extent their magic, were not irrationally unleashed. Jengtal was under no illusions as to the probable rationality of even-vaguely humanoid beings. Nor was he unfamiliar with the simplest ways to deal with it. Self-interest was a very amorphous concept, he knew, containing as it did elements not only of physical practicalities but also of pride. And honor. Honor might be the most nebulous of possessions - but once attained, it was never lightly yielded. If there was one thing he believed he could count on, it was the Guardians' highly-vaunted sense of honor, any pragmatic observations by his Intelligence chief notwithstanding. He decided to cut the discussion short.

"Your advice, gentlemen, is noted, and greatly appreciated." He saw his councillors compose themselves, awaiting his commands. Good, he thought. Important decisions cannot be made by committee. Right or wrong, the high command needs to speak from one mind, with one voice. Anyway, if they think I'm being stupid they'll find ways to tell me so. Not for the first time, he thanked the gods of his fathers that he was blessed with such competent and honest subordinates. It was a measure of him as a man that he had never realized these men served him so not because of his position but because of who he was. Quickly and concisely, he laid out his plans.

They were good plans, and showed a depth of understanding of people and events that those of shallower minds would not have appreciated. There were, however, other plans being made. As the council broke up, the high windows of the chamber showed shadows crossing the springtime sun over Nazburg.

11 March 1451 hours
Enigma Chamber
Metris Rock

The effort was noticeable, but not too great, he decided. And the power...

"Do not allow yourself to become entranced by the stone." Kelamir heard the words with the detached, objective part of his mind. She was right, of course. He skillfully enhanced the separation of power flow and control. Now he could feel the shir'dzak energies being channelled through the lens, harnessed and focused. He located the target point, watching - no, feeling - the tip of the high rocky spire come closer into view. This would be a good test. Even if something went wrong, there was nothing to blast but rocks. And nothing would go wrong. He could feel it.

"I have the target focused, Sister."

"Very good. Now you must channel your energies through the lens, just as I taught you. Remember, do not let yourself get too close. This is not a mind-sending..."

"Indeed. This is raw energy." A distant part of his mind noted the predatory curl of her lip at the thought. Let her salivate. I have more important matters to attend. With a sudden shift in his mental controls he released the fire.

It took about four minutes to work her way down the rocks. When she got close she could see that his body remained quite motionless. That worried her. If he was unconscious, he might jerk when awakened and slip off and drop. If he was dead...well. She quickly clambered down the remaining few feet until her head was almost level with his. Hmmm... He seemed to be breathing, which was a good sign. And his strap harness was snagged good and solid in the branches. All right, then... Before she could speak, he opened his eyes.

"Took your time getting here, didn't you?" A long drawn breath on her part.

"Well, it seemed like you weren't going anywhere. No point in rushing." A calculated glance down the drop. "Of course, if you're in a hurry..."

"I am only in a hurry to return to a peaceful life. Which, I suppose, will only happen if you would kindly assist me in regaining solid ground."

"Hmph. And you think this will bring you peace?" The warrior was rapidly attaching a strong rope to the base of the tree as she spoke.

"No. But I do think it will bring me to a safer position. One step at a time, don't you think?" She had to concede the logic.

Ten minutes later the two of them had reached firmer ground at the bottom of the now-truncated column. Leaving him to regain his breath, she moved quickly downslope to the horses and spent a few minutes calming them before she returned. When she got back, he had a thoughtful look on his face.

"Everything all right?"

"Mostly. But not everything." He held up his hand. In his palm were the shattered remains of a mirror. Sudden realization hit her. She looked at him.

"But - "

"Yes." Very serious. "We can't report in. But we have to. Atrebla needs to know this."

"So. How?" Her companion grew thoughtful.

"There's a chance. It's slim, but it's better than none." When he had explained, she was incredulous.

"Of all the hare-brained - " He cut her short, hard.

"You have a better idea?" After a moment she shook her head.

"No."

"Then we go north."

DARK ANGEL



CHAPTER 6: CASTLES
part 1

In battle, each side is convinced they are about to lose.
They are both right.

- Murphy's 29th Law of Combat Operations



11 March 1731 hours
roof of the Trade Exchange Building
Nazburg

The lieutenant in charge of the archers had obviously had a bad afternoon. Haleth could see it in his face, which currently wore the harried expression of a man for whom things were not going right, and in front of his superiors at that. Nevertheless, he was impressed with both the young officer's conscientiousness and his command of the finer points of Kazur imprecations. Had he himself been one of the lieutenant's team, he reflected, he just might have been overwhelmed by the youngster's incredibly rich comments on the probable ancestry of his command. Obviously the boy had paid close attention to his sergeants - who, he noted, were implementing the lieutenant's orders with efficiency and approving nods. He hoped the Marshal was paying attention as well.

Without more than a minimum of wasted effort the bowmen slipped into their assigned positions. The architect of the Trade Exchange Building had been somewhat more artistic than most of his contemporaries, staying with the clean functional lines favored in Radurdan but managing to incorporate some original and aesthetically pleasing styling, which here included low alternating cornices along the outer edge of the roof. Behind the higher sections the archers now crouched, one at each corner, where their positions gave excellent overlapping fields of fire covering the broad avenue below. Kulis Sordhaj ceased his silently-mouthed counting of seconds and strode over to the young officer.

11 March 2207 hours
a private chamber
Metris Rock

In ordinary times the ball was dull, colorless, a lifeless piece of glass. That perception, of course, was deceiving. Shielded lightly and simply, so that to the casual sensitivity there was little worth a second glance, this half-meter orb was linked to others much like it. At the moment it glowed with a faint but distinct purplish light, filling a corner of the darkened room and silhouetting the dark slender figure who sat before it.

Within the orb a tiny figure sparkled flicker-light, shifting bright sparks across the fair-seeming visage bent near, and drawing the viewer's full attention. To the unknowing eye the image seemed fairy-like, glass-caged; to An'Miron it was a great deal more. The voice issuing through the link slithered edged with crystal knives around her own mind, and she couched her answer most carefully. It is a wise viper, she thought, who knows which fangs are longest.
"There is always room for error."

"Yes. The Eastern Sea is wide indeed. And deep. More than enough room for a failure. But you do not...expect...failure."

"I spoke not of failure. Yet even now both sides prepare against each other."

"Unwillingly."

"That is no matter. What they expect to see, they will see." She knows this. It is she who first gave this insight. She felt her self-assurance increase.

12 March 0837 hours
courtyard, Guards Headquarters
The Beacon

"There." The half-elf's hand indicated a snow-laced peak somewhat south of east. "And there. And...there." Captains Ghorann and Angmar Ironhammer nodded in agreement.

"Best prepatory positions. Whole area in line of sight there." The dwarf didn't sound overly pleased with his own evaluation.

"Right. So there's our trip-wire." He turned to the tall human female. "You have the teams picked out?"

"Yes, Colonel. Nine apiece, including the mages."

"Orders?" He knew the answer to this one already.

"Stay concealed, lay low, call in when anything shows up, hit when they can hurt - then keep on hitting." The last words got a raised eyebrow.

"What are the withdrawal procedures?" Captain Ghorann gave her commander a direct look.

"There aren't any."

12 March 1002 hours
Operating Room B, medical center
Hy-Breasil

Unlike the intimidating impression of technical sterility found in far too many worlds' medical facilities, this smallish chamber was mostly muted colors and softness. Psychological factors, Doctor Amon had determined, were of utmost importance to successful procedures - meaning that if the patient was relaxed and confident, the patient stood a much better chance. When necessary, any relevant data could quickly be called up into a pure-energy HUD (Heads-Up Display) floating just out of the direct line of sight to the patient and accessible only to the brain-waves of the medical team. Anyway, their task today was a complex but straightforward procedure with no appreciable risk whatsoever to the patient, done in an hour with plenty of time for lunch. And Julian would get a few hours' nap before the slight but necessary physical-therapy session to get him used to his new physique. Then why, she mused, am I so nervous? As if reading her thoughts, derKorst smiled at her.

"You'll need to work on that bedside manner, Doctor. Someone who didn't know you as well might assume they were in trouble."

"You are in trouble, you overconfident idiot." The words were out of her mouth before she'd even realized she'd said them. "Oh, Julian, I'm sorry - I didn't..." His hand moved swiftly, catlike, to encompass hers. She found herself locked in that viper gaze of his. Somehow it calmed rather than frightened.

"Everything will be fine." The aristocratic voice was smooth and reassuring. "Our tigers will get in, get their prey, and get out. And the gods help whoever gets in their way." That smile was almost believable. But she had to ask.

"And what about you?" The eyes parted briefly, slightly, to reveal a glimpse of something she needed to be reminded of but would rather not have seen.

"Little boys should not annoy their betters. They might get hurt." The panther behind the eyes vanished again, and he was all concern. "You know I can take care of myself."

"Besides, you have no choice - right?"

"Right." With a final, gentle squeeze of his doctor's hand, Julian derKorst relaxed upon the operating table. "Let's get started, shall we?"

There really wasn't much else she could do.

CHAPTER 6: CASTLES
part 2


12 March 1416 hours
a stream southwest of Kefisia
the Borderlands

They had been off the road for almost an hour. Beli didn't know precisely why his employer had insisted on turning the horses into the forest, but if he had learned anything about Vessalian in the past few days it was that the man did very little - if anything - without good reason. He ducked under a branch as the gelding picked his way surefooted along the little draw.

The draw angled mostly west, cutting in against the grain of the rising land to the south. Sunlight washed clean through the uplands woods, chasing the last of winter's chills out through the folds and hollows of the greening land. Along the steep banks early spring flowers were shoving white and purple and pink into the vines and the new grasses, and the little brook splashing back and forth along the bottom of the draw was edged with the hesitant green shoots of the first cattails.

South and north and east their vision was circumscribed by the rises of the Borderlands, the forest filling with broadleaves to add to the evergreens. Downslope, to the west, the twists and turns of the draw opened frequent vistas of the plain of the Sidhyel and the volcanic mountains beyond. The Pyrdos, they were called: the Fires. Even at this distance Beli could see the occasional sparkles off their crests of fire-rock. It would have been impressive, if this had been the first time he had seen it. Or the fiftieth. As it was, the boy was considerably more interested in the fact that the trail to the high country now lay over their left shoulders. South and somewhat east. But their destination was supposed to be even further south than that. Which must mean they were going to try to avoid the trail. He clucked encouragement to the Lappi and led them into the tiny tree-sheltered basin below.

A half-hour and a filling meal of unusually good trail rations later, his employer had apparently decided to vouchsafe some information. As they were preparing to remount, the man gave him a rather curious look, as if determining how much to reveal. Then he spoke, carefully and not unkindly, as if from one professional to another.

"We'll be skirting the edge of the prairie, I think." A questioning look. "You think we can do that safely?"

"You mean, unobserved?" Vessalian nodded. "Well...slower, but staying near the edge of the trees should do it, boss." Beli used the local term deliberately. They were in his part of the woods now.

"Near enough to keep an eye on the open?"

12 March 2309 hours
Kura Fortress
Nazburg

Half-moonlight lay a-shimmer across the high perches and the finely-crafted blocks of stone. Mustar Ulirakh, Flight Commander of the 14th Sky-Fangs, glanced across the wide expanse of the river, seeing the night lights of Nazburg glitter like opals across the wide basin below him. On another night such as this, he would be prowling Silhasa Avenue, only slightly drunk and exercising his quite-justly-famed situational awareness to locate and home in on the equally-famed beauties frequenting Silhasa, and most particularly The Mirabar down by Nissimapan Bridge...the lights of which beckoned most invitingly down below. He shook his head, regretfully. He had other targets tonight.

"What a waste." The head of his Flight Lieutenant wagged thoughtfully. In the moonlight the younger man's head gleamed one with the night's silver, making him appear older and wiser than his twenty-three years could account for. Raliaar Givalt was not entirely unknown on the Silhasa himself, his heritage from the Elven Isles definitely an advantage in turning the heads of the ladies in question. Unfortunately - from Raliaar's viewpoint, perhaps more fortunately for his squadron commander - the 14th Flight was led by someone who had never lost a quarry, or missed a target. Mustar grinned wickedly and a trifle condescendingly at his subordinate.

"We all have our crosses to bear, Lieutenant. Do me a favor...?" The smile would have been considered innocent on anyone else's countenance. "Give Milandra my regards...and tell her I'm confident you can almost satisfy her." The commander of the 14th Flight ducked quickly to avoid the punch thrown by Lieutenant Givalt, who grinned.

"I'll try not to disappoint her, Commander. Hope you won't come back to find she's taken up with new blood."

13 March 1047 hours
common room, The Wild Goose
Kefisia

Sergeant Giris Elkhiz was dubious, but the captain usually knew what he was talking about. Unlike most officers the sergeant had served under, this one actually had some sense. He knew when to listen to his senior noncoms, and on occasion his own ideas were pretty good. And he took care of his men. All that added up to a good reason to listen to the captain, even if Sergeant Elkhiz disagreed with him. This time - somewhat to his own surprise - the sergeant suspected he had little cause to disagree. He could smell trouble brewing a league away, and if there was anything his soldier's instincts were telling him now, it was that something was definitely not right here in Kefisia.

Captain Palchek returned to the table bearing a heavy mug of strong local tea - or what they called tea here, though the sergeant was more inclined to classify it as a low-level cross between wolfsbane and hemlock, with the same stimulating effect as a kick by a severely annoyed mule - and an equally-heavy expression on his face. He deposited the lot next to Elkhiz and stared thoughtfully at the poisonous mixture before them for a long moment. The tea stared back at him. Sergeant Elkhiz pointedly waited for his troop commander to speak.

"Giris, is it just me, or does something smell?" The sergeant weighed his answer carefully.

CHAPTER 6: CASTLES
part 3


13 March 1340 hours
a forest near the Kefisia trail
the Borderlands

The afternoon sky above them had darkened rapidly, and the two horses and their riders could feel wind blowing cool and wet through the trees. A storm had been building up over the Sidhyel, gathering energy as it raced southeast along the outer slopes of the mountains and came boiling out over the plain, and Aron Vessalian could smell the ozone in the air. So could the horses. They were too well-trained to be skittish - Beli had chosen well - but he could feel the gray's nervousness as they cautiously edged through the thickets along the stone-cluttered wash. Young pine shoots and the beginnings of vines edged out between the rocks and tangled the horses' footing, so that the going was even slower. This did not seem to unduly bother Vessalian, but Beli was not happy at all. He picked his way around a dense copse of evergreens and eased up to a halt at the edge of a fairly thick border of trees.

From here he could see the forest thinning as it climbed the gentle rise to his left. Over the tops of the trees boulders and stony ground were visible. There was no sign of anyone watching from those low heights, but Beli really didn't expect there would be. Less than half a kilometer up that way, the main trail from Kefisia passed across that rocky patch: southwest, in front of them, the ground sloped open to the lower end of the Sidyhel, while the thicker forest over to the east led nowhere except into even rockier terrain. No good for the horses, and anyway they'd have to cross the trail to get over to it. For anyone trying to be stealthy, this was a chokepoint, and Beli knew it. The question was, did their opponents? Boss's call, then. Vessalian walked his horse carefully up beside him and took a look around.

"I see what you mean." He steadied his mount and glanced over his shoulder at the oncoming storm. "Well, out in the open we'll probably get a lot wetter. With all this wind and rain, they might even miss us, hey?" The boy noticed that Vessalian's smile seemed rather wolflike.

"Maybe." Wonder what I've missed about this guy. Hope he can keep his end up if we have to scrap. "We might miss them, too."

"All we have to do is avoid contact. Makes it two out of three we'll be fine." Beli grunted.

"Glad to hear we got the odds in our favor, boss." He didn't sound very glad. "Wait till the rain hits?" A nod. Beli began to loosen the ties on the bow-case strapped to the gelding's tack. Probably unnecessarily, he added: "Keep your weapons ready."

13 March 1348 hours
the rocks above the Kefisia trail
the Borderlands

A hundred meters away, Magic Officer First Class Hunyathis was having a bit of trouble with his own mount. His usual mount, Erythyr, had been grounded with a minor lung infection - not serious, but requiring a few days of healing back at Kura. Her replacement was strong and experienced, but he was not his normal cat, and he found himself having to split his attention between his mount, who was rumbling discontentedly at the increasingly-uncomfortable weather, and the broken ground of the northern approaches to his position.

Hunyathis knew that his Flight Commander had the open ground to the west covered, and the eastern woods were the responsibility of Lieutenant Kroth, so between them all he had to do was keep his eyes open and stay ready. But it was a lot easier in planning than it was in practice - the veteran of five covert missions and two years with the 14th Flight had been around those blocks before - and anyway, their assigned target was behind schedule, not to mention this pestilential storm-front, which would probably interfere with his shir'dzhak spells and would bloody well irritate his cat. He wasn't all that happy with having Kroth on his flank, either - the man was certainly eager and capable enough, but he had an annoying habit of going off on his own, which Hunyathis regarded as more than a little half-cocked. He had tried to bring this to Mustar Ulirakh's attention last night, only to be informed that Lieutenant Kroth's extreme discretion and total loyalty made him an invaluable asset to the mission. In other words, the Shemya Khut like the fire-eating little bastard, and the rest of us just have to put up with him. Oh, well, he was getting used this. He took a last look at the wind-swept ground before him and reached over to massage the long dappled white-and-gray fur on Greshka's neck.

The huge sky-cat, slightly mollified, arched his powerful shoulders and began to stretch out his front legs, the feathery fur on his folded wings ruffling slightly at the welcomed attention. Suddenly the lynx-like tufts on the pointed ears twitched - once, twice, again - and Hunyathis realized someone was coming. Damn that Kroth, he thought savagely, and spun around ?

- to see a cloaked rider - on a horse - with one more behind ?

Our target. Frantically he disengaged his hands and mind from his sky-cat and began to cast an energy spell.

13 March 1355 hours
a forest near the Kefisia trail
the Borderlands

Rain was pounding now on his head and shoulders, smashing and driving against him with physical force, while behind him the thunder of the storm gods cannoned off the clouds. The gelding whinneyed wide-eyed as he was spurred across the broken slope, but Beli held the horse to his course and hoped Vessalian had done the smart thing and broken downhill. There was no time to turn and look. The flash ahead had been surprising, but in its fatal light he had seen the tarasnya fry, and somehow he didn't think the Empire's elite strike forces were there as their allies. Right now, he forced through his scared senses, no one is our allies.

He had almost reached the pines at the lower edge of the tumbled rocks rising above him when a sudden lightning-flash burst starlike over the whole scene, almost blinding him but illuminating the quick swoop of wings above him and to the right. Frantically he dove off his horse into the scrub below, scraping and bruising himself as he rolled into the bushes, hanging onto his bow somehow as he slowed his headlong tumble and crashed to a halt up against some rocks. A few seconds' quick check indicated that no essential bones were broken, nor any critical tendons dislodged. The boy crawled left and ahead, still grasping the bow he had pulled off the Lappi's saddle, heading toward a small bluff which faced downwards and west. The lightning cracked again, and he was relieved to see no sign of feline wings above him. A little distractedly, he thought: Maybe we'll get lucky this time.

13 March 1412 hours
near the Kefisia trail
the Borderlands

Now. Mustar muttered a low, quick word of command and vaulted sideways, clearing Shiraleth's shoulders by the barest of margins as his cat plunged down through the branches immediately below them. The sky-panther shot through the overhanging limbs and disappeared into the foliage ahead as Mustar bounded off some moss-covered rocks and alighted in between two ancient trunks - who, he reflected incorrectly, had probably seen more history than he was capable of making. But that was for another time, and different circumstances. Flight Commander Ulirakh held all the variables in considered abeyance and concentrated on closing on his quarry, which was after all the purpose of his mission.

A low keening growl ahead of him - in the bushes down to the right - gave ample evidence that Shiraleth had found the quarry. Mustar knew that his mage had suffered some kind of terminal reverse - but the skills of the tarasnyoi were not grounded in magic, but rather in the very real skills of survival, and he had confidence that his people could handle that, and so he slipped sideways, quietly, through the trees, until he was in a position to observe the sky-panther as she tore through the horse that used to be his target's mount. He was not inclined to dispute the measured amount of flesh with Shiraleth - rather, he was solely concerned with the ultimate objective. And that was ?

He heard, almost subconsciously, the draw of the bowstring, and the rush of the boy's arrow, before his mind was able to register the fact. A second later, it was too late.

CHAPTER 6: CASTLES
part 4


13 March 1217 hours
wardroom, starship Starfox
a field outside Atrebla

Alex's eyes held grim humor. "The uniform suits you, Julian." This occasioned a raised aristocratic eyebrow.

"Really?" Major derKorst glanced in disdain at his clothing. He was dressed as a captain of the Khut's headquarters staff, which though trim enough was not in the least outstanding. The major shot a look through eyes that were not normally his own at former Communications Sergeant Ekasia Winthor. Her expression, he noted, was guardedly neutral. "Kase, I thought you were going to refine his tastes." The bright blue eyes twinkled.

"I tried, Julian. I really did." A dead-pan expression. "But as far as proper clothing is concerned, he's hopeless." This last comment occasioned an exasperated expression on the face of Julian's commanding officer, who was currently attired in a plain green jumpsuit with multiple and wholly-unfashionable pockets bulging with unidentified contents. Colonel Jones managed to look sufficiently clueless.

"Whatever. Brigid, you have his quantum pad?" From the polished wood of the conference table the raven-haired woman lifted a flat, smallish object that resembled a leather-bound notebook. The pilot of Tyranny's Favor passed it over to the Kazur whom, they all knew, was Julian derKorst. The chronomancer, over at the wardroom's bar, finished topping off a coffee heavily laced with whipped cream and Irish Mist and handed it to the alleged Kazur before he spoke.

"Last chance for this for a couple of days." Julian nodded appreciatively and sipped at the steaming mug in his hand. Maelin glanced at the Swordmaster. "Look, we'll be no more than a few minutes away - "

"We've already been over this, haven't we?" He picked up the quantum pad and regarded it somewhat curiously. "I write down whatever I choose...and it shows up on your pad, regardless of where - or when - you are. No magic to it, even." The chronomancer's dark head nodded.

"That's about the size of it." Alex also nodded, to Master Chief Jackson, who handed Julian a very small tube, like a short soda-straw.

"Don't point it the wrong way, sir." Julian derKorst found it was very easy to smile. This lasted about two-thirds of a second, until Doctor Le Amon ruffled her rather-expansive wings and got the attention of everyone in the wardroom.

"Right. Last check. Julian, stand still, damn your hide." Much to the amazement of the personnel in the wardroom, Julian stood still. Doctor Amon ran her highly-experienced fingers completely over the Kazur before her, checking the effectiveness of the molecular-level disguise and its effect on her patient. It was noted by several of those present that Doctor Amon seemed to take a longer time than was professionally necessary, and that Major derKorst might possibly be enjoying the procedure; but a very old-fashioned look from the Director of Hy-Breasil's medical center squashed all possible comments, and a few seconds later Julian was pronounced ready for his mission.

13 March 1827 hours
Enigma Chamber
Metris Rock

Outside the sun had just dropped below the mountains, leaving the evening sky streaked with colors. Perfect. The Kazur's agent had reported the starships missing from Atrebla, and who could know where they had gone? The stone building swam into focus in the lens, exactly as he remembered it. There...on the top level of the tower. Just enough to get their attention. Well - maybe a little more than that. He recalled the sight of the gray wings over his village as he summoned his energies, focused, and released.

13 March 2017 hours
Paradise Hot Springs House
Beacon Town

"You're sure about this?" She knew he had to ask, but the question was infuriating nonetheless. Tisha was aware that her inner nicitating membranes were blinking and tried to get them back under control.

"You can find a better explanation, go for it." Vlanos nodded.

"Metris." It wasn't a question. A very cold chill was busily passing itself through her nervous system when a quiet musical tone, barely audible, sounded in the chamber. The eyes of the Empire's chief agent in Atrebla managed not to grow larger as he grabbed a small nondescript amulet off his neck and cast a useless glance at the closed door. "Go ahead." The disembodied voice which answered was unfamiliar to the Yanta.

"Vlanos, I want you to talk to someone." Now that was strange. Things were even stranger a minute later.

"All right, let me get this straight. Someone in Metris can project high-energy magic. And tarasnyoi just tried to grease our friend." The voice that came back was very calm.

"That is exactly the case."

"Then why haven't you called Hassan?"

"Because my communicator was destroyed when we got knocked off the rocks." Vlanos thought for a moment.

"You're Hamlet." A chuckle sounded over the magic circuit.

"That, my friend, is a fictional character from another world. But you may as well use the name, since so many others insist. Now I will return you to your chief. We all have work to do." There was a moment's pause, then:

"Vlanos?"

"Yes, Vessalian?"

"We need to get this information out now. And any connections we have with Nazburg have to be considered compromised." This was not an order, but the implications were clear.

"You want me to take this to the Guardians."

"Not just them." Tisha was ready for that.

"Are you authorizing me to talk to Hy-Breasil?"

"Tisha? Good, I'm glad you're there. I can't give you those orders." There was no hesitation in her reply.

"You don't have to. But as far as I'm concerned - " She and Vlanos traded a quick look of understanding. " - give me any orders you want." There was an audible sigh of relief from the amulet.

"Vlanos, you know what you need to do?"

"Will Hamlet be there?"

"Don't think I can get rid of him. Or the Panther." In Vlanos' line of work, these names were legendary. Well. Maybe they could pull this off.

"We're on it, Chief."

"Be quick about it. I don't think we have much time."

CHAPTER 7: CHECK AND COUNTERCHECK


The easy way is always mined.

- Murphy's 8th Law of Combat Operations

Part 1


14 March 2141 hours
Bakers' Lane
Beacon Town

The night had turned to a fine cold drizzle, tiny centipedes of water creeping across skin and cloak and hood and threatening to eventually freeze, or at least make those poor unfortunates who had to expose themselves to the elements long for the comforts of a warm room with a blazing fire. Huddled in the disputable shelter of a bakery with a slightly overhanging second story, Vlanos had long since decided that he would have settled for a strong dose of good brandy. Or cheap, for that matter. Antifreeze is antifreeze. He shivered, briefly, and prayed again to all the gods of luck that Hassan al-Omani would swiftly arrive.

Across the relatively narrow street light gleamed furtively through the mists around the edges of a shuttered upstairs window. That the Guardians' Intelligence Chief would not arrive was a possibility remote beyond practical considerations. Well, perhaps not all that remote - Hassan could have decided to return to The Beacon, or perhaps have been distracted by a chance occurrence. But the latter was unlikely, given Hassan's talent for discerning objective realities - the Kazur War College's phrase was too appropriate not to use - and the former was a chance he'd have to take, since Lieutenant al-Omani had departed the fortress less than an hour before. The starships were gone; the outposts on the high rocks of the mountains were basically inaccessible, and anyway that was a purely tactical matter which would not concern Intelligence; the gate to Hy-Breasil, he had confirmed, was closed. That left only the garrison of the town, and the logical site to confer with Captain Drushak was here, at Hassan's town lodgings, from which he maintained his network of agents and informants and kept a finger on the pulse of the small city. And besides, the risks of being wrong had to be taken: there wasn't much time to lose.

"Captain, would you be so kind as to dismiss your guards? I believe this gentleman would like to speak with us." A slender, swarthy human came into Vlanos' field of vision to replace the Guardsmen, who departed the room with obvious misgivings. The lieutenant shucked his dripping cloak onto a nearby wall-hook and warmed his hands briefly by the fire. "You must forgive any implied discourtesy, effendi - Captain Drushak's men are almost as efficient as he." A smile to the minotaur, then the intelligence chief turned and favored his guest with a most professional look.. "And now, my patient masseur...what business can Evias of Muir have with the Guards?"

Vlanos of Radurdan had had time to think about what he was to say, and how to be convincing. He had already decided the short version was best. After all, it didn't take long. "Lieutenant, it is my duty to inform you that I am the chief intelligence officer of the Kazur Empire here in Atrebla." Hassan's eyes blinked, once.

"You've had physical alterations."

That was quick. "Yes, although I'm Radurian, myself." A nod. "The reason I'm telling you this is because certain recent events - here, and elsewhere - are not entirely what they seem." There was a brief and pointed silence.

"Continue, please, Evias."

"Actually, it's Vlanos."

"Ah...right, then. And I'm Hassan." One professional to another, the tone said. Of course, professionals sometimes have to order each other's elimination. Regretfully. "What exactly is the nature of this...mistaken identification?"

"Lieuten- uh, Hassan - the attacks on Atrebla and Hy-Breasil were not conducted by Imperial orders...or with the knowledge of the Shemya Khut. At least, not anyone of the rank of Section Chief or below." Hassan digested this for a moment.

"There's more." It was a statement.

"Yes, there is. When was the last time you spoke with Hamlet?" Vlanos hadn't thought anything could make those dark penetrative eyes widen, but obviously he had been wrong.

Ten minutes later the clatter of horses in a hurry rang noisily on the cold rain-splattered cobblestones of the town and echoed up the hill into the muffled night as their riders made all speed for The Beacon.

14 March 2249 hours
roof of the Trade Exchange Building
Nazburg

"Nothin' to report, sir." The corporal was keyed up but controlled, maybe a little frustrated, almost certainly more than a little bewildered by the onrush of events around her. Responsibility for overwatch of her ruler's front door was obviously not what the young woman had expected when she joined the army, but she was trying her best to adjust. It was equally obvious that she wasn't entirely sure her best would be good enough. Well, it had better be, thought the equally young lieutenant, and it's my job to see that it is. He allowed her to see him smile.

"Very well, Ashani. It's liable to be quiet tonight anyway. Just don't let anyone get too relaxed." She nodded. "I'll just wander around. Carry on." Lerudis noted with satisfaction that the corporal did not salute. This was not a situation for military formalities - a distinction which far too many troops based in the capital seemed incapable of recognizing. He himself was painfully aware of his own youth and inexperience, but he therefore paid all the more attention to the advice and examples of his senior sergeants, and anyway his training had always emphasized that the most important thing was to get the damned job done and never mind the niceties. He turned and began to make his way along the boards which served as a temporary walkway between the watchers' posts on the huge building's slanted roof.

Around and below him the lights of Nazburg shone in a massive constellation of many-colored jewels. Tursa and Mikkeli Streets were broad glittering swaths sweeping west and south before him, their double rows of silver-white street lamps interrupted by various buildings whose dark sides nevertheless glimmered with golds and whites and other lights from within their interiors; and here and there smaller gems glowed firefly-like as carriages and wains made their lantern-lit way among the city's maze of streets. Stretching between the farther ends of the main avenues' arms was a sparkling ribbon of stars which marked Sihasa Avenue and the line of the Orivesti River as it slid through the islands in the city's center, gently carving the land into a dozen slices between the wide banks of its flood-plain. Each island gleamed bright or remote, according to its wont, and the multitude of bridges and their lamps glistened silver across the darkness of the river's channels and wove the whole pattern into a glowing sash crossing the city and the valley in which it lay.

14 March 2302 hours
Head Commander's office
The Beacon

"This changes things."

The pilot of Tyranny's Favor was not given to profound utterances. When Brigid Atreides made such statements, therefore, her old friend Le Amon was inclined to listen to her. It was a measure of the gravity of the situation that the mistress of Hy-Breasil was so unexpectedly curt with her response.

"Well, damn right it changes things!" Amazing how eyes of pure silver could seem to be full of lightning bolts. "Here we've been figuring we know who's behind these atrocities, and now it turns out we've all been had!" There was visible wincing around the room, the Guardians' Head Commander not excluded.

One person there did not join in. The slight male human still dripping rainwater from his cloak faced Le Amon with coal-dark eyes. "This is my fault, Doctor." A quick chop of a hand stilled the rise of dissent from the group. "All the pieces were there, and I missed the obvious."

"Captain al-Omani." The sylvan fairy's voice cut through the room like a finely-honed knife, sharp beyond withstanding and utterly clear. "You will not seek to lay blame where it does not belong. The clearest crystal may reflect illusions." Hassan regarded his commander with a long direct gaze. "What we need now is actions - and the gods help us, they'd better be the right ones. And that is your job, Hassan, so quit trying to play martyr and give us the benefit of your analysis. Now - " the Head Commander added in a softer tone - "we don't have any time to waste."

"Right, Commander." No time wasted. Gods, noted Tisha, what a good thing we've got this man! "We have to get through to Jengtal." There was a murmur of assent around the table. "Obviously his authority has been compromised at the highest level. Nor is he likely to accept such suggestions from any of us."

"But I'm not 'any of you', am I?" Heads swung toward Doctor Amon, who was grinning most un-doctor-like. Topaz was the first to respond.

"What about the quantum pads?" Tisha figured they would have thought of this, but the surprised expression on most of the faces showed they hadn't. Brigid was ready for that one, however.

"No good. It never occurred to us that someone might need to communicate from here to the strike force before they went in." She noticed the puzzled expressions on Aerisa and the other two Guardians. "What they've got is a pair of writing pads that duplicate anything written on one on the other - instantaneously, no matter where or when the pads are. It's not susceptible to jamming or intercept because it's based on quantum similarities..." She saw the puzzlement on the non-spacers' faces. "...and it's not magical - so it's safe. But...we only have two of the pads. One with's Julian, in Nazburg - and the other is on Starfox." Dawning realization: "So we can't reach them until they come back."

Lord Ventore was the first to see it. "And they're scheduled to reappear when?"

"The plan calls for 0345." He nodded, thoughtfully.

"So if your starship can intercept them at Nazburg at that time..."

"Yes. If." Topaz was looking very hard at Brigid Atreides, who was beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable despite her knowledge of her ship's unquestioned capabilities.

"Commander, if you want us in that position at that time, we will be there. The question is, what do you want us to do then?"

"Intercept Alex and stop the assault. This new information..." The fairy waved her hand at the intelligence agents. "We have to get in direct touch with Jengtal."

"How, in the name of all the gods?!" Aerisa's question was torn from her in exasperation.